Chapter 6 - The Unlocked Door
Julian froze in the dimly lit hallway, his hand hovering inches from the polished brass doorknob of the dressing room. The metallic click he had heard moments ago could not have come from Evelyn—she was currently lying helpless on the guest suite bed at the other end of the corridor.
Slowly, deliberately, Julian turned the handle. To his astonishment, the door yielded without resistance. Five years of assuming the room was locked and preserved as a tragic shrine vanished in a single, fluid motion.
The room smelled of stale lavender and damp earth. Heavy velvet drapes blocked the afternoon sun, casting long, bruised shadows across the floorboards. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Julian realized the space had been altered. The vanity table was bare, its silver brushes missing. In their place stood a heavy iron lockbox resting on a wooden crate.
"Julian!" Helena’s sharp voice echoed up the stairwell, breaking the heavy silence. "Step away from that room right now, or you will regret what you find inside!"
Julian ignored her. He stepped into the dressing room, the floorboards groaning beneath his boots. He approached the iron lockbox. It was unsecured, the brass clasp resting open. With a hesitant breath, he lifted the heavy lid. Inside sat a stack of leather-bound journals and a small, digital voice recorder with a blinking red indicator light.
His fingers brushed the cold metal of the recorder. He pressed play.
A tinty, compressed version of his own voice filled the quiet room, echoing off the bare walls. —if she doesn't sign the transfer papers by tonight, mother says we’ll have to take more permanent measures.
Julian stumbled backward, his breath catching in his throat. The voice on the recording was his own, speaking words he had no memory of ever uttering. The date stamp on the digital display read five years ago—the exact night Evelyn disappeared.
A floorboard creaked behind him. Julian spun around, his muscular frame tensing for a fight.
Standing in the doorway, blocking his exit, was Helena. In her hand, she held a heavy silver candlestick, her eyes fixed on him with a chilling, predatory calm.
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"You were always too easily manipulated, my boy," Helena whispered, stepping into the room and locking the door behind her.
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