Where are you Nasim?

A squeak, a thud, and a heavy rolling sound from upstairs sent alarms blaring in Jocelyn's head. She froze. Couldn't have been Nasim--he should still be at the dinner with pharmaceutical people. Or was that meant to be tomorrow night? Suppressing irrational thoughts, she rested her hand on the marble of the kitchen top. Cold. Her heart knocking against her chest wall, her stomach dropped.

Two steps. She stood in front of the block of knives and hesitated. With a swift action, she drew the steel carving blade and held it with her dominant hand. Icy fear coursed through her veins.

A few more steps and she approached the darkness of the living room.

The luminescent letters of the digital clock announced half past nine. The green light from the security panel indicated that the system had not been activated. It wouldn't be until eleven. A sickening lump formed in her throat.

Wondering about her mobile phone, she reached her free hand up to her moist brow. All silent now in this room and upstairs. Must have left the phone on the sofa earlier that evening.

She stood in the quiet room, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. She made out the shape of the shut front door–reassured it was closed.

Softly she strode towards the landing of the stairs. A bout of a dog barking from the street. She stifled a scream. Kicking off her rabbit slippers, she ascended the stairs with no noise, a jittery hand gripping the smooth wooden railing.

She mounted the last few uneasy steps and headed for the main bedroom. Its door was ajar and the room unlit. Tension built in her shoulders. She halted outside the room and considered her options. Her buttocks clenched, she tightened her grasp on the weapon.

Pressing her ear to the wall, she listened. Outside the house, a gale gathered and a pop suggested the force knocked over a rubbish bin. She swallowed.

Her pulse racing, she peeked into the room. No sign of movement except the fluttering of the floor length curtains. Deciding against turning on the lights, she took ginger steps towards the window. Outside, moonlight shone on the row of parked cars, casting lonely shadows on the road. In the bedroom, one glass panel at chest height opened outwards ten degrees. Did she leave it this way? Trembling, she pulled it closed.

By now, the familiar shapes of the bed and small chest and the dressing tables presented themselves. They looked undisturbed. A deep breath. She felt her goose pimples subsiding, her finger flicked on the room lights. Startled, the knife dropped to the floor.

She rushed to the edge of the bed and lowered her eyes.

On the bed, a two-inched, wafer thin, pale piece of paper rested against the pink sheet. This gave her a sudden, choking sense of dread. A bitter taste in her mouth rose.

Only three printed words mocked her. We have Nasim.

The terror of it was, she remembered typing those words.

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