Chapter 4 - The Shadow in the Hallway
I stayed hidden behind the island,
the cold granite pressing against my back.
Monica and Arthur walked into the kitchen,
the light of a small flashlight bouncing off the walls.
They didn't see me.
They were too focused on each other.
“Daniel thinks he’s in charge,”
Arthur said,
his voice low and predatory.
“But we know where the real money is.”
“The offshore accounts,”
Monica replied,
a giggle escaping her lips.
“The ones Elena didn't even know existed.”
I felt a fresh wave of betrayal.
It wasn't just my husband and my sister.
It was the man who had been my family’s legal advisor for a decade.
They had been planning this for years,
waiting for the right moment to strike.
The $42,000 was just a drop in the bucket.
There were millions hidden away,
money my father had left me that they had intercepted.
“We’ll bury her tomorrow,”
Monica said,
taking a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“And then we start the transfer.”
“What about Daniel?”
Arthur asked.
“He’s a liability,”
Monica said,
her voice turning cold.
“Once the will is probated,
we won't need him anymore.”
She was going to kill him too.
The sister I had shared my toys with was a cold-blooded killer.
They laughed together,
the sound chilling me to the bone.
They poured two glasses of wine and walked back toward the dining room.
I waited until the sound of their voices faded.
I had to get out of the house.
But the doors were locked,
and the alarm was likely set.
I remembered the cellar entrance,
the old wooden door that led to the garden.
It was hidden behind the laundry room,
seldom used and often forgotten.
I moved through the darkness,
my eyes adjusted to the shadows.
I passed my own photograph again,
the girl in the silver frame.
She was dead.
The woman I was now was someone else.
Someone harder.
Someone who knew the taste of satin and the smell of lilies.
I reached the cellar door,
the air growing damp and earthy.
I pulled the bolt,
the metal complaining with a sharp screech.
I froze,
listening.
Silence.
I pushed the door open and stepped out into the night.
The wind was cold,
whipping through my thin funeral dress.
I was in the garden,
the roses I had planted smelling sweet in the dark.
I ran toward the gate,
my bare feet stinging on the gravel.
I didn't stop until I reached the woods at the edge of the property.
I looked back at the house,
the windows glowing like eyes.
May you like
They thought they were burying a corpse.
But I was coming back with the dawn.
