Chapter 2 - Locked Doors and Lingering Shadows
Mark did not pursue her immediately. Priority dictated safety. Kneeling beside the trembling nanny, he gently touched Elena’s shoulder with his free hand.
"Elena, are you hurt?" he asked softly, keeping his voice calm so as not to alarm Maya further.
"I am fine, sir. Just... my heart," Elena wept, wiping her eyes with the hem of her gray apron. "I was so terrified you would believe her. She threatened to deport my sister if I ever spoke."
A sick disgust settled in Mark’s stomach. Claire’s cruelty wasn't an impulsive snap; it was systemic, cold, and calculated. He handed Maya to Elena. "Take her downstairs to the kitchen. Lock the back door and stay there. If you hear anything strange, run to the neighbors."
Elena nodded firmly, cradling the toddler against her shoulder and hurrying down the carpeted stairs.
Mark stood alone in the quiet hallway. The silence of the house felt unnatural, heavy with secrets he had been blind to for five years. He walked toward the master bedroom, his heavy leather shoes making no sound on the runner. He tried the brass handle; it was firmly locked.
"Claire. Open the door," Mark commanded, knocking three times. "We need to talk about the police. We need to talk about where you are going to sleep tonight."
No response came from within. Instead, the faint rustling of paper and the muffled clink of glass drifted through the mahogany wood. She was packing.
Mark leaned his shoulder against the door frame. "I took the memory card out of the phone, Claire. It’s synced to the cloud. You can’t delete it. There's nowhere for you to run from this."
Still, silence answered him. Then, a sharp scent caught his attention. It wasn't perfume, and it wasn't the lavender polish used on the furniture. It was the pungent, chemical bite of rubbing alcohol, quickly followed by the distinct smell of sulfur. A match.
May you like
Panic surged through Mark’s veins. He slammed his body against the solid wood door. "Claire! What are you doing in there?!"
Through the keyhole, a faint, flickering orange glow flared to life, accompanied by the muffled sound of tearing paper and Claire’s manic, breathy laugh.
