Chapter 4 - The Lock on the Outside
BOOM.
Daniel’s shoulder slammed against the master bedroom door, making the brass latch rattle violently in its frame.
“Claire! Open the door!” Daniel robed from the hallway, his voice thick with a cold, terrifying authority. “You’re acting hysterical! You don't understand what you’re looking at!”
Inside the room, I backed away from the door, clutching Lily against my chest. The little girl was crying silently, her tears soaking into the shoulder of my sweater, her tiny hands clutched around my neck so tightly I could barely breathe.
“It’s okay, Lily, it’s okay,” I whispered frantically, setting her down on the king-sized bed. “Stay here. Don't move.”
I rushed over to my nightstand, pulling open the drawer to grab my phone.
My fingers were shaking so violently I almost dropped the device. I unlocked the screen and dialed 911.
Screen: NO SERVICE.
I stared at the top corner of the screen. The signal bars were completely gone.
“No, no, no...” I whimpered, stepping toward the window.
Out on the street, the neighborhood was dark and quiet. But near the side of our house, the small red light on the external Wi-Fi and landline junction box was dead. Daniel had disabled the house router from the basement before he came upstairs.
BOOM.
Another heavy strike hit the door. A thin crack opened along the white painted wood near the frame.
“Claire, listen to me!” Daniel’s voice echoed through the wood, unnaturally calm considering the violence of his hits. “You think you’re protecting her, but you don't know the whole story! Eric is dangerous! I was trying to get her out of there!”
“You’re a liar!” I screamed back, my voice cracking with horror. “You were there! You watched him lock her in that room!”
The hitting stopped.
The hallway fell dead silent.
I stood in the center of the bedroom, my heart pounding like a sledgehammer against my ribs. I could hear Daniel’s heavy, rhythmic breathing on the other side of the thin wooden barrier.
“I didn't watch him,” Daniel said softly through the door, his tone chillingly casual. “I helped him. Eric needed leverage over the county, Claire. And Lily was such a quiet little thing. She never complained. Not until you started digging through things that don't belong to you.”
A cold dread settled deep in my stomach. The man I had shared a bed with for four years—the man who had held my hand at our wedding, who had cried when we got approved for adoption—was talking about a seven-year-old child as if she were a piece of discarded property.
“I’m calling the police, Daniel,” I lied, holding the dead phone tightly against my thigh. “They’re on their way right now.”
A low, dark chuckle echoed from the hallway.
“With what signal, Claire?” Daniel asked softly. “I cut the main fiber line ten minutes ago when you were in the office. You’re not calling anyone.”
The sound of key metal clinking against metal drifted through the crack in the door.
Daniel had the master house key ring—the one that held the skeleton keys for every interior door in the house.
I looked frantically around the bedroom. There was no fire escape. The second-story window led to a thirty-foot drop down to the concrete patio below. The only other door in the room was the walk-in closet.
CLICK.
The brass lock on the bedroom door turned.
The door swung open slowly.
May you like
Daniel stood in the doorway. He was holding a heavy steel wrench in his right hand, his face pale, his hazel eyes wide and completely unblinking.
“Now,” Daniel said, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “Give me the photograph.”
