Chapter 3
Elena moved with mechanical precision, gathering Lily into her arms despite the child’s violent thrashing. The little girl kicked her bare legs, her pink dress riding up as she fought against the embrace, but Elena’s grip was like iron wrapped in black lace. She hoisted the struggling child against her hip, murmuring platitudes that sounded less like comfort and more like commands to be quiet.
“Hush now, sweetheart. It’s all over,” Elena whispered, though her eyes darted anxiously toward the doorway where Derek stood blocking the exit.
Derek remained planted in the frame, his shadow stretching long and dark across the brightly lit floor, cutting right across the base of the white coffin. He didn’t offer to help Elena manage the hysterical child. Instead, he reached into his suit jacket, his fingers brushing against something rectangular and hard hidden in the inner pocket. The movement was practiced, casual, yet entirely deliberate.
In the corner, Grandfather’s chest heaved. Saliva pooled at the corner of the old man’s mouth, but he refused to wipe it away. His gaze remained locked on Derek with a piercing intensity that seemed capable of burning through solid wood. He tried to speak again, a harsh, wet sound escaping his lips, but no coherent words formed. He could only point, his finger vibrating with unspent rage and the helpless agony of a man trapped inside a broken body.
Elena turned her back on the old man, shielding Lily’s face against her shoulder. “We need to get her upstairs,” she said to Derek, her voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial murmur. “The neighbors will be here soon. The police report is already filed. We don’t need complications.”
“Complications are my specialty,” Derek replied smoothly. His voice carried a dark edge that made Elena’s shoulders hitch. He finally stepped aside, his bruised face catching the harsh morning light as he allowed them to pass.
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As Elena carried Lily toward the staircase, the little girl managed to crane her neck over her grandmother’s shoulder. Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto Derek one last time. She didn’t cry out again; her silence was far more terrifying. She simply stared at him with the cold, unblinking clarity of a child who had seen something adults believed was safely hidden in the dark.
Derek watched them ascend the stairs, tracking the rhythmic thud of Elena’s heels until the sound faded down the second-floor hallway. Only then did he turn his attention fully to the old man in the wheelchair. The room grew intensely quiet, save for the faint rustle of the white floral wreaths shivering in the draft from the open window.
