Chapter 2 - The Camera Alexander Wanted
The door opened before Marcus could hide.
Alexander stepped inside.
He stopped when he saw another man standing beside my hospital bed.
For one terrible second, nobody moved.
Marcus still had one hand hovering above the blanket.
The small black camera sat between my injured legs, half hidden beneath the folds of the hospital sheet.
Alexander's eyes dropped.
I grabbed the sheet and pulled it higher.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
His attention returned to my face.
"I could ask you the same thing about him."
Marcus straightened.
"I'm the guy who pulled your wife out of the fire."
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"I know who you are."
"Good."
"Then you know visiting hours are over."
Marcus gave a humorless laugh.
"Funny. They weren't over when you brought half her family in here to interrogate her."
"Marcus," I said quietly.
He looked at me.
I needed him calm.
More importantly, I needed Alexander not to realize what was under the blanket.
Alexander closed the door.
That bothered me.
He had entered like an angry husband.
Now he was behaving like someone who wanted privacy.
"Can you leave us alone?" he asked Marcus.
"No."
"This is between my wife and me."
"You threatened to divorce me twenty minutes ago," I said.
Alexander flinched.
Good.
At least something could still reach him.
Marcus folded his arms.
"I'll stay."
Alexander looked ready to argue, but footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Maria appeared behind the glass panel in the door.
Alexander changed immediately.
His shoulders relaxed.
His voice softened.
"I just wanted to make sure you're okay."
I almost laughed.
"Then you should've tried that before making me kneel."
His eyes flicked toward the hallway.
"Keep your voice down."
"Why?"
"Because people can hear you."
That sentence told me more than he intended.
He wasn't worried about me.
He was worried about what people might hear.
Maria opened the door.
"Everything okay?"
"Perfect," I said.
Alexander stared at me.
Maria clearly didn't believe either of us.
"You need rest."
"I'll leave," Marcus said.
My stomach dropped.
Then he casually reached down as though adjusting the blanket.
His hand disappeared beneath it.
A moment later, I felt something hard pressed against my thigh.
He had hidden the camera under the sheet.
"I'll check on you tomorrow," he said.
Alexander watched him walk out.
Maria followed after giving me a look that promised she'd be nearby.
The door closed again.
Alexander and I were alone.
Ten years together had taught me every version of his silence.
I knew when he was angry.
When he was embarrassed.
When he was afraid.
This was different.
He was calculating.
"What did he want?"
"He saved my life. Maybe he wanted to see whether I was alive."
"What did he give you?"
My heartbeat stumbled.
"Nothing."
"I saw him standing beside the bed."
"So?"
"Why was his hand near the blanket?"
"Maybe because unlike my husband, he was checking whether the woman he pulled out of a burning building needed anything."
Alexander stepped closer.
"Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"Turn everything into evidence against me."
I stared at him.
"You carried Joyce out."
"She was closest to the exit."
"I was six feet away."
"You were trapped."
"And she wasn't."
"I didn't know how badly she was hurt."
"She was standing."
"There was smoke everywhere."
"You saw me."
His face tightened.
"I made a decision."
"Yes."
I felt tears rising but refused to let them fall.
"You did."
Alexander looked away.
For one second, I thought I saw guilt.
Then it vanished.
"Joyce told us what happened."
"Joyce lies."
"Why would she?"
That question almost hurt more than the fire.
"That's what I intend to find out."
His eyes returned to mine.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm done defending myself to people who've already convicted me."
"Police are going to ask questions."
"Good."
"You could be arrested."
"Then they should investigate."
His expression changed again.
"You're being reckless."
"No. I'm finally being careful."
He moved toward the chair beside my bed.
I tensed.
The camera was still hidden beneath the blanket.
Alexander sat.
"Listen to me."
"I've listened to you for ten years."
"This isn't about us."
"It became about us when you left me to burn."
"I didn't leave you to burn."
"Did you come back?"
Silence.
"Did you?"
"I thought emergency crews were coming."
"But did you come back?"
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
I nodded.
"That's what I thought."
He stood abruptly.
"Joyce could have died."
"So could I."
"She said you pushed her."
"And I said she locked me inside."
"There's no proof."
My fingers tightened beneath the blanket.
There was now.
Maybe.
If the camera survived.
Alexander moved toward the door.
Then stopped.
"There's something else."
I waited.
"The venue's insurance company contacted me."
"Why you?"
"I'm listed on the wedding contract."
"So am I."
"They said investigators found evidence of an accelerant."
My entire body went still.
"Gasoline?"
"They haven't confirmed what kind."
"So I was right."
"That doesn't prove Joyce started it."
"I never said it did."
He stared at me.
He realized his mistake.
I hadn't accused Joyce of starting the fire during this conversation.
Yet he had defended her anyway.
"Interesting," I whispered.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Alexander reached for the door.
Then he looked back.
"If Marcus gives you anything from the venue, don't touch it."
My heart began pounding.
"Why?"
"Because the building is evidence."
"How do you know Marcus took something?"
Alexander froze.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
"I don't."
"You just told me not to touch anything he gives me."
"I was speaking hypothetically."
"No, you weren't."
He opened the door.
"Get some sleep."
"Alexander."
He stopped.
"Why did you come here?"
He didn't answer.
He walked out.
I waited until his footsteps disappeared.
Then I pulled the camera from beneath the blanket.
It was smaller than my palm.
Black housing.
Partially melted along one corner.
There was no obvious screen.
I turned it over.
A memory card slot.
Empty.
My stomach dropped.
The camera didn't matter without its storage.
Unless it had transmitted somewhere else.
Maria returned five minutes later.
"He's gone."
"Can you lock the door?"
She looked at me.
"Please."
She locked it.
I showed her the camera.
Her eyebrows rose.
"Marcus found this?"
I nodded.
"Alexander was looking for it."
"Are you sure?"
"No."
Then I remembered his warning.
"Actually, yes."
Maria examined the device without touching it.
"You need police."
"Not yet."
Her expression hardened.
"You're injured. Someone may have intentionally started that fire."
"And my husband somehow knew evidence was missing."
"That's exactly why you need police."
"I need to know what's on this first."
Maria thought for a moment.
"My brother repairs security systems."
I looked at her.
"Can he access it?"
"Maybe. But if this becomes evidence—"
"I won't alter anything."
She exhaled.
"I'll call him."
Her brother's name was Gabriel.
He arrived forty minutes later carrying a laptop and wearing a Chicago Fire Department sweatshirt.
Maria had apparently told him enough to make him come immediately.
He examined the camera.
"This isn't a normal standalone unit."
"What does that mean?"
"It stores locally, but it also has wireless backup."
Hope surged through me.
"Cloud?"
"Maybe."
He turned it over.
"Depends how the venue configured it."
"The memory card is missing."
"I noticed."
"Can you recover anything?"
"If the internal chip survived."
He connected the camera to his laptop.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
A small indicator flashed.
Gabriel leaned closer.
"That's good."
I watched the screen.
A folder appeared.
Then disappeared.
He cursed softly.
"What?"
"Corrupted connection."
"Can you fix it?"
"Probably."
Probably felt like oxygen.
For the next twenty minutes, Gabriel worked silently.
Maria checked my blood pressure twice.
I barely noticed.
Finally, a directory opened.
Four video files appeared.
Three were unreadable.
One had a timestamp.
5:39 PM.
Twenty-one minutes before my ceremony.
"Open it," I whispered.
Gabriel hesitated.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
He clicked.
The screen went black.
Static.
Then an image appeared.
Storage 4B.
The same room where I had nearly died.
The angle was high, looking down from a corner.
At 5:39, the room was empty.
5:40.
Nothing.
5:41.
The door opened.
A woman entered.
White dress.
Blonde hair.
Joyce.
My hands began shaking.
She carried a large wedding gift bag.
Joyce closed the door.
Then she did something strange.
She looked directly at the camera.
Not accidentally.
Directly.
"She knew it was there," Gabriel said.
Joyce dragged a chair beneath the camera.
She climbed onto it.
Her face came close to the lens.
Then the video distorted.
"What's happening?"
"Someone interfered with it."
The image returned.
Joyce was on the floor again.
The gift bag was gone.
She walked toward the west wall.
Then another person entered.
A man.
My breath caught.
His face was outside the camera angle.
Dark trousers.
White shirt.
He handed Joyce something.
A bottle.
She unscrewed it.
Gabriel paused the video.
"What is that?"
I stared.
Clear plastic.
About a gallon.
Liquid inside.
"Keep playing."
He did.
Joyce poured a thin line along the bottom of the west wall.
My stomach turned.
The man remained near the door.
Watching.
Then Joyce stopped.
She looked toward him.
Even without audio, their familiarity was obvious.
He stepped closer.
His left hand entered the frame.
A watch.
Silver case.
Black leather strap.
I knew that watch.
I had bought one exactly like it.
For Alexander's thirtieth birthday.
"No," I whispered.
Gabriel paused.
"You recognize him?"
I couldn't answer.
The man stepped farther into frame.
Not enough to reveal his face.
But enough to show his left wrist again.
And his wedding cufflink.
The cufflinks I had given Alexander that morning.
A.
For Alexander.
I stopped breathing.
Maria put a hand over her mouth.
"No."
Gabriel looked at me.
"Is that your husband?"
"I don't know."
But I did.
I knew his shoulders.
His hands.
The way he stood.
Ten years.
You learn someone's silhouette after ten years.
The video continued.
Joyce handed the bottle back.
The man left.
Joyce remained.
She climbed onto the chair again.
Reached toward the camera.
Static swallowed the screen.
Then the footage jumped.
5:52 PM.
Empty room.
Gabriel leaned back.
"That's all."
"No."
"There might be recoverable fragments."
"Find them."
"It could take hours."
"I have hours."
Maria looked worried.
"You need sleep."
"I need the truth."
Gabriel began scanning the corrupted sections.
At 3:16 a.m., he found audio.
No image.
Just twelve seconds.
Static crackled through the speakers.
Then Joyce's voice.
"...after she signs it."
A man's voice answered.
Too distorted to identify.
Joyce again.
"She won't sign if she knows."
Then the man:
"She doesn't need to know."
The recording ended.
"Signs what?" Maria asked.
I remembered something.
Our wedding paperwork.
Alexander had brought me several documents that morning.
Venue forms.
Insurance.
Business paperwork.
He had joked that marriage involved more signatures than buying a house.
I had signed almost everything without reading carefully.
Because I trusted him.
A cold realization spread through me.
"My business."
Maria frowned.
"What about it?"
I owned a design company.
Small, but successful.
Two years earlier, a national retailer had started carrying my products.
The company was worth more money than my family knew.
Alexander knew.
He handled some of our financial planning.
"What did you sign?" Gabriel asked.
"I don't know."
My phone.
I needed access to my accounts.
Maria brought me a hospital tablet.
I logged into my email.
There were hundreds of wedding messages.
Congratulations.
Photos.
Notifications.
Then I found an email from my attorney.
Sent yesterday morning.
SUBJECT: URGENT — OWNERSHIP TRANSFER DOCUMENT.
My pulse accelerated.
I opened it.
The message was short.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My attorney was asking why I had requested paperwork transferring controlling interest in my company into a newly created marital trust.
I hadn't requested anything.
Attached was a document.
My signature appeared at the bottom.
Except I had never signed it.
Or maybe I had.
Hidden among wedding paperwork.
"What is it?" Maria asked.
"They tried to take my company."
"Who?"
I stared at Alexander's name.
He was listed as trustee.
But there was another beneficiary.
The name was partially obscured by the damaged file preview.
J. H.
Joyce's last name was Harper.
My hands turned cold.
This wasn't just an affair.
This wasn't just jealousy.
If I died after signing those documents, Alexander would control everything.
And Joyce would benefit.
Gabriel suddenly leaned toward his laptop.
"Wait."
"What?"
"I recovered another fragment."
The video returned.
Only four seconds.
The man in the storage room was leaving.
His face still wasn't visible.
But something fell from his pocket.
A small silver key.
STORAGE 4B.
The same key found among my belongings.
Someone had planted it on me after the fire.
My mind raced.
Who had access to me while I was unconscious?
Paramedics.
Hospital staff.
My family.
Alexander.
Joyce.
My father.
Katrina.
"Save everything," I said.
Gabriel nodded.
"Already copying it."
A notification appeared on the hospital tablet.
New email.
No sender name.
No subject.
I opened it.
One sentence.
YOU'RE LOOKING AT THE WRONG MAN.
My blood went cold.
Another message arrived immediately.
THIS WAS PLANNED BEFORE ALEXANDER EVER MET YOU.
Then a photograph loaded.
Old.
Faded.
Taken approximately ten years ago.
Alexander stood outside my college apartment.
Beside him was Joyce.
And beside Joyce stood someone I recognized instantly.
My father.
There was writing across the bottom of the photograph.
Three words.
ASK YOUR FATHER.
Before I could speak, someone knocked on the locked hospital door.
Maria looked through the glass.
Her face went white.
"Who's there?" I whispered.
She slowly turned toward me.
"Your father."
Then another shadow appeared behind him.
A woman stepped into view.
May you like
Joyce.
And she was holding the missing memory card.
