Chapter 7 - THE BASEMENT MEMORY
The reality of his nightmare settled into Marcus’s bone marrow. For eighteen months, he had lived with the crushing guilt that he had failed to save his wife from her own mental darkness. He had accepted the police report, signed the death certificates, and spent countless sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, asking himself what he had missed.
It hadn't been depression. It had been murder.
And the murderer was currently standing outside, holding the digital keys to his house, controlling his environment like a twisted scientist observing mice in a lab.
"Daddy, I'm scared," Lily whimpered, hiding her face in his jacket.
"Shh, baby, I know. I know," Marcus whispered, backing away from the front entryway into the darkened hallway. He needed to think. He needed to find a physical way out that bypassed the smart home automation.
The house was a modern timber and concrete construction. The exterior walls were reinforced, but the old foundation beneath the kitchen belonged to the original 1920s farmhouse that had stood on the land before Marcus had bought it and built the modern structure over top.
The basement.
Marcus looked down the dark corridor toward the heavy oak door that led to the lower level. It was the one door in the house that had not been fitted with a smart lock—a heavy, traditional brass deadbolt that operated purely on physical mechanics.
"Marcus," Clara’s voice chimed through the ceiling speakers again. "I've called the police. I told them you're having an acute psychotic break brought on by grief. I told them you're holding Lily hostage with a knife in the kitchen, threatening to hurt her like you hurt Sarah."
"You sick, twisted bitch!" Marcus roared, turning toward the nearest ceiling speaker.
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"The police are six minutes away," Clara continued, her tone chillingly casual. "When they breach the front door and see you holding that terrified child in the dark, what do you think they will do, Marcus? They know your history. They have your medical files from after Sarah's funeral. Who do you think comes out of this alive?"
Marcus didn't waste another second screaming. He sprinted down the hallway, pushed open the oak basement door, step into the pitch-black stairwell, and slammed the heavy door shut behind him.
