The Dead Man's Dog

Elena watched her husband across the breakfast table, the way his jaw worked mechanically as he chewed. Three years of marriage and Marcus had become a zombie—present, breathing, but hollowed out by whatever happened at that consulting firm. She'd stopped asking about his work months ago.

"You're staring," he said, not looking up from his phone.

"Just thinking." She poured more coffee. "Barnaby needs walking."

"The dog can wait. I have a meeting."

Barnaby, their golden retriever, thumped his tail against the floorboards. He was the only living thing in the house that still seemed glad to see her.

That afternoon, Elena found herself at the community center pool, swimming laps she'd promised herself she'd start months ago. The water silenced everything—the judgment from her mother about Marcus's long hours, her friends' babies, the way Marcus sometimes pulled away from her touch in bed. She cut through the water, counting strokes, until her muscles burned.

In the locker room, her phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number had left a voicemail.

"Ms. Chen? This is Detective Reynolds. We're hoping you can answer some questions about your husband's activities. We have reason to believe he's been selling proprietary information to a competitor. We know about the Cayman account."

Elena sat on the bench, water dripping from her hair onto the concrete floor. A spy. In their beige suburban life. Marcus, the zombie, had been wide awake all along.

She drove home aimlessly, passing their street twice. Barnaby was waiting at the door when she finally walked in, and for the first time, she understood why he followed her room to room. Dogs knew things.

"He's a good boy," Marcus said, coming up behind her, his hands on her shoulders like nothing had changed. "Loyal. That's rare."

Elena turned to face him. The zombie was gone. In its place was something worse: a stranger she'd been sleeping beside for three years.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me?" she asked.

Marcus smiled, and Elena realized that sometimes the dead don't know they've died, and the living don't know they've been buried alive.