Chapter 4 - The House of Shadows
Three weeks passed.
The news of the 'Oakridge Infant Murders' blew up into a national media firestorm. Reporters camped at the end of our driveway, camera lenses pressed against the windows of our suburban home, local news anchors dissecting Eleanor Vance’s socialite background on television every night.
Eleanor was held without bail at the county jail, awaiting a double-first-degree murder trial. Her high-priced defense attorneys were already dropping hints about 'dementia' and 'severe mental distress,' trying to build a defense that would keep her out of a maximum-security prison.
I moved out of the house Trevor and I had shared. I couldn't sleep in that bedroom. I couldn't look at the empty nursery with its white cribs and matching blue curtains. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard the sound of my head hitting the lacquer of Arthur’s coffin, felt the cold touch of the milk bottles in my hands.
Emma and I moved into a small, two-bedroom rented cottage two towns over, using money my sister lent me. I changed my phone number, deleted my social media accounts, and spent my days sitting by the window, watching Emma play silently with her blocks in the living room.
Emma had stopped talking about the funeral. She had stopped talking about her brothers. She had regressed into a terrifying, quiet shell, clinging to her stuffed bunny, refusing to sleep unless all the lights in the house were left on.
On a rainy Thursday afternoon, my sister, Sarah, came over with groceries.
“How are you holding up?” Sarah asked, setting a bag of fresh fruit and bread on the small kitchen counter.
“I’m breathing,” I said, staring into my cup of black coffee. “That’s about all I can manage.”
“Trevor called my house again today,” Sarah said cautiously, sitting down across from me. “He’s begging to see Emma, Nora. He says he’s hired a private investigator to look into Eleanor’s past. He claims he’s trying to help the prosecution.”
“I don't care what Trevor is doing,” I said coldly. “My lawyer filed the divorce papers yesterday. I’m asking for full legal and physical custody of Emma, with zero visitation rights for him.”
“Nora...” Sarah hesitated, reaching across the table to touch my hand. “I know you hate him. I hate him too for what he did at the church. But Trevor didn't know about the poison. Is it right to completely cut him off from his only surviving child?”
I looked toward the living room where Emma was stacking yellow blocks.
“He allowed his mother to poison her mind with secrets,” I said softly. “He let an evil, abusive woman have unchecked access to my daughter. Emma spent three weeks carrying the burden of knowing her grandmother killed her brothers because she was too terrified to speak up. Trevor didn't protect her then. He won't protect her now.”
Before Sarah could answer, a heavy knock echoed against the front door of the cottage.
I froze. Nobody knew where we were living except Sarah, my lawyer, and the police.
“Stay here,” Sarah whispered, standing up and moving toward the window to peek through the blinds.
Her face paled. “Nora... it’s Trevor’s older brother, Julian.”
Julian. The dark horse of the Vance family. Unlike Trevor, who had spent his life bending to Eleanor’s every whim, Julian had cut ties with his mother ten years ago, moving to California, refusing to touch a single penny of the family trust fund. He hadn't even attended the funeral.
I walked to the door and unlocked it, opening it just a few inches while keeping the chain latch engaged.
Julian stood on the porch under a large black umbrella. He looked strikingly like Trevor, but his eyes were harder, worn by years of independence, his jaw covered in rough stubble. He wore a dark raincoat, drenched from the downpour.
“Nora,” Julian said, his voice deep and raspy. “Please. I need ten minutes. I just landed from Los Angeles.”
“If you’re here to plead Trevor’s case, Julian, you can turn around and walk away,” I said coldly.
“I’m not here for Trevor,” Julian said, his eyes filled with a dark, intense urgency. “I’m here because of my mother. Nora... you think Eleanor poisoned the boys because she hated you.”
I blinked. “She confessed to it, Julian. She screamed it in front of sixty people.”
“She confessed to killing them,” Julian whispered, leaning closer to the crack in the door. “But she didn't tell you why she chose that specific week. Nora... Eleanor isn't just a monster. She’s a bankruptcy fraud. And what I found in her private estate files in California changes everything you thought you knew about why my brothers and I were raised the way we were.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What are you talking about?”
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Julian pulled a thick brown envelope from inside his coat, sealed with heavy red tape.
“Let me in, Nora,” Julian said softly. “You need to see what’s inside this envelope before Eleanor’s lawyers file their mental competency motions tomorrow morning.”
