Suffering from years of mental and emotional abuse, love becomes a painful memory for Samantha Campbell. Burying herself in her work at the wealthiest publishing company in the small town of Kismet, she tries to hide from her past. Once the handsom...
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Samantha Campbell
Whenever I'm alone, every noise sounds ten times louder. Every creak, every thud, every drip, echoes through my ears, sounding louder than my own heartbeat. My two-story townhouse is in what could be considered a nice neighborhood and checks all the necessary boxes in security. Nothing is spooky or stands out in any negative way, but It's more of a feeling, a vibe I get when I'm walking around. The house is not haunted, and I do not live on any sacred burial ground. There isn't a warrant for my paranoia, just a cold hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.
What's worse than being alone in a big house, is being alone in the basement of a big house. I practically live down here based on how often I'm washing clothes. That's why I've made it my mission to make it as homely as possible. A small flat-screen TV, a bright bumblebee table lamp, light yellow walls, and brand-new white shelves, are just some of the additions I've added. Looking at cute things like the bumblebee lamp gives me some relief. When I'm washing clothes, I'm safe. I'm not an interior designer but I like to think that my small touches here and there are turning my house into a home.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. Folding near the dryer is not the best place to be, I might have to change where the folding station is. I turn the TV on and let whatever pops up play. A thriller I have never seen comes on and shows a young woman walking into a creepy house. It looks like she is trying to investigate a murder and is getting clues from the crime scene without knowing that the killer is there waiting for her.
It's surprisingly entertaining for a straight-to-TV movie. I don't know any of the actors but the lead is pretty damn convincing when she is fighting off the villain. I get so engrossed in the movie that I don't take my eyes off the screen until it cuts to a commercial. Dumping a bunch of clean clothes out of my laundry basket and onto my long folding table, I grab a pair of Tom Ford dress pants off the top of the pile. As I start to fold, my diamond wedding ring gets stuck to a loose thread.
"Shit, Daniel's going to kill me!"
My husband, Daniel, is a huge fan of all things luxury. Watches, shoes, sunglasses, suits, he loves to get everything designer and doesn't settle for anything he considers mediocre. I used to think it was endearing that he cared about his clothes and had a sense of style but now it seems like any little thing can set him off. A wrongly handled shirt or pair of pants can cause him to sulk for days. No matter how many times I try to calm him down, his temper is not something I'm ever fully equipped to deal with.
I carefully untangle the ring and let out a sigh of relief when I manage to detach it. I look over his precious pants to make sure I didn't damage them in any way when I feel something in the front pocket. I dig inside and take out a crumpled piece of paper. I figure it's nothing important and am about to toss it in the waste bin when I see the enormous price. How could three thousand dollars be charged to Daniel's card and I not know anything about it?
As I stare at the crumpled paper, I feel a wave of dread flow through me. The astonishing price of three thousand four hundred dollars is printed next to an undisclosed item at an unfamiliar company called Ember. The word ember has a distinct look because the E has flames coming out of it and the R at the end has a tail. What could he be spending that kind of money on and what the hell is Ember?
The washer beeps loudly behind me to signify the end of its cycle, startling me from my thoughts. I put the receipt in my pocket and start to take the wet clothes out of the washer. The house phone starts ringing which makes me jump.
"Oh my god, I have to stop watching this," I say, frustrated by my own jumpiness. I think I need to lay off the thrillers until I can successfully stop scaring myself. Maybe watching a movie about a killer home alone was not the best idea. I wipe my wet hands on my jeans and switch off the TV before I run up the steps to the kitchen. I get to the phone as soon as it starts to beep to record a message.
"Hello," I say breathlessly into the phone.
"Sammy..." Daniel greets me affectionately, the nickname making me smile.
I walk to the stainless-steel stove and take out the lasagna I made for dinner.
"Hey honey, how is everything at work?" I ask enthusiastically, curious to know how he is.
"Good. It's been a bit hectic at the firm, but nothing I can't handle."
I cradle the phone between my neck and shoulder. "That's good, I know you've been stressed with that new case."
As I turn on the oven fan, the smell of onions mixed with cheese and tomato sauce blows into the air. The alluring aroma makes me want to dig in immediately. I reach into the cupboard, take out two plates, and set them on the counter.
"I called your cell. Seems like you're busier than me today. What took you so long to answer the phone?" He asks accusingly, his even tone shifting.
I dig my hands in my pocket and realize I left it charging upstairs. "Oh, I'm sorry, I left my phone in the bedroom."
"Where were you before I called?" He demands, waiting for an answer.
"In the basement. Doing some laundry before I—"
"Come on Sammy! There are outlets in the basement. What if it was something important?" He says cutting me off.
"I know, sorry. I'll get it right now—" I apologize, my body rigid and stiff.
"It's fine. Listen, I won't be able to make it to dinner tonight."
"Really?" I look at the lasagna and the two plates I had just set out. "I made your favorite."
"I have to finish up with some important clients, you can just put mine in the fridge. Don't wait up for me." He pauses some with the word "clients", but I try not to notice.
"Keep your phone with you in case I need to reach you." He reprimands.
"Okay..." My voice comes out wobblier than I want it to.
He hangs up without a goodbye and I stand there stunned for a minute. I place the phone back on the receiver and lean against the kitchen counter. What am I doing? When did he start talking to me like that and when did I start letting him? I grab one of the plates and put it back inside the cabinet. The whole time I felt like I couldn't say anything. This couldn't be normal, to feel like I was walking on eggshells all the time. Daniel is complicated. Being a lawyer is a tough and time-consuming job. He's under a lot of pressure and sometimes he takes it out on me. I want to be there for him...I just don't know how to be.
I go back down the steps to the basement and throw the rest of the clothes in the dryer. Part of me just wants to tell myself to be more understanding. I don't know when this became my daily mantra, but I've been using it constantly. Something hasn't been right in my marriage for a long time. After four years, it's become evident that I need to determine what I'm willing to put up with and what I can't take anymore.
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