Page 25 of Married to the Devil

Beth hugs me tight. “When this is done, we’ll take a week off, okay? Take Hattie to Disney.”

“Marnie would love that.”

“Hell yeah, she would. Love you, girl.”

“You too.”

I swing by our storage unit before heading to the house. Marnie texts to confirm Hattie’s fast asleep and all’s good. I’m bone tired but dreaming about what life will be like when this is all over.

A massive bonus. Financial wiggle-room for the first time in my life.

Running a business is deeply rewarding, but it’s also hard as hell.

We’ve been dumping all our extra cash into growing since the early days, and I’m looking forward to having a few new zeroes tacked on to my savings account.

Rafe’s in the back of my mind like always when I park and head up my stoop. No strangers, no cars. Nothing to suggest there are any problems at all. It’s like that visit in my kitchen was a fever dream.

A nightmare.

I push open my door, step inside, lock it behind me⁠—

And something feels wrong.

I take a second, looking around, listening intently. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up.

The TV’s on but Marnie’s not lounging on the couch. A glass of wine is knocked over on the rug. Nobody cleaned it up. Maybe she’s getting some paper towels?

“Marn? Hey, is everything alright?” No answer. I head into the kitchen and stare.

There’s a broken plate on the floor. The refrigerator door is open and the calendar beside it is hanging askew like someone knocked it aside. This makes no sense. Marnie texted me like a half hour ago that everything was fine.

“Marnie? I’m worried, please answer.” I turn and notice that the basement door is standing open.

My stomach feels sick. I don’t want to go check. Fear grips me, the primal, ancient, childish terror of the dark and everything down below.

But there are no monsters at the bottom of the steps. Only mice and storage bins. I creep closer, heart racing. “Marnie? Are you down there?”

I reach the landing and open my mouth.

Marnie’s at the bottom. She’s lying on her side, one leg twisted at a sickening angle, her knee clearly broken.

Blood leaks around her head like a halo.

Her eyes are open. Her mouth is contorted.

“Marnie… oh god, Marnie!” I take a step forward.

But something stops me.

I twist, thrashing in a panic. Strong hands grip me harder and slam me back. I scream until something nasty-tasting is shoved in my mouth. I catch glimpses of my attacker: big, burly, in all black, with a ski-mask pulled over his face.

“Stop fighting, you fucking bitch, or I’ll do you like I did your dumb fucking friend,” he hisses in my ear. His fist slams into my guts, doubling me over. He grabs my hair and throws me to the floor and jams a knee into my chest, holding me down.

“Please,” I wheeze, mind reeling. Marnie twisted and broken. Hattie sleeping upstairs. What’s going on?

Rafe in this kitchen. His words like a knife.

“Stop fucking struggling or I’ll make sure your cute little girl gets her head cut off.”