Chapter 2 - The Whisper in the Hallway
"She’s behind the door," Leo repeated, his toddler voice unnaturally clear in the sudden, deafening silence that had fallen over the immediate table.
Clara yanked her wrist free from Julian’s suffocating grip, her breath catching in her throat. The festive music from the string quartet seemed to warp, dragging downward into a low, metallic drone. Julian lunged forward, scooping the boy up into his arms with a desperate, jerky motion, plastering a forced, manic grin across his face as he nodded toward the staring relatives.
"Kids say the darndest things, right?" Julian laughed nervously, his voice cracking at the edges. "He’s overtired. Too much sugar, too many people."
"He didn't sound confused, Julian," Clara said, stepping back from him. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "He sounded like he knew someone was standing right out there in the empty corridor. The venue coordinator told me the west wing of this estate has been locked for a decade."
Julian’s smile vanished instantly, replaced by a dark, flat stare that made Clara’s skin crawl. "The venue coordinator talks too much. Let’s go cut the cake, Clara. Stop letting your imagination run wild on our wedding night."
May you like
Without waiting for her answer, Julian turned on his heel, carrying the boy away toward the towering tiered cake at the center of the room. Clara stood frozen, the heavy lace of her veil catching on a decorative fern. She hesitated for only a second before turning away from the crowd, her white satin shoes clicking softly against the floorboards as she walked toward the heavy oak double doors Leo had pointed at. The hallway beyond was plunged in deep shadow, lit only by a faint, flickering amber sconce. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the cold brass handle, and pushed it open just an inch. A freezing gust of wind swept out from the darkness, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of burning candle wax and old perfume—and right on the floorboards just inside the threshold lay a pristine, unopened wedding invitation addressed to a woman named Beatrice.
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