Chapter 3

"You didn't touch it, did you?"

"N-no!" I stammered, my voice shaking. "As soon as I realized something was wrong, I called 911."

He nodded, giving a few quiet instructions to the female officer.

She nodded back and led me to the side, while he stepped away to call the precinct for backup.

"Take it easy," she said gently, pulling out a notepad. "Just tell me what happened from the beginning."

I took a shaky breath, doing my best to lay out the timeline and how I had stumbled upon the hand.

As my disjointed explanation went on, the officer's expression grew increasingly grim.

"You're saying Michael brought this box home on... April Fools' Day?"

"Yes. He loves playing pranks on me. He'd never miss a chance on April Fools'."

"And when did he leave for his business trip?"

"The very next morning."

The two officers exchanged a quick, heavy look.

At that exact moment, my stomach dropped, and a terrifying wave of foreboding washed over me.

"Is there a problem?"

The female officer didn't answer me directly.

Instead, she asked me to show them exactly where the hand had been kept.

They took photos of the closet and strictly warned me not to clean or touch anything else in the house.

During the process, the male officer’s phone rang.

He kept his voice incredibly low as he spoke, but a few fragmented words still managed to drift over to me.

"...Surveillance... nobody... still can't reach him..."

When he hung up, his face was noticeably more severe than before.

"Gina," he said, suddenly using my name. "Are you absolutely certain he brought this home on the night of April first?"

I blinked, caught off guard.

"Yes, I'm certain. He brought it back that night and I even rolled my eyes and called him childish."

The female officer closed her notepad, her eyes fixed on me.

"Our colleagues just checked the security footage from your neighborhood.

“The cameras show that no one entered your house on April first."

My brain went completely numb.

"That’s impossible! Michael comes home every single day. How could the cameras miss him?" I cried out.

"He even brought home groceries for the next day! All the local vendors around here know him!"

Halfway through my outburst, the horrifying reality of what I was saying caught up to me.

If Michael hadn't come home... then who was the person who had stayed with me all night?

The thought hit me like a physical jolt of electricity.

"No... that's impossible... it can't be..."

I began pacing frantically around the living room, babbling incoherently.

I dug my fingernails deep into the back of my hand, tearing the skin until it bled, completely numb to the pain.

The two officers looked at each other, a flicker of doubt and suspicion crossing their eyes.

The female officer stepped forward, gently taking my hands into hers.

"Please, try to calm down. We aren't saying we don't believe you.

“We've already sent a team to contact your husband. Right now, the priority is figuring out…"

The mention of Michael only made me spiral further.

I gripped her hands back with terrifying tight desperation.

"I called him so many times! He wouldn't pick up! And then his phone went dead!

“Is my husband the killer? Did he do this?"

"Mrs. Miller," the male officer interrupted sharply. "You need to calm down."

"How can I calm down?! Where is the person this hand belongs to? Are they dead? Were they murdered? Am I going to be next?"

My knees buckled and I sank to the floor, burying my head in my arms as my entire body convulsed with terror.

Right then, the male officer suddenly extended his phone toward me.

The screen showed an active call.

I recognized the number instantly. It was Michael's.

Then, a sickeningly familiar voice drifted out from the speaker.

"Babe? I'm on my business trip. I was stuck in back-to-back meetings.

“Don't be scared, okay? The officer already told me everything…”