Chapter 2I Am Deaf-Mute, And Learned His Scheme Through Smart Glasses

My hand shook so violently I almost dropped the doorknob.

Memory flooded back to an hour ago. I had picked up the package containing these glasses at the delivery locker and put them on immediately.

I lived on the neglected outskirts of town.

To get home, I had to walk through a pitch-black, narrow alley without streetlights.

The moment I entered the alley, text had appeared on the lenses:

“Thump, thump, thump (Footsteps).”

It was impressive technology, capable of picking up sound cues. I found it novel, so I softened my pace.

Yet the glasses kept transcribing.

Then, the words shifted:

“Bro, she’s almost home.”

I had turned around, but the alley behind me was empty. I assumed the sound came from behind the courtyard walls along the path, so I paid it no mind.

It wasn't until I reached my building and passed under a streetlamp that I noticed two shadows stretched out on the pavement behind me.

Someone had stalked me all the way to my front door.

And that person was standing right on the other side of the frame.

I dug my fingernails into my palms, forcing myself to stay composed.

I had already picked up the trash bag. I had to open this door, or they would know something was wrong.

Grit my teeth, I pulled the door open.

The hallway sensor light flickered on, revealing a dark figure standing right on the threshold.

A thick, heavy hand reached out directly for my throat.

My heart stopped beating.

The next second, the hand grabbed my wrist gently and held a phone screen in front of my eyes.

[Where are you going?]

Relief flooded my chest as I recognized the phone cover. It was my boyfriend.

Before I could process it, he gently guided me back inside and seated me at the dining table.

He typed quickly:

[I’ll take out the trash. Drink your medicine and rest. You're sick.]

He was as gentle and attentive as always.

Seeing him turn toward the door, panic seized me again. I grabbed his sleeve.

We couldn't separate now.

I typed back frantically:

[Babe, I want to go out for tacos instead.]

I didn't dare tell him about the killers in the house, terrified he might react recklessly and provoke them.

[You have a cold. Let’s do it another day. I brought your favorite braised pork ribs, I’ll heat them up for you.]

[No, today is our anniversary. We need to celebrate properly.]

He reached out and gently ruffled my hair.

[You usually hate eating out. What’s going on with you tonight?]

Tears stung my eyes.

Even though he was a few years older, he had always taken care of me with meticulous patience. Two sentences in, and he already knew something was off.

Just as I opened my mouth to figure out how to warn him, alarm bells suddenly shattered my thoughts.

My boyfriend always used spaces instead of punctuation marks when texting.

Always.

The man sitting in front of me had typed every single comma and period with flawless precision.

This man was not my boyfriend.