Page 64 of The Lucky Winners

Merri

I clamber out of the cab in a daze at Lakeview House.

I glance around before stepping out, my pulse quickening at the sight of the place in darkness.

No Dev. And yet the car is on the drive.

My chest tightens as I snap on the hall lights, close the door behind me and lock it, twisting the key twice.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels safe, but not safe enough.

Thoughts tear through my head, too fast to track. Am I too late and has Tilda already said something to Dev … or stirred up suspicion with the police? She’s been a bit odd lately, watching me too closely, asking questions about my marriage that feel like traps.

And then there’s the man – the one I saw by the lake with the binoculars. I know I saw him. What if he’s not just watching? What if he means me harm? It feels like all of this is closing in at once.

The shadows from my foster days are catching up, maybe are almost upon me. Has it been him all along? If he’s out there – if he knows where I am – he won’t wait for ever. The clock is ticking.

But the biggest question is: where is my husband? Where is my Dev?

I turn on the lamps as I pass through the hallway, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me. My reflection catches in the mirror near the stairs, pale and wide-eyed. I barely recognize myself.

I call Dev and get his voicemail again. The robotic voice grates in my ear. I hang up and try again. Nothing.

‘Dev, where are you? I need you here,’ I whisper, setting the phone down. My mouth is dry, so I pour myself a glass of water, but it doesn’t do anything to soothe my taut neck and shoulders.

I pace around the kitchen. Another call to Dev rings out, and I leave a message, though I know it’s pointless. ‘Dev, please call me. It’s important. I need to talk to you – just call me, OK?’

The moment I set the phone down, the silence closes in, thick and oppressive.

I press my palms against the counter, trying to steady my breathing.

I can’t let panic take over. Not now. But the thought keeps circling back: what if he hears it all from someone else?

The police know some of it and they’re circling closer.

I pull a blanket off the small sofa and wrap it around me – not for warmth, but for a feeling of safety. I know it’s illogical: a thin layer of fabric is nothing against whoever might be out there. But it’s all I’ve got right now, so I wrap myself tighter, sinking into the couch.

My eyes travel along the doors, the walls. I trace a faint stain close to the ceiling. Rising damp? A dark, ugly streak … but this is a brand-new house!

I close my eyes, and when I open them, blinking hard, the stain is gone, the wall pristine. It’s just my mind again, twisting shadows into something worse. Or is it? I don’t know any more. I can’t trust what I see. Can’t trust what I feel. Can’t trust who I know.

I stand up and let myself drift further into the gleaming living space; the luxurious details no longer soothe and impress me.

The expensive furnishings, the polished floors – they all seem to echo a promise I once believed in, a promise that’s now shattered.

Every corner of this place has been so carefully curated, yet each pristine surface reflects a truth I can’t ignore: my life, too, has been scrubbed clean of everything that matters, leaving behind only a sterile void.

I linger near the windows and wonder if this picture of perfection is all there is.

The light that pours in feels harsh, exposing every crack and every hidden sorrow inside me.

I remember when Dev and I believed these new walls would hold laughter and hope; now they just mirror the emptiness that has crept into our lives since we moved.

All this grandeur reflects a life that has strayed too far from what we truly need: each other. We never really belonged here at all, but we were too dazzled to see it.

I pick up my phone and stare at the screen, watching the digits change. Then I tap out another message to Dev.

Where are you?

I wait, gripping the phone tighter, willing it to ring. As if he’ll call, say he’s on his way back. Then I can speak to him at last.

But the minutes stretch out, heavy and slow, and I get nothing back. No reply.

Fear starts to seep in, thicker than the damp that may or may not be on the walls.

Images start to slide into my mind. The sinister faces of strangers hidden in shadows, someone hovering on the hillside. A fist pounding on the glass door until it shatters. Tilda lurking in the background, a false new friend who wishes me harm.

I’ve told the police everything … well, almost everything. They told me to come back here and to stay in the house with my husband. That someone would be in touch.

But while they’re out searching, there’s no one to help me. Dev is still not answering my calls and there’s nobody here but me. No one to stop an intruder getting in.

The watcher . What if he’s already here, slipping silently through the grounds to get to me?