Chapter 6 - The Glass Barrier
The third knock didn't just rattle the stained glass; it felt like it struck straight against my ribcage.
Beside me, Paul froze, his face draining of what little color it had left. He stared at the heavy wooden door as if it were a gate opening directly into hell. “Clara, don't. Put the gun down. If you open that door—if you shoot whoever is out there—we’ll never see her. They’ll lock us away and she’ll be entirely alone.”
“They’re already outside her window, Paul,” I whispered back, my voice shaking with a cold, jagged fury that left no room for reason. The heavy weight of the vintage pistol in my palm felt strange, yet entirely necessary. “They are standing at her window right now. How much longer do you expect us to wait and be polite?”
The doorbell rang again. A long, sustained, mocking chime that cut through the silence of our hallway.
Instead of moving toward the front entry, I spun on my heel, heading straight for the back mudroom door. “Get your coat,” I ordered over my shoulder.
Paul blinked, confused. “What? Where are you going?”
“We aren't going to answer the door and play their game on their turf,” I said, slipping my boots on with a rough shove. “We’re going to Lily. If they think they can trap her in that house while we cower here, they don't know what a mother looks like when she has nothing left to lose.”
We didn't take Paul’s truck. We slipped out the back door into the freezing autumn rain, hugging the shadowy perimeter of our property line, cutting across the wet grass toward Elm Street where Elena—or Evelyn, as she called herself now—lived in a modest, slate-gray rental house three blocks away.
The rain plastered my hair to my face, but I couldn't feel the cold. All I could feel was the rhythmic thumping of my own pulse in my ears.
When we reached Elena’s street, the neighborhood was dark and dead silent. Only one house had a light burning on the ground floor—a soft, amber glow coming from a bedroom window facing the side alley.
I motioned for Paul to stay back near the hedge line, gripping the handle of the pistol tucked deep into my coat pocket. I crept forward through the muddy flower beds, holding my breath, until I reached the side of the house.
The window was cracked open an inch to let in the night air. Through the glass, I could see Lily sitting at a small wooden desk, her head bowed over an open sketchbook, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
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And standing directly beside her, half-concealed by the dark floral curtains, was a tall figure in a heavy black trench coat, leaning down to whisper something into her ear.
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