Rain pounded against the window, the wind howling to drown out the screams. It went exactly as planned; nobody suspected a thing. They stepped outside, the rhythmic drumming of the storm washing over the blood staining their hands, faces, and clothes.

Methodically, they stripped. They washed the fabric until the fibers were raw and scrubbed the house until the air smelled of nothing but bleach and mountain rain. The perfect murder. The perfect crime scene. They had their alibi; they had their excuse. It was done. The house was finally theirs.

No evidence. No blood. No DNA. Only the silence remained.

They were fine with that.

The phone sat between them like a third sibling neither of them wanted.

It was still damp outside, the storm thinning to a steady drip from the eaves. Morning light crept into the kitchen, pale and unforgiving. Jen sat at the table with her hands folded so tightly her knuckles ached. She hadn’t slept. Every sound still felt too loud, every quiet too intentional.

“Do it,” she said, her voice flat.

Sam didn’t look at her. He picked up the phone, then put it back down. His thumb hovered over the screen as if it might burn him.

“What if they hear it?” he asked.

“Hear what?”

“Anything.” He swallowed.

She leaned back, exhaled slowly. “You’re worried about the wrong thing. Just say she didn’t come home. That’s all.”

He nodded, once, like he was agreeing with himself more than her.

The call connected faster than he expected.

He straightened instinctively, pacing as he spoke. His voice came out steadier than it felt, shaped by years of answering teachers, coaches, neighbors—people who expected him to be normal.

“Yes. Hi. I’m calling because my mom… she didn’t come home last night.”

Jen watched him closely. Every syllable landed like a dropped glass, waiting to shatter. But it didn’t. The words moved forward, one after another, ordinary and unremarkable.

“She said she’d be back. She always texts. She didn’t.”

A pause. Listening. Nodding.

“No, nothing like this before.”

Another pause.

“Yes. We checked with family.”

He glanced at his sister then, and for just a moment his eyes flickered with something raw—panic, maybe, or relief that it was already happening.

“Okay. Yes. We’ll be here.”

He ended the call and stood there, phone still pressed to his ear, as if the voice might come back and accuse him.

“It’s done,” he said.

Jen nodded. “Good.”