The air suddenly went cold. A single sound, the turning of a doorknob, severed the deafening silence. The girl crouched, waiting in the dark, narrow closet, her mind numb with fear. This is it, she thought. This is it. They're going to find me and they're going to kill me.

Jenna’s secret was safe. She was sure of it. No one could have figured out what she knew--or what she did. She had kept her mouth closed and was just waiting until time was up, until it was over and she was safe. Safe. Jenna repeated the word in her head. It produced somewhat of a bitter taste in her mouth. Something that was desperately sought after, yet at the moment seemed painfully unobtainable. She wasn’t really safe at all. Not since she’d taken the job two weeks ago.

Two weeks and three days to be exact. April 4th. It was a seemingly insignificant day. Jenna’s roommate, a college student like herself, woke up at eight in the morning, gathered her books, and left for class, just like any other morning. Jenna, however, wasn’t due for a lesson until 2:30 that afternoon as it was a Tuesday, and that’s how Tuesdays were.

This particular Tuesday at around 10:00, when she tied her long, brown hair in a ponytail and left the house to check the mailbox, she happened to run into the new neighbors. A man and a woman. No children, no pets, no family. She didn’t learn much about them--only that their names were John and Sandra and that they had moved from San Antonio a month prior and didn’t know anyone here. They were going back to their home for two weeks to pack and move the rest of their possessions and needed someone to house-sit for them. So she took the job. It wasn’t a difficult decision. Fate had rendered her unemployed at the moment and she could barely afford to buy food for herself, much less pay for bills or college. Besides, John had offered to pay her $80 a day. All she had to do was collect their mail and newspapers, water their plants, and keep the doors locked while she was gone. She would start the following Monday. Jenna hardly thought twice about it.

That was her first mistake.

The first week of house sitting went well. Jenna watered the plants in the morning, took in the newspaper, checked for mail, and then left for school with plenty of time to spare.

The second week, on the other hand, didn’t go quite so smoothly. On Friday at about 1:00, she received a text from Sandra notifying her that they would be home later that day, rather than on Sunday. No problem, she thought. I won’t earn as much money, but it’s no problem.

After replying to the text, she traipsed up the stairs to water the plants on the windowsill of the second level. At the top of the landing, there was a wide, open hallway that led to a loft, mostly bare with a few boxes and a single desk. Past the desk, there were four doors, two that went into bedrooms, and one for a bathroom. She knew this because Sandra had given her a quick tour the previous week before they’d left. The fourth door, however, had been closed and she knew nothing about what it concealed other than the fact that Sandra had told her not to open it.

“It’s just a storage closet,” she recalled Sandra saying, tucking her short, black hair behind her ears, “there are no plants or anything in it, so don’t bother going in there.” She’d heeded those words and ignored the door for the past week. But today, strangely enough, the door was slightly ajar. A pale blue light escaped the opening, not unlike one from a computer or television screen. As she leaned towards the door to shut it again, thinking it must have been blown open by some gust of wind, or perhaps wasn’t closed all the way, she noticed something move out of the corner of her eye. A flash or blinking of some sort. Without hesitation, she pulled the door open and peered inside. Jenna gasped.

The room, while tiny, was brimming with papers, photos, and newspapers, all pinned haphazardly to cork boards that covered every inch of wall space. Colorful thumb tacks were sprinkled about the cork boards and lengths of yellow yarn connected each point. It looked like something straight out of a detective movie.

Pressed against the far wall of the room was a small, old-fashioned TV, only about 15 inches in length, but square and bulky. It was on. A muted news channel played on the screen, the anchor mouthing indistinguishable words. Jenna turned the sound up.

“...a description matching these people, call 911 immediately. Do not engage. These people are highly dangerous and likely armed.” A picture flashed across the screen. It was blurry, and by the angle and resolution, looked as though it was taken from a security camera. A tall man and black-haired woman were seen briefly ducking out of a gas station and disappearing behind the building.

“...haven’t been seen in two weeks. They were last sighted in San Antonio, before escaping police after being accused of the murder of two adults.” It didn’t take long for Jenna to put the pieces together. The newspapers on the wall, Sandra’s black hair, San Antonio. Her heart raced as she tried to wrap her mind around the situation. Snapping herself out of her daze, she fumbled around for her cell phone. Her fingers trembled as she dialed 911. She relayed the situation to the operator who told her to stay where she was and wait for the police.

That was her second mistake.

Little did she know, John and Sandra had arrived in the neighborhood only a few minutes prior. The sirens had alerted them that they needed to evacuate quickly, and when one is faced with a dire situation as such, one would first think to gather their most valuable possessions. For John and Sandra, that would, of course, be their lives’ work of careful planning, scheming, and strategy.

The very same planning and scheming that just happened to be pinned to the walls of the very closet Jenna was crouched inside of.

Thump, thump. Her heartbeat sped up and pounded against her ribs.

Jenna gasped as she heard the garage door beneath her feet rumble and begin to open. She heard a distant but unmistakable turn of a doorknob. The creak of a door as it swung open and a loud slam as it fell shut again. Footsteps marching slowly up the stairs, down the hallway, and then pausing outside the door.

Thump, thump.

Suddenly, a flood of light blanketed the room, and Jenna, blinded by the brightness, squinted her eyes and defensively pulled her hands up over her face. Through her fingers, she could make out two figures looming above her. The hand of one rose slowly, almost as though it was pointing at her, condemning her of some wrongdoing. A swift CLICK echoed through the room, the cocking of a gun. A wave of terror flooded Jenna’s chest. Her heart pounded relentlessly in her throat. She was frozen with fear, staring up the barrel of a gun.

Before she had time to think, or speak, or beg for mercy, there was a deafening BANG, and then silence.