He grabbed his car keys and followed her at a safe distance, his heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Zoe, with Rex in the backseat, seemed tense. After a ten-minute drive, they arrived at a desolate gas station. George parked across the street, his eyes fixed on Zoe, a bundle of nerves.
For twenty long minutes, she disappeared inside. George’s mind raced with questions. What was she doing? She hadn’t stopped to refuel—what was unfolding inside that quiet, empty building? When Zoe finally emerged, she quickly got into her car and sped away. Thinking quickly, George detoured to a nearby bakery. He needed an alibi, a plausible reason for being absent when Zoe returned home.
His hands trembled slightly as he paid for the bread. The morning’s events kept replaying in his mind, fueling his unease. He felt caught in a mystery with Zoe and Rex at the center. Their home, once a sanctuary, now seemed distant and unfamiliar. Holding the warm, soft bread contrasted sharply with the cold uncertainty gnawing at him inside.
When he returned home, George tried to act normal. He didn’t want Zoe to suspect anything. Yet his mind was consumed by the strange text message and the odd way Zoe had slipped away from the gas station. Unanswered questions surrounded him like shadows—he couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
The following days were tense. Zoe was often gone, and the house felt silent and strange. George tried to maintain normalcy, but it was difficult. Rex’s constant jumping and nuzzling annoyed Zoe, adding to the tension. George felt helpless, watching their once-peaceful life unravel. Unspoken words and lingering questions made every moment feel uncertain.
One afternoon, George came home to an empty house. Zoe was gone again, and Rex sat alone, bored, with a torn couch cushion as evidence of his mischief. George sighed and grabbed a broom. “This isn’t us… this isn’t our life,” he muttered to the silent room.
Just as he began cleaning, his phone rang. He answered, and a low, unfamiliar voice spoke.
“Are you the guy currently looking after my old police dog, Rex?”
George froze. The voice seemed vaguely familiar—someone he might have met through Zoe’s friends. Hesitant, he replied, “Yes, that’s me.”
“Stop with this poking around you’re doing… you’re in over your head, son,” the voice warned before the line went dead.
George stared at his phone, stunned. Who was that caller? And did they know something about the strange events surrounding Rex, Zoe, and himself? “I need some air,” he thought, stepping outside into the cool afternoon, a growing sense of dread settling over him.