Three days later, Marcus came home from work with dust on his sleeves and a cut across one knuckle.
I noticed immediately.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That's blood.”
He looked down.
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“It’s a scratch.”
I grabbed the first-aid kit.
“Sit.”
He obeyed.
That surprised me.
“You're getting better at listening.”
“I'm learning.”
I cleaned the cut.
He watched without saying anything.
“Did you climb something?”
“No.”
“Lift something?”
“No.”
“Then how?”
“Old metal bracket.”
I wrapped the wound.
“You need gloves.”
“I have gloves.”
“Wear them.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
I glared at him.
He smiled.
Liam came running into the kitchen.
“Did you get hurt?”
“Barely.”
“Mom says you're supposed to wear gloves.”
“Your mother is very persuasive.”
Liam nodded solemnly.
“She is.”
That evening, Marcus told us about the laundry room.
Mr. Henderson had asked him to inspect the dryer vent.
Marcus had found lint packed deep inside the duct.
“That could have started a fire,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Why wasn't it cleaned?”
“Because nobody had checked it.”
“How long?”
Marcus shook his head.
“Hard to say.”
“What did Mr. Henderson do?”
“Called someone.”
“Good.”
Marcus nodded.
“He was embarrassed.”
“Did he say so?”
“No.”
“But you could tell.”
“Yes.”
The next morning, Marcus asked me to walk with him to the laundry room.
“Why?”
“I found something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Come see.”
The laundry room was empty.
The dryers were silent.
Marcus crouched beside the wall behind the machines.
“There.”
I saw nothing.
He pointed.
A section of drywall near the baseboard had been patched poorly.
“What about it?”
“That's not a plumbing patch.”
“How do you know?”
“The material.”
He touched it.
“Someone covered an opening.”
“Why?”
“That's what I'm trying to figure out.”
He carefully removed the loose edge.
Behind it was a narrow cavity.
Inside were wires.
Several of them.
Old ones.
Some had been capped.
Others disappeared deeper into the wall.
I stepped backward.
“Is that dangerous?”
“It could be.”
He didn't touch them.
Instead, he photographed the opening.
“I'm calling Mr. Henderson.”
He did.
The landlord arrived twenty minutes later.
When he saw the wall, his face changed.
“You knew about this?”
Mr. Henderson frowned.
“No.”
Marcus pointed.
“These wires aren't part of the current laundry circuit.”
“Can you tell what they are?”
“Not safely.”
“Then don't touch them.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
Mr. Henderson stared into the wall.
“Why would anyone put these here?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I don't know.”
I looked at him.
He seemed unsettled.
Not frightened.
Focused.
“What?”
He pointed farther inside.
“There.”
I leaned closer.
A small metal box sat behind the wires.
It had a faded label.
I couldn't read it.
Marcus could.
He went still.
“What?”
He didn't answer.
Mr. Henderson looked at him.
“What is it?”
Marcus crouched lower.
“An old monitoring relay.”
“For what?”
“I don't know yet.”
He stood.
“Don't let anyone disturb this.”
Mr. Henderson nodded.
Then he looked at me.
“Chloe, take Liam somewhere else this afternoon.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know what's behind that wall.”
That was enough.
We left.
For the first time since Marcus had entered our lives, I saw genuine concern in his face.
“What do you think it is?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don't want to guess.”
That evening, Mr. Henderson called.
He said an electrician would inspect the wall the following morning.
Marcus listened.
Then he asked one question.
“Was this wiring installed before the current electrical system?”
Mr. Henderson hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Marcus thanked him and hung up.
I watched him.
“What?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because the building was renovated eight years ago.”
“So?”
“So old systems were supposed to be removed.”
I felt cold.
“Supposed to be?”
“Yes.”
The next day, the electrician arrived.
He spent nearly two hours tracing the wires.
When he finally came upstairs, his face was serious.
“Those lines were part of an old building-control system.”
“What kind?”
“Access monitoring.”
Mr. Henderson frowned.
“Security?”
“Possibly.”
Marcus asked, “Cameras?”
The electrician shook his head.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Old sensors. Door contacts. Motion detectors.”
I looked at Marcus.
He looked back.
“Were they supposed to be removed?”
The electrician shrugged.
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“I wasn't here during the renovation.”
Mr. Henderson looked irritated.
“Can you remove them?”
“Not without opening more walls.”
Marcus nodded.
“Then don't.”
The electrician looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because we need to know where every line goes first.”
That afternoon, Marcus spent hours making a diagram.
He marked the laundry room.
The rear stairwell.
The basement.
The lobby.
The apartment hallway.
I stood behind him.
“You think they connect?”
“I think they might.”
“To what?”
“I don't know.”
He circled the basement.
“There's something here.”
“What?”
“An old junction.”
“Can we open it?”
“Not without permission.”
“Then ask.”
He looked at me.
“You're getting bold.”
“I've had a good teacher.”
He smiled.
The following morning, Mr. Henderson gave permission.
Marcus opened the junction box.
Inside were wires labeled with faded numbers.
One number appeared repeatedly.
217.
Marcus stared at it.
“What?”
He didn't answer.
“Marcus.”
He looked at me.
“Your apartment.”
I frowned.
“What about it?”
“Your apartment number is 217.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“That doesn't mean anything.”
“No.”
He pointed to another wire.
“Neither does this.”
Then he pointed to a third.
“Or this.”
All three carried the same faded marking.
217.
Mr. Henderson went pale.
“That can't be right.”
Marcus looked toward the ceiling.
“Where do those lines run?”
The electrician traced them.
One went upstairs.
Another went toward the old service shaft.
The third disappeared behind the basement wall.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Marcus said, “We need to see what's behind that wall.”
Mr. Henderson swallowed.
“Tomorrow.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Tonight.”
The landlord stared at him.
“Why?”
Marcus pointed to the wire.
“Because whatever was connected to this wasn't abandoned accidentally.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Hidden Wiring Led Toward Apartment 217, and the More Marcus Traced It, the Less Comfortable I Became About Who Had Lived There Before
The Stranger Beneath the Grocery Store Light Wasn’t Asking for Money, but My Son’s Question Made Walking Away Impossible
Part 6 of 12
