Chapter 4
Audrey's POV
I went back upstairs.
The door closed softly behind me.
I looked at the food and water on the desk. Didn't touch any of it.
I pulled my suitcase open.
Three changes of clothes — already folded, I folded them again. Stacked on the desk, not in the closet. My mother's old camera came out next, set beside the lamp. My parents' photograph came out after that. I looked at it for five seconds, then turned it face-down into the drawer.
The suitcase stayed open.
I went to wash my hands.
Water ran over my fingers, and I saw it — the color spreading through the fabric of my mother's skirt, the carpet underneath her going dark.
I turned off the tap and stepped out of the bathroom.
Back in the room, Maple was gone.
I got down on my knees.
"Maple?"
Nothing.
I checked under the bed, behind the desk, my voice getting sharper with each pass.
"Maple. Come here. Please."
A flash of orange in the closet.
She'd wedged herself into the far corner behind a row of empty hangers, eyes open, completely still.
I crawled in and picked her up. She went rigid for a moment, then gave, tucking her head under my chin.
"Don't leave me."
I loosened my grip and checked her over — paws, ears, tail — like I needed to confirm for myself that she was still whole. She was. She licked my thumb.
I carried her back to the bed, sat down, and let her settle on my lap.
Patricia didn't come back upstairs.
The house went quiet.
I tried lying down. Couldn't hold it.
Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in that room. My mother on the floor. My father's hands. The sound I would never stop hearing.
I picked up my phone.
Found Henry's number. Called it.
It rang for a long time.
Then voicemail. His voice — recorded, brief, just the prompt.
I hung up.
No message. I knew he might still be in questioning. I knew there was nothing I could do right now. The helplessness sat on my chest like a hand pressing down, but I pushed it under, because pushing it under was the only option I had.
I opened my contacts again. Found Uncle Gabriel. Stared at the name for a long time.
He had things to deal with. I didn't want to be the person who couldn't last a single night without calling. I didn't want to hear him pick up and tell me to find Patricia.
I put the phone down.
I turned on the TV and found a nature documentary with no dialogue. I didn't care what was on the screen. I just needed the room to have sound.
I held Maple and sat on the floor between the bed and the wall, back against the plaster.
Outside, the first sound arrived: rain, tapping against the window. I let out a slow breath. Rain was fine. Rain was just weather.
Then lightning.
The whole room went white. In that half-second I wasn't in Virginia anymore. I was in Charleston. I was in that hallway. I was about to hear —
The thunder hit.
I was already on the floor, spine jammed into the corner, both knees pulled up, hands locked around my shins.
Maple bolted off me and disappeared into the dark.
I couldn't move.
Another crack, louder than the first.
I picked up my phone.
The screen lit up. Uncle Gabriel, right where I'd left it.
My thumb hovered over the call button.
Patricia is downstairs.
The thought surfaced, and I pushed it back down. The intercom was right by the door. All I had to do was press it. She'd come up. She'd sit here. She'd... do what? Keep me company? Wait for the storm to stop?
I was already living in someone else's house. Using a room someone else prepared. Eating food someone else arranged. I wasn't going to call a woman up from her bed in the middle of the night because of thunder.
That's not her job.
The screen timed out and went dark.
I set the phone on the floor.
I pulled my knees tighter, rested my head against the wall.
The rain kept coming. I focused on breathing, and I worked very hard at not making any sound.
All the lights stayed on through the night.
I didn't leave that corner.
I woke up to light.
Not the overhead light, not the bathroom light, not any of the lights I'd left on last night — just the daylight coming through the window. I didn't know when I'd fallen asleep. Back against the wall, knees pulled to my chest, neck bent to one side, Maple curled into a ball beside me.
I tried to move.
My legs had gone numb. My fingers had been gripping my knees — when I let go, it hurt a little, like a rubber band stretched too long and suddenly released. I used my hands to push myself up off the floor. Standing took longer than I expected. Something in my head was swaying, like water in a basin that had been pushed and hadn't settled yet.
There was water on the desk. The glass Patricia had left last night. I hadn't touched it.
I walked toward the desk.
Reached for the glass.
The moment my fingertips touched the rim, the light in front of me went white, and then there was nothing.
Third Person POV
Patricia heard the sound from the kitchen.
Not loud — muffled, coming from upstairs, like something had fallen. She stopped, listened for two seconds. No follow-up sound from above.
She moved the oatmeal off the stove, wiped her hands, and went upstairs.
At the end of the hallway, Audrey's door was closed. She knocked twice, waited a few seconds. No response. Knocked again, called out softly. Still nothing.
She pressed down on the handle. The door was locked.
She pulled the spare key from her pocket and opened it.
Audrey was on her side on the floor, one hand still half-extended, fingertips only a few centimeters from the table leg. Her lips were pale. Last night's food sat untouched on the desk, the tray still in the corner.
Patricia crouched down, got one hand under her shoulder, and was already reaching for her phone with the other.
She didn't call the main line.
She scrolled to Gabriel Blackwood's private number and pressed call.
