Chapter 4 - The House of Whispers
By the third night, the tension reached a boiling point. A storm had rolled in from the Gulf, slamming heavy sheets of rain against the limestone walls of the estate. The thunder rumbled deep in the ground, masking the sound of footsteps in the corridors.
I couldn't sleep. The pain in my ribs had settled into a dull, throbbing ache, and my mind was consumed by the image of my brother, Leo, waiting for his surgery. Alexander had transferred the first ten thousand dollars to the hospital that morning as a gesture of appreciation for Mason's progress, but the remaining forty thousand was tied to my continued service.
I had to stay. I had to figure out what was terrorizing this child.
At 2:00 AM, a soft click echoed from the hallway.
I slipped out of bed, keeping my footsteps silent on the thick Persian rugs. The hallway was pitched in near-total darkness, the emergency nightlights casting long, distorted shadows against the walls.
I peered around the corner.
A figure was standing in front of the locked doors of the North Wing. It wasn't Alexander. The silhouette was smaller, dressed in a dark rain cloak. They were holding a ring of heavy brass keys, trying them one by one in the ancient lock of the double doors.
A flash of lightning illuminated the space.
It was Mrs. Evelyn. Her face, usually so composed, was twisted in a desperate, frantic panic. She was muttering to herself, her fingers slick with sweat as she struggled with the lock.
"Where is it?" she hissed under her breath. "She said the spare was kept in the frame..."
Suddenly, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder from behind. I choked back a scream, spinning around to find myself staring into the cold, exhausted eyes of Alexander Blackwood. He held a silent finger to his lips, his other hand resting on the grip of a sleek black pistol holstered at his waist.
He didn't look at me. His gaze was fixed entirely on Mrs. Evelyn.
"Searching for something, Evelyn?" Alexander’s voice cut through the darkness like a physical blade.
Mrs. Evelyn froze. The keys slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the hardwood floor. She spun around, her eyes wide with terror as she dropped to her knees, her hands raised in a pleading gesture.
"Mr. Blackwood! I swear—I was just checking the seals! The storm... the rain always leaks through the northern terrace..."
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"The keys in your hand belong to my wife's private desk," Alexander said, his voice dropping to a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "The desk that was supposed to have been cleared two years ago. Who are you working for, Evelyn?"
Before she could answer, a loud, metallic crash echoed from inside the nursery.
