Come Through….part 2
Geneva screamed.
“NO—!”
But her husband didn’t pull out a gun.
He pulled out his phone.
Patrick tensed anyway, shoulders tight, ready for whatever was next. Geneva clutched her daughter harder, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Her husband’s crazy smile never left his face as he lifted the phone and turned the screen toward Patrick through the cracked door.
On the screen…
…was a picture of Patrick.
A clear one.
Patrick standing outside a corner store in a gray sweatsuit, looking down at his phone like he had no idea anyone was watching him.
Patrick’s face changed instantly.
“What the fuck?”
Geneva felt like all the air left her body.
“No…” she whispered.
Her husband chuckled, low and ugly.
“Yeah.”
Patrick stepped closer to the door, eyes locked on the screen.
“Why you got a picture of me?”
Her husband tilted his head.
“Because I knew you’d show up eventually.”
The room went ice cold.
Geneva stared at him in horror.
“What are you talking about?”
He ignored her completely, eyes fixed on Patrick like Geneva wasn’t even there anymore.
“You think you the first one?” he asked.
Patrick’s jaw tightened.
“The hell is that supposed to mean?”
Geneva’s daughter was crying harder now, her little fingers clutching Geneva’s shirt. Geneva backed away from the door, shaking, every instinct screaming at her that this had gone way past messy.
Her husband laughed again.
“See, that’s the thing about lonely women. They all think they sneaky. They all think they smart. One little text. One little smile. One late-night call. Same script every time.”
Geneva’s stomach dropped.
“Every time?”
He finally looked at her.
And the look in his eyes made her blood run cold.
“You really thought I didn’t know what you been doing?” he said softly. “I know everything, Geneva.”
Patrick looked at her sharply.
“What he mean by everything?”
Geneva shook her head, panicked.
“I don’t know—”
“Yes, you do,” her husband cut in. “Tell him.”
“Stop it,” she whispered.
“Tell him.”
Patrick’s voice turned hard.
“Geneva.”
Tears welled in her eyes now.
“He… he put a tracker on my car.”
Patrick stared at her.
Geneva kept talking, words tumbling out fast, ugly, trembling.
“He knew where I was. Every time. He knew who I was around. He knew when I left work, when I went to the store, when I went to my sister’s house. I thought it was just the location sharing but—”
Her voice cracked.
“He’s been following me.”
Silence.
Even her husband stopped smiling for a second.
Patrick looked at Geneva, then at the man in the doorway, and something dangerous settled over his face.
“You stalking her?” Patrick asked quietly.
Her husband’s smile came back.
“She’s my wife.”
Patrick’s expression didn’t change.
“That ain’t what I asked.”
Another beat of silence.
Then the husband slowly held the phone up again.
Swipe.
Another photo.
This one was Patrick walking into a gas station two weeks ago.
Swipe.
Another one. Patrick outside the barbershop.
Swipe.
Another one. Patrick laughing with someone outside his job.
Patrick’s face went still. Too still.
Geneva’s breath caught in her throat.
“Oh my God…”
Her husband looked pleased now.
“I told you. I know everything.”
Patrick spoke slowly.
“You been watching me?”
“Not just you.” He shrugged. “Any man that get too close.”
Geneva felt sick.
“How many?”
Her husband looked at her and smiled wider.
“You don’t wanna know.”
That answer landed like a body on concrete.
Patrick moved in front of Geneva without even thinking, putting himself between her and the cracked door.
“Step away from this door,” he said.
The husband’s eyes darkened.
“Or what?”
Patrick leaned in closer, voice low and deadly.
“Or I forget there’s a child in this house.”
“Patrick, no!” Geneva cried, terrified.
But her husband wasn’t looking at Geneva anymore. He was looking at Patrick like he’d found exactly what he wanted.
A challenge.
A reason.
A target.
Then he said something that made Geneva nearly drop to her knees.
“You remember the black Charger that kept circling your block last week?”
Patrick’s face changed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
Geneva saw it.
Her husband grinned.
“Yeah. That was me.”
Patrick went silent.
“You remember when your tire was low two mornings ago?” the husband continued. “That wasn’t a nail.”
Geneva gasped.
“Are you insane?”
He ignored her.
“Remember when your apartment building cameras went out for two hours Friday night?”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed.
Her husband leaned closer into the crack of the door and whispered—
“I could’ve touched you whenever I wanted.”
Geneva’s daughter started wailing now. Loud. Terrified. The kind of cry that makes your soul ache.
That snapped Geneva out of it.
“No.” Her voice shook, but it was stronger this time. “No more.”
Both men looked at her.
She adjusted her daughter on her hip, tears streaming now, but her face had changed. The fear was still there… but underneath it?
Rage.
The kind that only comes when a woman realizes she’s been living inside somebody else’s trap.
Geneva walked straight up to the door.
Patrick reached for her.
“Geneva—”
She held her hand up.
“No.”
She looked her husband dead in his face through the cracked opening.
“You done?” she asked.
He blinked, thrown off.
“Excuse me?”
“You done performing?”
His smile twitched.
Geneva’s voice got colder. Sharper.
“You tracked me. Followed me. Took pictures of him. Watched my house. Terrorized me in front of my child. And somehow you still think you got power here.”
He stared at her.
For the first time all night… he didn’t look amused.
Geneva leaned in just enough so he could hear every word.
“You should’ve never let me see how scared you really are.”
That hit him. Hard.
His whole face darkened.
“You think this funny?”
“No,” Geneva said. “I think you’re pathetic.”
Patrick’s eyes flicked to her.
Even through the fear, even with her child crying, even with her hands trembling—
She meant that.
Her husband’s expression twisted.
“You got real bold with company in there.”
Geneva stared right back.
“No. I got bold because I’m tired.”
And before either man could react—
She slammed the door as hard as she could against the security latch, making him stumble backward off the step.
Then she turned the deadbolt.
Then the chain.
Then grabbed Patrick’s arm with wild eyes and whispered—
“Call the police.”
Patrick didn’t move.
He was staring at the family photo hanging on the wall by the door.
A photo Geneva had been too drunk, too distracted, too panicked to realize was still there.
Her.
Her daughter.
And her husband.
But there was someone else in the photo too.
Standing beside her husband.
Smiling.
Patrick’s face went pale.
Geneva looked from him to the picture.
“What?”
Patrick’s voice came out barely above a whisper.
“…Why is my brother in your wedding photo?”
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