Chapter 4 - The Voice from the Past
In the privacy of my home office, I plugged the old digital recorder into my computer using a mini-USB cable I found in my junk drawer. The device hummed to life, the small LCD screen glowing a faint, amber green.
There was only one audio file on the device, titled “CONF_RECORD_01.wav”.
I clicked play.
At first, there was only static—the rustle of fabric, the heavy, wet sound of someone breathing close to a microphone. Then, a door opened, and the distinct, clinking sound of ice in a glass echoed through the speakers.
“Lenora,” a man’s voice said. He sounded exhausted, his voice slurred, like someone who had been drinking or was very ill. It was a voice Shauna instantly recognized.
“Dad?” she gasped, her hand going to her mouth.
“Arthur,” Lenora’s voice replied on the recording. It was the same calm, sweet voice she used when she brought us muffins, but there was an underlying chill, a razor-thin edge of contempt that made the hair on my arms stand up. “You’re drinking again. The doctor said your liver cannot handle another drop.”
“The doctor doesn't have to live with you,” Arthur Haynes rasped. “I know what you do to her, Lenora. I know about the marks on Shauna's back. I found the brush in your vanity. It was covered in her hair. She’s ten years old, for God’s sake!”
“I am correcting her, Arthur,” Lenora said, her tone entirely conversational, as if they were discussing the weather. “She is a weak, willful child. Just like you. If I do not break her spirit now, she will end up just like her father—a pathetic, sniveling drunk who couldn't even keep his medical practice open.”
“I’m going to the police, Lenora,” Arthur’s voice rose, cracking with a desperate, pathetic courage. “I’ve written it all down. The dates. The injuries. I’ve put it in my safe deposit box at the bank. If anything happens to me, or if you ever lay another finger on my daughter, the police will get the key.”
A long, heavy silence followed on the tape.
Then, the sound of a glass being set down on a hard surface.
“You won't go to the police, Arthur,” Lenora said, her voice dropping to a low, rhythmic whisper that sounded like a spell. “Because if you do, I will tell the medical board about your little habit. I will tell them about the prescriptions you’ve been writing for yourself. You will lose your license, your pension, and this house. And then, who will take care of Shauna? A homeless drunk?”
“You... you are a monster,” Arthur whispered.
“I am a mother,” Lenora corrected him. “And a mother does whatever is necessary to keep her family intact. Now, take your medicine, Arthur. It’s time for your rest.”
The recording cut off with a sharp, static pop.
Shauna was sitting in the armchair beside my desk, her face buried in her knees, her entire body shaking with violent, uncontrollable sobs. The illusion of her childhood—the belief that her father had been a weak man who simply didn't care enough to save her—had been shattered. He had tried. He had tried to fight, but Lenora had systematically destroyed him, using his addiction and his weaknesses to cage him until the day he died of liver failure when Shauna was nineteen.
“She killed him,” Shauna sobbed. “She didn't use a knife, Marshall, but she killed him. She broke him until he just gave up.”
I stood up and wrapped my arms around her. “She didn't break you, Shauna. And she is not going to break Emma. We have her now. We have the medical reports. We have this recording. This is enough to go to court. This is enough to get a restraining order and get her out of our lives forever.”
But Lenora Haynes was not a woman who waited to be attacked.
Before we could even print out the medical files, the doorbell of our house rang.
I walked down the hallway, my heart in my throat. I looked through the peephole.
It wasn't Lenora.
It was two police officers, their blue uniforms bright against the gray winter afternoon, their hands resting near their utility belts.
I opened the door. “Can I help you, officers?”
“Mr. Marshall Vance?” the older officer asked, his face solemn.
“Yes.”
“We received a call from a Mrs. Lenora Haynes. She’s claiming that you are holding her daughter, Shauna Vance, and her granddaughter, Emma, against their will inside this residence. She also reported that you have been displaying violent behavior and have threatened her with physical harm.”
Behind them, standing at the edge of our driveway, was Lenora.
May you like
She was holding a handkerchief to her face, her shoulders shaking as if she were crying. Several of our neighbors were standing on their porches, watching the scene with wide, shocked eyes.
The trap had been sprung.
