Part 1: My neighbor X screamed at me that shouting could be heard from my house every day, but I lived alone and worked from eight to six. The next day, I pretended to leave, hid under the bed, and listened as someone entered, walking as if she owned my life. I closed my eyes to keep from breathing. My bedroom door opened. And the voice that came from the speaker made my blood

-Yes – the woman said-. And the worst part is, she didn’t go to work today.
Mark’s voice fell silent. I felt the dust under the bed clog my throat. I couldn’t cough. I couldn’t move a finger. My eyes were glued to the black shoes of that woman standing half a meter from my face. —What do you mean she didn’t go? —
Mark asked. It was his voice. The same voice that told me “go to sleep, my love” when I cried after the funeral. The same voice I heard in the last voicemail message before the accident. The same voice that had been repeating in my head like a prison sentence for two years. -I saw her leave —she said—. But her car isn’t at the office. I checked. She didn’t clock in. And her neighbor is being nosy again. -Then check the house.
My heart stopped. The woman walked toward the closet. She opened the doors. She moved my coats. She checked the bathroom. Then she came back to the bedroom. —She’s not here.
Her heels pivoted toward the bed. I closed my eyes. I had never prayed so hard in silence. The woman crouched slightly. I saw her hand press onto the mattress. Her perfume drifted under the bed: expensive flowers and hidden cigarettes. I gripped my phone against my chest, ready to call 911 even if she discovered me.
Then, a knock sounded on the gate. – Laura! -The woman stood up abruptly. – Damn old hag – she whispered. Mark spoke from the speaker: — Get out. Now. Don’t risk anything. -And the audio? — Leave it programmed. It needs to sound louder today.
The woman left the bedroom. I heard quick footsteps. A drawer in the living room opened.
An electronic beep. Then the front door closing. I didn’t move until I heard the main gate of the gated community close. Then I crawled out from under the bed with my legs numb and my body soaked in cold sweat.
I ran to the living room. On the bookshelf, behind a photo of Mark and me in Central Park, was a small black speaker. It wasn’t mine. I had never seen it before. It had a memory card plugged in and a blue light blinking. I ripped it off with trembling hands. A woman’s voice came out. A scream. Then another. Then my own voice. —