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"Oh, come on, Cherie," Alexis continues, her voice dropping to a low, melodic taunt. "Married doesn't mean dead. And besides, isn't there something... different about this house? You felt it too, didn't you? The energy? The way the air feels like it’s vibrating?"

Cherie stiffens, her knife pausing over the last apple. "It’s just an old house settling, Alexis. Tyler’s stories are getting to you."

"Is that what it is?" Alexis laughs, looking directly at the corner where you’re hovering. "Tyler didn't tell me any stories. I felt him the moment I stepped inside. I think there’s a man in this house who actually pays attention to what you need, and wants you to pay attention to him. A man who isn't buried in blueprints and car parts."

Cherie reaches for the glass of milk she’d poured, her hand noticeably shaking now. "Stop it. You’re being ridiculous. There is no one else here."

As she pulls the glass toward her, her trembling fingers catch the rim. The glass tips. It slides across the granite countertop, heading straight for the edge. Cherie gasps, her hand flying out too late to catch it.