Chapter 3 - VOICES BENEATH THE MARBLE
My brain refused to process her words. "Another child? What kind of sick game is this, Nora? Andrew warned me about you. He said you were unstable!"
"Andrew is the one who built the cage!" Nora hissed back, her eyes gleaming in the faint sliver of light. "Do you ever ask why the eastern wing is locked? Why the basement blueprints don't match the foundation walls? Why the electricity bills for this estate could power a small village? I found the hatch behind the wine cellar two weeks ago, Claire. I heard crying. Not baby crying—a toddler. A little boy. He sounds just like Liam."
Cold dread washed over me, heavy and suffocating. The eastern wing had been under 'renovation' since before I moved in. Andrew had told me it was filled with asbestos and structural defects from his grandfather's era, strictly off-limits until the historical society approved repairs. I had never questioned it. Why would I? I was the naive young bride, elevated from a middle-class teaching job into the gilded fortress of the Whitmore dynasty.
"You're lying," I whispered, though my voice lacked conviction. The image of the black trash bags flashed in my mind. "The bags... what was in the black trash bags?"
"Medical supplies," Nora replied, her breathing ragged. "Soiled bandages, specialized pediatric formula, and prescription bottles with your husband's name on them. I've been sneaking food and clean blankets down there through the ventilation shaft in the laundry room. I couldn't leave him to die in the dark!"
Before I could digest her horrific revelation, heavy footsteps echoed down the polished marble corridor outside. A rhythmic, deliberate tread. Andrew. And behind his footsteps came the softer, clicking tap of high heels. Evelyn.
"Claire?" Andrew’s voice was smooth, unnervingly calm, cutting through the silence of the night. "Darling, I heard noise coming from the nursery. Are you having another episode?"
Nora's hands flew to her mouth. She shoved me deeper into the clothes racks, shielding us with a rack of dark coats. Through the tiny gap in the closet louvered door, I saw the nursery light flick on fully. Andrew stepped into the frame, dressed in his silk pajamas, his hair perfectly combed even at 3:05 A.M. Behind him stood Evelyn, clad in an elegant cream robe, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk looking for prey.
"She's not in here," Evelyn said coldly, her fingers adjusting the pearl necklace resting against her collarbone. "The crib is empty. I told you, Andrew. She's broken. Just like the last one. Her mind has collapsed under the weight of the family expectations."
May you like
"We have to find her before she does something stupid," Andrew said, pulling a thin silver syringe from his pocket and tapping the barrel with his thumbnail. "Dr. Thorne is waiting downstairs with the transport van. Once we commit her to the private facility in Vermont, we can finalize the paperwork. The trustees won't question a mother deemed unfit by three board-certified psychiatrists."
My blood turned to ice. A syringe. A transport van. A private facility. They weren't just gaslighting me—they were preparing to execute an institutional kidnapping. They were going to erase me, steal my baby, and lock me away forever. I pressed my palm over Liam's mouth, praying he wouldn't make a sound. Beside me, Nora pulled a heavy brass candlestick from her apron pocket, her jaw set in grim determination.
