Chapter 3 - The Ghost at the Door
“Clara? Please, open the door. It’s me.”
The voice was unmistakably Ethan’s. Warm, familiar, carrying that slight southern drawl he picked up during his childhood in Georgia. It was the voice that had whispered sweet nothings in my ear on our wedding day, the voice that sang silly lullabies to Lily when she was a baby.
My hand hovered over the lock.
“Mrs. Caldwell? Are you still there?” the 911 dispatcher’s voice crackled sharply through the phone speaker. “Do not open that door! Police units are two minutes away!”
“My husband,” I breathed into the phone, my mind spinning into a vortex of confusion and terror. “My husband... he’s outside my bedroom door.”
“Ma’am, did you not just say a stranger was in your daughter’s closet wearing your husband’s ring?”
“Yes! But that’s—that’s Ethan out there!”
“Clara, I know you’re confused,” the voice from the hallway called out again, sounding distressed now, almost pleading. “The police are coming, aren't they? I heard you on the phone. Please, just open the door and let me explain. I can fix this. I swear I can fix all of this.”
“Daddy?” Lily piped up from the edge of the bed, her big eyes wide with a child's innocent hope. “Is Daddy back from his trip?”
“Stay back, Lily,” I whispered fiercely, stepping in front of her.
“Ethan Caldwell?” I called out toward the door, my voice cracking. “If you’re really Ethan, prove it. What was the name of the restaurant where we had our first disastrous date?”
There was a brief pause on the other side of the wood. Then, a soft, self-deprecating chuckle came through.
“The Blue Crab Shack,” Ethan answered immediately. “Where the waiter spilled an entire tray of iced tea directly into my lap, and you laughed so hard you choked on your hushpuppy.”
A cold shiver washed over me. No one else knew that story. Not my mother, not his coworkers, not even our closest friends. It was an inside joke between just the two of us.
If the man outside was Ethan, then who the hell was the man hiding in Lily’s closet? And why was a total stranger wearing my husband’s wedding ring and living among my daughter’s stuffed animals for fifty days?
“Clara, please,” Ethan urged, his tone shifting from pleading to urgent. “The police are going to storm the house. When they see him, and when they see us... everything is going to fall apart. You have to trust me, just like you always have. Open the door.”
Before I could answer, a loud wail of police sirens pierced the rainy night outside. Red and blue lights began to flash against the bedroom window, casting eerie, dancing patterns across the ceiling.
Downstairs, the front door rattled under heavy boots.
“Portland Police Department! Open up!” a booming voice echoed through the lower level.
“Stay in the room, Mrs. Caldwell!” the dispatcher commanded over the phone. “Officers are inside the house.”
In the hallway, I heard Ethan swear softly under his breath. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, followed by sharp shouts.
“Police! Don’t move! Put your hands behind your head!”
“Wait, I live here!” Ethan’s voice shouted back, laced with panic. “I’m the homeowner! My wife and daughter are in that bedroom—”
“Get on the ground! Do it now!”
A scuffle broke out in the hallway. Wood splintered against the wall, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.
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“Mommy!” Lily screamed, bursting into tears as she threw her arms around my waist.
I didn't care about the locked door anymore. I threw the deadbolt, wrenched the handle open, and stepped out into the hallway, my phone still clutched tightly in my hand.
