The Guest House

Carson Liao was the richest man in the world, so of course he was always being watched. Reporters were on him like flies on shit the second he stepped out in public. He had bodyguards, bulletproof windows on his limousines, and a security system so high-tech that anyone who breathed in the direction of his front gate got flagged. 

But this. This was different. This was a nagging feeling, a prickle at the back of his neck. It made him constantly want to glance over his shoulder. He felt it when he was in the back garden giving Gary his weekly check, when he went out to eat, even when he stood next to his bedroom window with the curtains open. He felt like there were always eyes on him, always watching. 

He was waiting in the kitchen for his coffee to finish brewing when he felt it again. He turned to look through the sliding-glass doors that led out to the pool deck, but there was nothing. Carson sighed and shook his head. Maybe he was going crazy, after living alone the past two years. Ever since Meghan left, he’d felt like an unmoored ship, slowly slipping, imprisoned in his massive house of glass and sleek metal.

It was Sunday, so Carson scribbled out a check and went out to the backyard to pay Gary. Gary was a man in his mid-thirties, a nurse. He spent all his time in Carson’s guest house, save for his semiannual week-long vacations. Carson paid him a hefty salary in order to ensure he kept quiet about what went on in that house.

Gary always met him out on the lawn—he knew Carson didn’t like to go anywhere near the guest house. Today was the same as ever. The grass, crusted with morning frost, crunched under Carson’s slippers. He shivered in his bathrobe against the bitter cold air. 

“Good morning, Gary,” Carson said. 

“Good morning, sir.” 

Carson stepped closer to him, discreetly handing over the check with his left hand while he clapped Gary on the shoulder with his right. “Nice weather, isn’t it?” he said, just as he said every week, whether the weather was nice or not.

Gary accepted the check, nodding. “Very nice, sir.”

They both turned and trudged back to their respective residencies. That weekly exchange was more or less the only time they interacted. Carson stayed as far away from the guest house as he possibly could, and Gary kept to himself. 

Back inside, Gary went to open the front door, where he found the Sunday paper waiting on his doorstep. One of the doormen brought it to his door each week. 

Then—there it was again. That feeling that someone, or something, was watching him, something sinister. Carson shut the door quickly and went to his living room to read the paper. He flipped through it and was surprised to see his own face staring back at him:

RICHEST MAN’S CHILDREN STILL MISSING

This week marks the two year anniversary of the disappearance of the twin son and daughter of Carson Liao, well known for being the world’s richest person. Liao, who is known for his great strides in the field of tech, most notably NeuroConnect, the first and only technology that allows people to communicate using only their thoughts. Since its debut three years ago, Liao’s invention has altered life as we know it, from its uses in the American military to controversies about students utilizing it to cheat on tests. Liao skyrocketed to the top of the Forbes Billionaire list just over a year after the product’s release, and six months ago he officially became the world’s first trillionaire. However, despite his wealth, Liao is still experiencing hardship—namely, the mysterious disappearance of his two young children, Rachel and Peter Liao. If they are still alive, the two of them are nine years old. 

It has been rumored that the twins’ disappearance was the reason behind the divorce of Liao and his ex-wife, Meghan Kim, who separated soon after their children went missing. Liao and Kim have neither confirmed or denied this speculation. 

Carson closed the newspaper and placed it on the table, sighing. Had it really been two years? Two years since Rachel and Peter? Two years since Meghan left? Two years since he’d lost his whole family in one fell swoop?

As far as he knew, Meghan hadn’t stopped looking for them. He gave her the money for all the investigations, all the wild-goose chases—it was the least he could do. Meghan was the only one who still believed they were still out there somewhere. Even the police said the trail was cold. That all signs pointed to them being dead.

Carson hated being reminded of his children. He’d done all he could to block their disappearance out of his mind the past two years. To forget. But what he hated almost as much as that was reminders about NeuroConnect. His worst and greatest invention. If people knew the things he’d done in order to create it…

But they didn’t. And God knows Carson would do anything to keep it that way. 

He threw the newspaper in the garbage. 

The rest of the day, Carson couldn’t escape that nagging feeling. It had been happening for a couple months now, but today it was worse, and it was constant. It made him want to jump out of his skin.

That evening, he decided to go out to dinner. Maybe he could escape the feeling then.

He called his assistant, Judith, and told her he wanted to have dinner at his favorite Italian restaurant. His driver, Harry, pulled up in a limousine five minutes later. Carson donned a pair of false glasses and a black bowler hat so he wouldn’t be recognized. 

When the limo pulled out of the driveway, the feeling went away. Carson sighed, leaning back against the cushioned leather. For the first time all day, he relaxed.

Maybe it was the house. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe there were too many ghosts, too many things that haunted it.

“Do you ever feel like you’re going crazy, Harry?”

Harry glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Are you all right, sir? Should I call someone?”

Carson waved him off. “No, no. Forget I said anything.”

When Carson stepped out of the limousine in front of the restaurant, the feeling came back with a vengeance. He looked around wildly, but saw no one out of the ordinary. No one paid him any attention as they passed him on the sidewalk. He shook himself. Perhaps he was really, truly crazy. Another billionaire gone senile.

He walked into the restauraunt. Judith had already made a reservation. The doorman, who knew him, gave him a nod and opened the door. 

And still, even when the hostess had sat him at his table, he couldn’t shake the feeling. He found himself furtively glancing around every couple minutes at the people surrounding him. 

Then, when he’d finished dinner and was standing up to leave, it happened.

A woman walked up to him—tall, slim, with shiny black hair that fell nearly to her waist. Her white blouse was tucked neatly into her black pencil skirt. She was wearing sunglasses that hid her eyes, but Carson would know her anywhere.

“M-Meghan?” he said, stunned. He wondered if he was dreaming. The last time he’d seen her had been the day she moved out. Since then, they’d communicated strictly through emails, and only when absolutely necessary.

“Carson,” she said tightly. She took off her glasses. Her slender eyebrows were furrowed. 

“Um—how are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” she said coolly. 

Carson sat back down in his chair, gesturing to the seat across from him. Meghan sat.

She paused, then said, “I’ve hired a new detective. The other one wasn’t helpful at all.”

“Oh,” said Carson. “Well. All right.”

“You don’t seem very interested.”

Carson sighed. “I am. I am interested. I just—I don’t want you to get your hopes up, is all.”

Meghan folded her arms. “You really don’t think we’ll ever find them?”

Carson shifted in his seat, avoiding her eyes. “It’s been two years, Meghan. There’ve been no clues, no sign of them at all. I’ve got all the resources in the world, and we still haven’t been able to locate them. If they were out there, I think they would’ve been found.” 

“You’re saying they’re dead.” 

Carson sighed again. “I’m not saying anything.” 

Meghan leaned towards Carson. Her eyes were dangerous. “Do you know how long it takes for a missing person to be legally presumed dead in the state of California?”

“I—”

“Five years, Carson. Five years.”

Carson sat up straighter in his seat, leaning in. He wanted—no, needed—her to give up. If she didn’t give up, he would never have peace, knowing she was still out there looking for them. “Meghan, you need to stop this. They’re gone, all right? I’ve accepted it. I’m trying to move on. I think it would do you good if you tried to move on, too.”

Meghan narrowed her eyes at him, then stood up.

“Meghan, wait—”

“We’re done here,” she said shortly. She turned and walked out of the restaurant without another word.

It wasn’t until she was gone that Carson thought to wonder about the odds of the two of them winding up in the same restaurant at the same time.

He shook himself. It was probably nothing. Just a coincidence. He tried to push their whole conversation out of his mind. 

Carson texted his driver to pick him up in front of the restaurant. When he got home, he walked up to the front door of his mansion, and that’s when he felt it again. It was like he could feel a pair of eyes searing into the back of his skull, burning twin holes straight through his head. He whirled around, scanning the area nearby. Nothing. Just darkness. 

He went upstairs to his bedroom and turned on the shower. While he was waiting for it to warm up, he took off his hat and glasses and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t like what he saw. His eyes were tired. His jet-black hair was graying at the temples. The past two years had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit.

When the shower was hot and steaming, he stepped inside, allowing the pounding water to drown out his thoughts. He didn’t know how long he stayed in there—it could have been minutes, hours, days—but when he finally stepped out, he realized there was an alarm going off in the house.

What the hell?

Still dripping, Carson hurriedly wrapped a towel around his waist and opened the bathroom door. The alarm was blaring so loud, it was a wonder he hadn’t heard it in the shower. He listened for a moment—it wasn’t the fire alarm.

It was the security alarm.

He’d just had this thought when he heard someone behind him. He spun, heart racing, to find a woman holding a gun to his head. 

She was breathing heavily, her hair was disheveled, and there was a wild look in her eyes.

It was Meghan.

“What the—Meghan? What are you doing?”

“That man put up a good fight,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. Her previously clean blouse was spattered with—was that blood? “Only you would hire a hospice nurse who was also a trained combatant.”

Carson just stared at her in total shock, trying to register what was happening. “What?”

“I paid a visit to your guest house, Carson. Want to know what I saw?”

Carson shook his head. A sick feeling of dread crept up his spine. No. This had to be some sort of hallucination, maybe a manifestation of his paranoia. She couldn’t have been in the guest house. How would she have known to look in the guest house?

He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to get away with it. He should’ve known it would be risky to keep them this close to him.

He should’ve known that when you test an invention on your children until it renders them brain-dead, it’s better to just pull the plug.

“How could you?” she said.

“Meghan, put the gun down, let’s talk about this—”

“How could you?” she screamed, and Carson fell silent.

His last, delayed thought before Meghan pulled the trigger: she found them.