Chapter 3 - Six Percent
At first, Nora told herself the bottles must still be on the dresser.
They were not.
She checked the bathroom cabinet, moving slowly because the room shifted whenever she stood. The shelves held toothpaste, bandages, vitamins, and Jason’s unopened pain reliever.
Every prescription bottle with her name on it was gone.
She called Jason.
The screen displayed No Service.
That made no sense. Their neighborhood had reliable coverage. Nora moved toward the window, raising the phone as if a few additional inches might find a signal.
Nothing changed.
She tried the Wi-Fi.
The network had disappeared.
Nora opened Jason’s laptop, but it asked for a password she did not know. The home telephone produced no tone.
She returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to slow her breathing.
Rachel would arrive soon.
The nurse Jason had arranged would know what to do.
At nine o’clock, no one came.
At ten, the house remained silent.
Nora forced herself downstairs one step at a time. Her knees shook. She kept both hands on the railing and rested after every third step.
On the kitchen counter, she found a note in Jason’s handwriting.
Tea is in the bedroom. Food is in the refrigerator. Rest. Love you.
The refrigerator was dark.
Nora opened it and felt no cold air.
The lights did not work.
She turned the kitchen faucet.
Nothing came out.
Fear became certainty.
She went to the front door and turned the deadbolt.
It did not move.
She pulled harder.
The lock remained fixed.
The back entrance would not open either. Several windows had been fastened so tightly that she could not raise them.
“Jason?”
She called his name even though she knew he was gone.
Her voice sounded small inside the powerless house.
She looked through the front window toward Tessa Ward’s home next door. Tessa’s car was missing. She had mentioned visiting her sister for the weekend.
Jason knew that too.
Nora struck the glass with her palm.
No one passed outside.
She considered breaking the window but could barely lift the dining chair. Her arms felt disconnected from the rest of her body.
She searched for something heavy, then remembered the old emergency phone.
Years earlier, after a winter storm, Nora had purchased a cheap prepaid phone and placed it inside the kitchen junk drawer. Jason had laughed at her for being overly cautious.
She crawled across the tile when standing became impossible.
The drawer stuck.
Nora pulled until it opened, spilling batteries, tape, pens, receipts, and forgotten keys across the floor.
The emergency phone lay beneath an old flashlight.
She pressed the power button.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the screen glowed.
Six percent battery.
Nora dialed 911.
The first call connected, but the dispatcher’s voice broke apart.
“Emergency services. What is your location?”
“My name is Nora Hale. I’m locked inside my house. My medication is gone.”
“What is the address?”
“Fourteen eighty—”
The call dropped.
Nora tried again.
Five percent.
No connection.
She dragged herself closer to the back window and held the phone against the glass.
The third attempt rang.
A different dispatcher answered.
“Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”
“Nora Hale,” she said quickly. “Fourteen eighty-two Hawthorne Lane. My husband locked me inside. I need medication. Please.”
“Are you injured?”
“I’m sick. The power and water are off. I can’t open the doors.”
“Stay on the line.”
The screen flashed four percent.
“Please hurry.”
“Officers are being sent to Hawthorne Lane. Can you reach an exit?”
“No.”
“Is your husband in the house?”
“He left.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“The airport.”
The signal weakened.
“Nora, listen to me. Help is coming.”
The phone went dark.
Nora remained on the kitchen floor, one hand wrapped around the useless device.
Minutes passed.
Or perhaps an hour.
Without the clocks, she could not tell.
She heard a car somewhere outside and tried to shout, but her voice barely carried beyond the kitchen.
Her body began to feel cold.
Nora thought of Jason filling the pill organizer.
She remembered the care with which he had placed each tablet into the compartments. He had not been preparing her medication.
He had been performing a scene.
Someone watching from the bedroom doorway would have believed he was a devoted husband.
Someone investigating later might have believed Nora had misplaced the pills herself.
The thought brought a sudden burst of anger.
Nora pulled herself toward the table.
She found a pen and wrote on the back of Jason’s note.
He took them.
She underlined the words.
He took my medication.
A distant siren rose and faded.
Nora was no longer certain whether it was real.
Then someone pounded on the front door.
“Police! Is anyone inside?”
Nora tried to answer.
Only a breath escaped.
The pounding continued.
A second voice came from the back of the house.
“Fire department!”
Nora struck the leg of the kitchen table with the emergency phone.
The sound was weak, but it was enough.
“We hear you!”
The rear entrance shook.
Wood cracked.
Light entered the kitchen as firefighters broke through.
A woman in a dark uniform rushed toward Nora.
“Stay with me. What’s your name?”
“Nora.”
“Where is your medication?”
“My husband took it.”
The firefighter looked toward the handwritten note beside Nora’s hand.
“Who is your husband?”
“Jason Hale.”
“Where is he?”
Nora closed her eyes.
“He said he was going to the airport.”
As paramedics lifted her onto a stretcher, one of the police officers searched the dark house.
He returned carrying a small object wrapped in a cloth.
May you like
It was a camera.
The red recording light was still blinking.
