My Husband Locked Me in the Basement for His Mistress

Emberly called me into the kitchen at noon. I was scrubbing the bathroom tile. I heard her voice through the door.

"Luella. Come here."

I rinsed my hands. I dried them on my pants. I walked to the kitchen.

She sat at the island with a magazine open in front of her. Her hair was pulled back in a silk scrunchie. She wore a cashmere robe. She looked up when I came in.

"I need you to do something for me," she said.

I stood with my hands folded. "Yes, Ma'am."

She slid a piece of paper across the marble. "I've been reading about prenatal nutrition. The baby needs the very best. I made a list."

I looked at the paper. It was covered in her handwriting. Herbal teas. Vitamin regimens. Specialized supplements with names I didn't recognize.

"There are stores in the Village that carry this stuff," she said. "I'll give you money. You'll go every week and get everything on the list. Fresh. No substitutes."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She leaned back in her chair. She was watching my face. Her eyes were bright.

"I know it's a lot," she said softly. "But the baby needs it. You understand."

The word hung in the air between us. Baby.

I kept my face blank. Empty. I had practiced this in the mirror at the Retreat until I could hold it for hours.

"Of course, Ma'am," I said. "I'll begin today."

She smiled. She picked up her magazine again. "Good. And Luella? Make sure you prepare everything exactly as written. I'll know if you don't."

"Yes, Ma'am."

I took the list with both hands. I walked back to the basement. I sat on the cot. I read every line.

Red raspberry leaf tea. Nettle infusion. Folic acid compound. Dong quai extract. Black cohosh tincture.

I folded the paper. I tucked it into my pocket.

That night I lay on the cot and stared at the ceiling. The fluorescent light buzzed. I thought about the list. I thought about the word baby. I thought about the two tiny booties hidden under my mattress.

I didn't cry. I stopped crying a long time ago.

But I started planning.

---

The package arrived three days later. I was taking the trash to the service hall when I saw it. A small cardboard box sitting on the maintenance office counter. The label said it was lightbulbs. Replacement parts for the building's emergency system.

No one was in the office. I looked down the hall. Empty.

I picked up the box. I carried it downstairs. I locked the basement door behind me.

I opened the box on the cot. Inside were lightbulbs. I lifted them out. Underneath was a smaller box wrapped in black foam.

I unwrapped it carefully. Two small devices. Each one smaller than a matchbox. Cameras. Micro-cameras. Disassembled. There was a folded paper with instructions. No words. Just diagrams.

I studied them. I memorized the steps. I burned the paper in the bathroom sink and washed the ash down the drain.

That night I waited until the apartment was silent. Cassian and Emberly went to bed at eleven. I waited until midnight.

I climbed onto the cot. I reached up and unscrewed the smoke detector from the ceiling. It came down easily. I opened the back panel.

The first camera fit inside perfectly. I connected the wires like the diagram showed. Red to red. Black to black. I closed the panel. I screwed the detector back into place.

I stepped down. I looked up. It looked exactly the same.

I went upstairs. The kitchen was dark. I moved without sound. I had learned to walk like a ghost at the Retreat. They beat you if they heard you.

I climbed onto the counter. I reached up to the exhaust vent above the stove. I unscrewed the grate. The second camera went inside. I connected it the same way. I replaced the grate.

I climbed down. I wiped the counter with my sleeve. No footprints. No marks.

I went back to the basement. I locked the door. I lay on the cot.

Four minutes. That's all it took.

Now everything Emberly did in the kitchen would be recorded. Every word she said. Every cruelty she performed. Every lie she told.

And the basement camera would catch the rest.

I closed my eyes. I thought about the list in my pocket. The supplements she wanted. The teas and tinctures and extracts.

I would make them exactly as written. And then I would add my own ingredients. Things she wouldn't taste. Things that would work slowly. Things that would destroy the lie she was building one cell at a time.

She wanted me to feed her baby. Fine.

I would feed it poison.