I Am Deaf-Mute, And Learned His Scheme Through Smart Glasses

I was born deaf and mute. My entire relationship with my boyfriend existed through typed messages on our phones. Wanting to surprise him on our anniversary, I secretly bought a pair of high-tech glasses that transcribed ambient speech into real-time text directly onto the lenses. While waiting for him to get off work, I decided to try them on in the bathroom after my shower just to admire myself. I never expected two lines of text to flash across the display: “Bro, when are we moving in?” “Don't rush. Wait till she comes out. Be careful this time. We can’t end up playing her to death like the last one!” 1 At first, I thought the glasses were malfunctioning. But the next two transcribed sentences sent me plummeting into an icy abyss. “Man, when she was trying on outfits earlier, I could barely hold myself back!” “It was just a nurse costume. Get a grip, you pathetic bastard!” Reading those words, a terrifying chill shot from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my head. Today was my one-year anniversary with my boyfriend. Besides the glasses, I had bought a seductive nurse outfit, hoping to give him an unforgettable night. I never dreamed that while I was trying it on, two twisted predators were hiding inside my home. The fact that they dared to communicate so openly meant they knew I was deaf and mute. It also meant their presence here was no random act of violence. It was a calculated ambush. “Bro, you talk big, but you were drooling too...” “Shut your mouth!” “Heh. She’s gorgeous and her body is insane. Shame she’s a mute and can’t scream. Still, way better than that kindergarten teacher from a few days ago!” The kindergarten teacher! My knees went weak, and I nearly collapsed onto the wet tiles. A few days ago, a young female teacher in the industrial district was brutally raped and murdered. Her naked body had been covered in horrific wounds, her fingernails caked with wood splinters. Before being strangled to death, she had endured unspeakable torture. The killer was still at large, plunging the entire city into panic. I never imagined these two monsters hadn't fled the city. Worse, they had chosen me as their next target. I couldn't just sit here and wait to die. I needed to call the police immediately. Then terror struck me. My phone wasn't in the bathroom. I had left it on the living room table. “Why is she taking so long? Bro, should I go check on her?” “Stay put! Idiot, last time you moved too early and almost spooked the target. Wait until she drinks the medicine before we move!” The medicine? I suddenly remembered the mug of hot flu medicine I had brewed right before stepping into the shower. It had been too hot to drink, so I left it to cool on the dining table. They must have spiked it with sleeping pills. A spark of clarity pierced my panic. As long as I hadn't consumed that drink, I was safe. They were waiting for the drug to take effect. Holding my breath, I turned off the shower and dried myself off. I even took my time tapping toner onto my face, forcing myself to sound normal. When I reached for my clothes, I realized my nightgown was still sitting on the bed in the adjoining bedroom. I had no choice but to step out completely bare. The bedroom was dimly lit by a faint nightlight. I scanned the room casually. The only place big enough to hide a human body was under the bed. Even though I forced myself not to look directly down, my peripheral vision caught it anyway. My blood ran cold. Under the edge of the bed frame, I saw half a face. A single eye gleamed with filthy desire, and a bright red tongue was slowly licking a pair of dry lips. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. Walking calmly to the bedside, I grabbed my nightgown and pulled it over my head. The moment the hem brushed my legs, I felt a wave of skin-crawling warmth near my ankles. A hand was hovering inches from my bare flesh. One quick snap of that wrist, and I would be dragged down into an inescapable nightmare. Fortunately, I pulled the gown down fast. Trembling internally, I walked out of the bedroom and headed toward the dining table. This spot was out of their direct line of sight. I snatched my phone and instantly sent a silent text to emergency services. The reply came quickly: Officers were dispatched, estimated arrival in twenty minutes. I needed to find a safe place to hide. Twenty minutes. Surviving twenty minutes in a small apartment with two ruthless murderers was impossible. I had to escape. To reach the front door, I would have to walk right past them. I needed a bulletproof excuse to open that door. Three seconds later, I grabbed the kitchen trash bag and walked steadily toward the entrance. Predictably, they noticed. “Bro, why is she throwing out trash now? Did she see me earlier? Is she trying to run?” By the time those words flashed on my lenses, I was already at the door. Just as I reached out, thinking freedom was within my grasp, another line of text popped up: “What are you scared of? We’ve got someone posted outside. She’s not going anywhere!” 2 My hand shook so violently I almost dropped the doorknob. Memory flooded back to an hour ago. I had picked up the package containing these glasses at the delivery locker and put them on immediately. I lived on the neglected outskirts of town. To get home, I had to walk through a pitch-black, narrow alley without streetlights. The moment I entered the alley, text had appeared on the lenses: “Thump, thump, thump (Footsteps).” It was impressive technology, capable of picking up sound cues. I found it novel, so I softened my pace. Yet the glasses kept transcribing. Then, the words shifted: “Bro, she’s almost home.” I had turned around, but the alley behind me was empty. I assumed the sound came from behind the courtyard walls along the path, so I paid it no mind. It wasn't until I reached my building and passed under a streetlamp that I noticed two shadows stretched out on the pavement behind me. Someone had stalked me all the way to my front door. And that person was standing right on the other side of the frame. I dug my fingernails into my palms, forcing myself to stay composed. I had already picked up the trash bag. I had to open this door, or they would know something was wrong. Grit my teeth, I pulled the door open. The hallway sensor light flickered on, revealing a dark figure standing right on the threshold. A thick, heavy hand reached out directly for my throat. My heart stopped beating. The next second, the hand grabbed my wrist gently and held a phone screen in front of my eyes. [Where are you going?] Relief flooded my chest as I recognized the phone cover. It was my boyfriend. Before I could process it, he gently guided me back inside and seated me at the dining table. He typed quickly: [I’ll take out the trash. Drink your medicine and rest. You're sick.] He was as gentle and attentive as always. Seeing him turn toward the door, panic seized me again. I grabbed his sleeve. We couldn't separate now. I typed back frantically: [Babe, I want to go out for tacos instead.] I didn't dare tell him about the killers in the house, terrified he might react recklessly and provoke them. [You have a cold. Let’s do it another day. I brought your favorite braised pork ribs, I’ll heat them up for you.] [No, today is our anniversary. We need to celebrate properly.] He reached out and gently ruffled my hair. [You usually hate eating out. What’s going on with you tonight?] Tears stung my eyes. Even though he was a few years older, he had always taken care of me with meticulous patience. Two sentences in, and he already knew something was off. Just as I opened my mouth to figure out how to warn him, alarm bells suddenly shattered my thoughts. My boyfriend always used spaces instead of punctuation marks when texting. Always. The man sitting in front of me had typed every single comma and period with flawless precision. This man was not my boyfriend. 3 I glanced down at his hands. Thick veins bulged across the dark skin, utterly unlike my boyfriend’s softer, plumper hands. Because they had similar builds, and because he wore a black face mask under the dim hallway lighting, I hadn't realized it right away. He typed another message, prompting me: [Talk to me. What’s wrong with you today?] I forced my tears back and pouted playfully: [It’s our one-year anniversary! I wanted to give you a special surprise!] He pressed on: [What surprise?] As he typed, the cuff of his jacket shifted slightly. A smear of fresh blood stained the dark fabric. It belonged to my real boyfriend. My stomach churned, tears threatening to spill over. I typed out carefully: [I bought a super sexy outfit. I'm going to put it on right now so you can see.] I grabbed the nurse costume off the chair and turned toward the spare bedroom. His hand clamped down around my wrist like a iron vice. Through the dim light, his eyes held no warmth whatsoever. [Don't rush. Drink your medicine first. It's getting cold.] There was no escaping this. I gave a heavy nod, picked up the mug, and gulped the lukewarm liquid down in one go. Then I hurried into the spare bedroom and threw the lock. Setting my phone down, I sent him a quick text: [I’m going to do my makeup. No peeking!] The moment he replied with a playful emoji, I pulled a thick duvet over my head and shoved two fingers deep down my throat. A minute later, staring at the vomited mess on the bedding, silent tears streamed down my face. My real boyfriend was dead. And I probably wouldn't survive long enough for the police to arrive. We were quiet, harmless people who had never wronged a soul in our lives. Why was this happening to us? Text flashed across my glasses again: “Nice work, Rick. You played him like a fool. Where’d you hide his body?” “Can't tell you that, Boss. I hid him somewhere so good nobody will ever find him.” Reading those words, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and stood up. My boyfriend had cared for me for over a year. I couldn't let him die without even leaving a body behind to be laid to rest. I had to survive. “Fine, you get the credit this time. You get to go first with the girl.” “Thanks, Boss. When do we go in?” “The sleeping pills take five minutes to hit. Give it a little longer.” They really had spiked the drink. I checked the time. I had less than three minutes before they realized I wasn't falling asleep. The police wouldn't make it in time. I had to rely on myself. The only exit left in this bedroom was the window. I lived on the third floor. There were no ledges or pipes to step on outside. Jumping meant death. Bedsheets! I could tie the sheets together into a makeshift rope. I yanked the sheets off the bed and tied them tight, but when I dropped them out the window, they were far too short. Suddenly, a lit window directly across the alley caught my attention. These old townhouses were built extremely close together. The distance between my window and the opposite building was less than five feet. If someone on the other side reached out, they could easily help me cross! Even better, the tenant living across was a polite man named Mr. Warren, who had moved in just a few days ago. I had helped him carry some boxes on his move-in day, and he had been so grateful that he added me on messaging, promising to buy me dinner sometime. He could save me. I threw several small items across the gap, bouncing them off his glass, but there was no response. Was he not home? No, the lights were clearly on. Even if he stepped out, he had to be nearby. Desperate, I pulled out my phone and messaged him: [Mr. Warren, please help me! Come home quickly!] Sweat slicked my hands as I waited, terrified he was too busy to check his phone. To my shock, his reply came back almost instantly: [What happened? What’s wrong?] Before I could type another word, the glasses flashed a new line of transcribed speech: “Boss! She just texted me!” 4 My scalp went completely numb. The polite, soft-spoken Mr. Warren was one of the killers. “What did she send you? Let me see... Damn it, this bitch found us out!” A sudden shudder ran through me, and I whipped around. The wooden bedroom door rattled violently as heavy boots slammed against it. “She locked the door from the inside! She’s trying to run! Move out of the way, I’ll kick it open!” If they broke through, I was dead. I had to gamble everything on one crazy bluff. I scrambled onto the bed, pulled up my skirt, snapped a quick selfie, and hit send. The violent thudding against the door abruptly stopped. “Wait, Boss! She sent me another message. It’s a photo! What the hell does this mean?” In the photo, I had pulled up my hem to reveal my bare legs. Under the low light, my eyes were half-lidded, painted with heavy, seductive desire. “Boss... I think she’s trying to hit on me.” “Don't be an idiot! She asked for help earlier, she obviously knows we’re here!” “Hold on! Let me ask her. She can't run anywhere anyway, what’s the harm? Boss, please, just let me reply!” A second later, my phone buzzed. [What is this picture supposed to mean?] Seeing that notification, my frantically pounding heart slowed just a fraction. He was my last sliver of hope. If I couldn't hook him, I was dead. I deliberately waited a few painful seconds before replying: [Mr. Warren, do I look pretty?] The glasses immediately transcribed his vocal reaction: “Hahaha! Forty years on this earth, and a woman is finally coming on to me... Boss, watch me play hard to get!” My phone buzzed again: [You're very pretty. But I deleted the photo. You have a boyfriend, you shouldn't be doing this.] I typed back instantly: [Don't talk about that useless loser! He wouldn't even take me out for dinner on our anniversary... I don't know why, but I feel so tired and dizzy right now. Every time I close my eyes, I just see you carrying those boxes without your shirt on... so manly... Mr. Warren, can you come help me?] Even without hearing his voice, the transcribed text conveyed his mounting excitement clearly. “Damn, she’s so desperate! Boss, Rick, I’m begging you guys, let me go first tonight! I want to feel what it’s like when a girl actually wants me!” “I still think she’s playing you.” “Screw off! Look at these muscles, what woman doesn't want this? Boss, come on, please?” “Whatever. If something goes wrong, don't blame me.” “She’s trapped like a rat, she can't escape! Heh!” A moment later, his text arrived: [This isn't right... How am I supposed to help you?] [I don't know, I just miss you... It feels terrible... But my boyfriend is still out in the living room. Never mind, forget I said anything...] [Don't wait! Stay right there, I’ll lure him away and come straight to your room!] [I'm so sleepy... You better hurry...] A few seconds passed before his final message popped up: [Okay, he stepped outside for a moment. Open the door quickly, I’m right outside.] [Wait, Mr. Warren, are you serious?... Okay, I’m opening it now...] I suppressed a wave of nausea, drew a sharp breath, and walked to the door. I didn't open it right away. Instead, I peered through the tiny gap under the frame. Sure enough, there was only one pair of shoes standing there. This was the critical moment. The instant I unlocked the door, a completely nude Mr. Warren lunged inside, wrapping his thick arms around me and pressing his foul, reeking mouth toward mine. I twisted my head away to dodge his lips, reaching behind his back to throw the lock again. Blinded by lust, he didn't even notice. He shoved me roughly toward the bed, his dirty hands grabbing at my body. Enduring intense disgust, I let him push me, guiding his weight step by step toward the open window. When my back hit the window sill, I suddenly pivoted, pinning him back against the frame. Because he was short, he instinctively yielded to my movement, stepping backward until he was sitting precariously on the low ledge. Just as he grinned, expecting me to service him, I summoned every ounce of strength I had and shoved him backward with all my weight. Text flashed across my lenses: “Aaagh!” Then, absolute silence. 5 By the time I crawled under the spare bedroom’s bed, the remaining two men realized something was wrong. Text flickered wildly across my glasses. “What happened? Rick! Open the damn door! Speak up, you bastard!” “Boss, move back, I’m kicking it in!” “BANG!” “Boss, look! There’s a rope made of bedsheets tied to the frame! That bitch... she tied the sheets together! Rick! Boss, look down there, there’s a shoe on the pavement! The bitch jumped!” “Rick! That bastard... If he survived that fall, I’m going to kill him myself!” “Boss, we need to move now! If the cops show up, we’re all done for!” “Don't panic. You stay and guard the front door! I’ll go down and check. Falling from this height, even if she’s alive, she couldn't have crawled far!” The leader wasn't completely fooled. He had left one man behind at the main door. It didn't matter. I couldn't escape the apartment, but I could stay hidden until the police arrived. However, this spare bedroom was no longer safe. Once the leader ran downstairs, I slithered out from under the bed on all fours. Checking to make sure the living room was clear, I crawled into the master bedroom and squeezed beneath the main bed frame. The most dangerous place was the safest place. They would never expect me to loop back into the main bedroom. Despair was easy to endure; it was the agonizing tick of hope that burned away at my sanity. I checked the time on my phone every five seconds. On the thirteenth check, the glasses picked up approaching footsteps in the hallway outside. Barely a minute had passed. Had they come back already? Or was it the police? The transcribed words shattered my hope. It was the killers. “Boss, you didn't catch her? How could she move so fast?” Curiously, the leader didn't answer right away. After a heavy pause, his transcribed speech appeared: “Third, come here. Pull on this sheet rope.” I didn't understand his motive, but the dread in my chest flared back up. “See that? It came loose with one light tug... Did you see anyone leave through the front door while I was downstairs?” “No! I stood right by the entrance the whole time. Nobody came out.” “She didn't jump. She’s still inside this apartment.” That single sentence was like a sledgehammer crushing my ribs. “Bitch! Trying to play me... Is she here? No! Not here either. Looks like she isn't in this room.” I was trapped. The two bedrooms faced each other directly. Once they finished searching the spare room, the master bedroom was next. I pressed my back as far into the dark corner beneath the headboard as possible, squeezing against the wall. It wasn't enough. The moment they crouched down to look, they would spot me instantly. I needed to distract them. Using my boyfriend’s phone, I sent a text straight to the leader: [I already called the cops. They’ll be here any second. You guys are dead!] Sure enough, a dark shadow froze right in the doorway of the master bedroom. “Boss, she just texted me.” “What did she say?” “Read it yourself... Boss, maybe we should just run. What if she really did call the police...” “SMACK!” “Use your brain! She’s a deaf-mute! How the hell could a mute call emergency services?” The shadow stepped back and disappeared into the hallway. A few seconds later, the glasses displayed another string of words: “I don't know how you’re doing this, but I know you can hear me. Listen close: when I catch you, I’m going to skin you inch by inch! Third, text her and ask where she’s hiding.” Reading that, a strange realization clicked in my head. He was smart enough to figure out I could hear them, yet stupid enough to ask where I was hiding, as if I would tell him. Just as I pulled up the police dispatch confirmation screenshot to send him a final bluff, the entire room plunged into pitch darkness. The main breaker clicked off. The killer had cut the power. 6 In total darkness, if I dared to send a message, the screen’s light would give away my position instantly. But if I remained silent, it would confirm I was still hiding in the apartment. Worse, my nightgown was so sheer it did nothing to block the glow of a screen... While I panicked, the leader issued his next order: “No reply yet? She’s definitely still in the apartment. You search the master bedroom, I’ll check the living room. I’m skinning her alive tonight!” “Boss, I really think we should leave. What if the cops show up?” “Shut up! You want Rick to have died for nothing?” “He was led around by his dick, he deserved it...” “SMACK! Shut up and go search!” “Fine.” It was obvious the third guy was reluctant. His boots stopped near the foot of the bed for a few seconds, but he didn't lower himself to check underneath. Instead, he shuffled toward the wardrobe. Now was my chance. While his back was turned to open the closet doors, I muted my phone, pulled up Rick’s contact, and hit the voice call button. Rick had undressed right near the spare bedroom doorway earlier. His phone was sitting on the floor out there. “Boss! Rick’s phone is ringing! Is it that woman calling?” The third guy rushed out of the room to search for the ringing phone. I seized the opening, sent the police dispatch screenshot to his phone, and added a message: [Your time is up. Enjoy prison.] Seeing the image, the third guy panicked. “Boss! Look! Look at this, she really did contact the police! We have to go! She’s definitely already escaped!” “Bullshit! If she had escaped, she’d try to trick us into thinking she was still inside so we’d get caught! Are you stupid?” Reading those transcribed words, I wanted to punch myself. Why hadn't I thought of claiming I was still inside to lure them to stay? “Boss, look at the time! The twenty minutes are almost up! Even if she’s still here, we’re running out of time. Let's leave now and come back for her later!” “Fuck you! Since when do you tell me what to do?” The glasses transcribed a rapid series of harsh slaps. “I’ve killed plenty of people, and I’ve never been played by a woman! If I don't slaughter her tonight, I won't sleep a wink! You won't search? Fine! I’ll search myself!” “Boss, you’re crazy! If you won't leave, I am! Have fun getting caught!” The third guy’s heavy footsteps hurried toward the front door and disappeared. Only the leader remained, walking heavily into the master bedroom. “I know you’re in here. Come on out. Don't count on the cops saving you, you can't run! What do you say? Will you come out yourself... or should I come find you?” He wasn't bluffing. Police cars couldn't drive into these narrow, dense alleys. Even with GPS tracking, navigating this maze on foot would take time. They wouldn't locate this exact door instantly. I had to fight for my life. My fingers wrapped around a heavy iron pipe I had pulled from under the bed frame earlier. I braced myself. The second his head lowered, I would drive it straight into his face. “Not in the closet... then you must be under the bed.” A large hand gripping a butcher knife pressed down against the floorboards. Slowly, his dark head ducked down beneath the frame. I instantly flipped my phone flashlight to maximum brightness, blinding him point-blank. While he raised a hand to guard his eyes, I thrust the iron pipe forward with everything I had. He caught it effortlessly. Under the harsh white glare, his eyes were bloodshot, his face twisted into a grotesque, jagged grin. “Found you, sweetheart.”