Chapter 2: Accused by the Living, Haunted by the Dead

The night after Savannah died, the police showed up at my door.

The knock was sharp, official. I opened the door to see two officers in uniform, their patrol car’s lights flashing blue in the parking lot. My stomach twisted into a cold knot. I gripped the doorframe for balance.

They said, “Marcus Franklin, we need you to come with us to answer some questions about your wife’s death.”

The words just hung there, heavy and unreal. I blinked, trying to make sense of them. Murder? My wife? I couldn’t even process it.

My eyes went wide. “Someone said I murdered her? How could I kill Savannah? She was my wife! Who’s accusing me?”

My voice was hoarse, panic rising. I looked from one officer to the other, searching their faces for answers. The younger one shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting away.

The neighbors were just as shocked. “What’s going on? Is this a mistake?” someone called out, voices anxious and confused. I felt all their eyes on me.

Mrs. Jenkins poked her head out of her apartment, mouth open in disbelief. A few others gathered in the hallway, whispering and clutching their robes, eyes wide with fear and curiosity.

“Marcus and his wife were so close. They never even fought. How could he have killed her?”

Old Mrs. Carter from downstairs piped up, shaking her head. “He doted on her, everyone saw it.”

The two officers exchanged a glance. After checking my ID, they asked me to come down to the station. My hands were shaking as I grabbed my coat.

The older officer, with a thick beard and a stern, businesslike face, said, “This is just questioning. We still need to investigate what happened. We hope you’ll cooperate.”

His tone was calm but unyielding, the kind that brooked no argument. I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment settle on my shoulders. My chest felt tight.

I nodded. “Of course I’ll cooperate. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

My voice shook, but I forced myself to stand tall. I wasn’t about to run—not when I knew I was innocent. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself.

Before leaving, I asked the officers to wait a moment. I walked to our dresser, picked up our wedding photo, and kissed her forehead in the picture. “Wait for me, honey. I’ll be back soon.” My voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. Please, just wait for me.

The glass was cool under my lips. I whispered the words like a promise, hoping she could hear me, wherever she was. My heart ached in my chest.

At the station, I finally saw the person who’d accused me of murder. My hands clenched into fists as I waited, my mind racing.

The interrogation room was cold and bright, the kind of place that makes you feel exposed. Across the table sat a girl, barely more than a kid, her clothes threadbare and her hands clenched tight in her lap. She looked so young, lost in that big chair.

But her eyes were big and bright, and she looked no more than eighteen or nineteen. There was a stubbornness in her posture, like she’d made up her mind about me before I’d even opened my mouth.

Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and there was a fierce determination in her gaze. She looked like she’d seen too much for someone her age. I wondered what kind of life had put that look in her eyes.

I was about to ask who she was and why she was accusing me, but she spoke first. Her hand trembled as she pointed at me. “It’s him. He killed Savannah.” Her voice was small, but it didn’t waver.

Her voice was thin but unwavering. I stared at her, trying to place her face, but nothing came to mind. A chill ran down my spine, cold and sharp.

She said her name was Emily Carter. She kept her eyes down, barely glancing at me, like she was afraid of what she’d see if she looked too long.

She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, voice barely above a whisper. There was something haunted in her posture, like she was carrying a burden too heavy for her small frame. I almost felt sorry for her.

She bit her lip and said, “Savannah never loved you.”

The words stung more than I expected. I clenched my fists, trying to keep my temper in check. I wanted to demand answers, but the pain in her eyes gave me pause. What did she know that I didn’t?

I couldn’t hold back. “What are you talking about? If she didn’t love me, why did she marry me? I don’t have a car, no savings, just one run-down apartment that isn’t worth much! We got married because we loved each other!” My voice cracked with desperation.

My voice echoed in the small room. I could feel the eyes of the officers on me, waiting to see if I’d break. I tried to hold on to my dignity, even as my world spun out of control. My hands shook in my lap.

Emily glanced at me, her eyes full of pity. “Because Savannah wanted your life.” The words hung in the air like a storm cloud.

She said it so softly, I almost didn’t hear her. But the words hit me like a slap. I stared at her, my mind reeling. Could that really be true?

All three of us—the two officers and I—froze. “What did you say?” I could barely breathe.

The silence stretched, thick and tense. I could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, the distant buzz of a phone at the front desk. The world felt far away.

Emily quickly grabbed the water in front of her and gulped it down, then took a deep breath. She looked up, meeting my eyes for the first time. I saw something hard and sad in her gaze.

Her gaze was steady now, and there was something steely in it. She set the empty cup down with a shaky hand. I swallowed, waiting for her to go on.

“I said, Savannah wanted your life.” The words sounded final, like a door slamming shut. I felt my hands go numb.

The words echoed in my ears, impossible to shake. I felt the room tilt, the ground shifting beneath me. Everything felt unsteady.

Emily told us Savannah had a lover named Tyler Carter. Emily was his younger sister. My head spun as I tried to process it.

She spoke with a mix of anger and sadness, her voice thick with emotion. She glanced at the officers, as if daring them to contradict her. Her jaw set, determined.

She said that a few years ago, Tyler was diagnosed with heart disease. He needed expensive treatments every single day just to keep going, just to stay alive.

Her voice broke a little as she described her brother’s illness—the hospital visits, the bills piling up, the endless waiting rooms. I could see the pain etched into her face. I felt a pang of sympathy.

“So, Savannah didn’t see any other way but to scam people through marriage. Every time, she’d marry someone and take most of their assets to pay for my brother’s medical bills.”

She wiped at her eyes, frustration and grief tangled together. “She didn’t want to, but she felt trapped. Tyler was all she had.” Her voice trembled.

I hesitated. “But I don’t have any money.” My voice was barely a whisper, the words almost lost in the room.

The words sounded hollow even to me. I looked down at my hands, rough and callused from years of work, and wondered what I could possibly offer. What did she want from me?

Emily looked at me. “You’re different. You don’t have money, but your heart is a match for my brother. So…” She trailed off, her voice catching.

She trailed off, voice trembling. The implication hung heavy in the air. I felt a cold sweat break out across my forehead, my stomach twisting.

She didn’t finish, but the meaning was clear to both me and the officers. I could feel the tension in the room ramp up.

The older officer shifted in his seat, jaw clenched. I could see the gears turning in his head, trying to make sense of it all. He looked at me, then at Emily.

I protested, “No way. Savannah told me she loved me. How could she… want my… my life?” My throat tightened around the words.

My voice was barely more than a whisper. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath my feet. My whole body trembled.

Emily gave me a complicated look and stayed silent. Even the officers’ eyes were filled with sympathy. I felt smaller than I ever had before.

She looked away, biting her lip. The silence in the room was suffocating. I wanted to scream, to shake her until she told me it was all a lie. But I just sat there, paralyzed.

I shook my head, muttering to myself, “No way. No way. You’re lying.”

The words tumbled out, desperate and hollow. But deep down, a part of me wondered if she was telling the truth. Doubt crept in, slow and relentless. My heart pounded.

Even though I kept saying it couldn’t be true, deep down I was already halfway convinced. I felt a cold, sick certainty spreading through me.

My mind flashed back to every strange look, every half-finished sentence, every night Savannah spent staring out the window. The puzzle pieces started to fit together, and I didn’t like the picture they made. Not one bit.