Chapter 2: Shadows in the Walk-Up

There are only eight households in this furniture group.

Because this is a newly-relocated walk-up building, not many people have moved in yet.

The whole building has six floors, four units per floor, but only ten households live here, mostly single guys.

On the fourth floor, there are three households: me in 401, the mysterious family in 404, and the regular single guy in 402.

It’s a classic Chicago walk-up, all exposed brick and ancient radiators that hiss in winter. The hallways smell like takeout from the corner gyro place, and the mailboxes downstairs are all dented from the last snowstorm. Most of us are new—single, young-ish, some on tight budgets, some working late shifts, all with our own odd habits.

After 504 questioned it, 402 quickly replied too:

[Don’t overthink it, would he really smother his own son?]

At this point, 601 chimed in:

[Can’t say for sure… A few days ago, I saw the guy from 404 kill a cat.]

My stomach dropped. That wasn’t just weird—that was the kind of thing you read about in true crime threads.

402 sounded shocked: [Don’t freak me out!]

But 302 retorted right away: [So what if he killed a cat? That doesn’t mean he’d kill a person. And anyway, that’s his own son.]

601 quickly clarified with several messages:

[First, I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean he’s got violent tendencies.]

[Second, his relationship with his wife doesn’t seem good, right? I’ve never seen them go out together.]

[And finally, since we’re talking about this, has anyone actually seen his wife?]

That question stumped all of us who were still awake.

I thought hard, and even as his next-door neighbor, I’d never actually seen his wife.

504, 402, and 302—all still up—said they hadn’t seen her either. We all agreed it was pretty strange.

Finally, 302 said: [Why don’t we call the cops?]

But at this point, 504 asked: [Wouldn’t calling the cops without any evidence be wasting their time?]

I’d thought he was the one who wanted to get to the bottom of this the most.

While everyone hesitated, 402 spoke up again: [What’s so complicated? They live right next to me. I’ll just go knock and ask, okay?]

504 replied right away: [Sure, just be careful and see what’s up.]

601 and 302 both told him to be polite—just show concern, don’t accuse anyone.

Reading this, I got even more alert.

My heart started hammering a little harder. My palms were slick. I found myself holding my breath, straining to hear anything through the wall. I couldn’t tell if it was adrenaline or paranoia. Something about the whole exchange made me want to double-check the locks on my door.

There was no way I could sleep, so I rolled out of bed and hurried to the entryway.

Because of a fire escape bend outside my door, the peephole can’t see anyone else’s door.

I didn’t open the door, just pressed my ear to it to listen.

I heard a door close—must have been 402 coming out.

He was polite, didn’t even ring 404’s doorbell, just knocked lightly.

Then, something strange happened:

There was no conversation between them at all.

The silence stretched on. The old wood of the floor groaned, pipes creaked somewhere, but not a word passed between them.

I couldn’t hear 404’s door open, but I heard it close, clear as day.

I couldn’t figure it out.

That’s it?

Were they just talking too softly, or was there another reason?