Chapter 2 - THE NARROW ESCAPE
I pressed my back against the rough plaster of the stairwell wall.
The floorboard beneath me groaned.
The footsteps below paused.
“David?” my mother-in-law’s voice echoed up the stairwell, sharp and suspicious. “Did you lock that door?”
My breath caught in my throat. I clutched the hidden phone to my chest, the cold metal digging into my palm. Seven months of evidence. My baby’s future. It all rested in my trembling hands.
“I locked it, Mom,” David’s voice called back, though he sounded exhausted, hollowed out. “I always lock it.”
“Go check.”
“I’m not going back up there tonight.”
“I said, go check.”
The heavy, dragging footsteps resumed, moving toward the bottom of the stairs. It was him. David. The man who had promised to love and protect me, now trudging up the steps to ensure my cage was secure.
I had nowhere to go. Up meant returning to the attic. Down meant running directly into him.
But my eyes adjusted to the shadows, and I remembered a small alcove halfway down the stairs, covered by a heavy velvet curtain where Eleanor used to store seasonal coats. I slipped behind it just as David’s silhouette appeared at the bottom of the staircase.
Dust tickled my nose. The smell of mothballs was overpowering. I squeezed my eyes shut, wrapping both arms around my heavy belly. Please, I prayed to whatever was listening. Please, just let him walk past.
David climbed the stairs slowly. He didn't have a flashlight. He walked like a man marching to his own execution.
He reached my level. He stopped right in front of the curtain.
I could hear his breathing. Ragged. Uneven. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, and through a tiny slit in the fabric, I saw his hand reach out.
He wasn't reaching for the curtain. He was reaching for something on the small decorative shelf next to it.
The moonlight caught it—a small, tarnished silver pocket watch. His father’s watch. The father who had supposedly died of a heart attack ten years ago. David flipped it open, stared at it, and a single sob tore out of his throat.
Then, he whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“I’m sorry, Dad. She’s making me do it to her, too.”
He snapped the watch shut and continued up the stairs.
I didn't wait to process what that meant. She’s making me do it to her, too. Had Eleanor done this to his father?
As soon as David turned the corner toward the attic, I slipped out from behind the curtain and flew down the remaining stairs with a speed I didn't know my pregnant body possessed.
I reached the bottom, bypassing the kitchen where Eleanor was muttering to herself, and headed straight for the mudroom. My bare feet hit the cold linoleum. I grabbed a pair of oversized boots and an old wool coat.
I reached for the back door handle.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I froze.
Eleanor stood in the kitchen doorway. But she wasn't holding her camera. She was holding a heavy cast-iron fireplace poker.
“You really thought I wouldn't hear those floorboards?” she sneered, stepping closer. “You’re just as stupid as he is.”
I gripped the phone in my pocket. “Let me go, Eleanor. Or I’ll destroy you.”
May you like
She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “With what? Your tears? Nobody cares about you. They care about the show. And tomorrow, we’re filming the finale.”
She lunged at me.
