Chapter 6
Upstairs, the nursery was a pastel sanctuary that smelled faintly of baby powder and dried lavender, entirely disconnected from the cold machinery of death downstairs. Lily sat in the center of the plush white rug, surrounded by scattered building blocks and picture books she had no interest in reading. The faceless rag doll was tucked under her arm, its soft cotton head resting against her ribs.
The door clicked open softly, and Elena stepped into the room, closing it firmly behind her. The sound of her black lace brushing against the doorframe was the only warning the child received. Lily didn’t look up; she kept her eyes fixed on a wooden block shaped like a triangle, tracing its smooth edges with a small finger.
“Lily,” Elena said, her voice dropping its public cadence, turning sharp and brittle. She knelt down beside the little girl, ignoring the dust on the rug as she brought herself down to eye level. “We need to talk about what you told the police officer downstairs.”
Lily’s small body went rigid. She pulled the rag doll closer, her breathing shallow and fast. She still didn’t look at her grandmother, keeping her chin tucked down toward her chest.
“I told the truth,” Lily whispered, the words barely audible over the hum of the ceiling fan.
Elena reached out, her hand closing gently but firmly around Lily’s upper arm. The grip wasn’t bruising, but it was inescapable. “The truth is a very complicated thing for a little girl, darling. Sometimes, when we see things in the dark, our eyes play tricks on us. You love your uncle Derek, don’t you? He buys you toys. He takes you to the park.”
“He hurt Mommy,” Lily repeated stubbornly, a tear finally breaking free and splashing onto the wooden block in her hand. “He pushed her against the desk. And you took the phone, Grandma. You put it in your pocket.”
Elena’s face tightened. The polite mask slipped entirely for a heartbeat, revealing the tired, desperate woman underneath—a woman who had spent decades building an empire of secrets and was not about to let a four-year-old tear it down.
“Your mother was sick, Lily,” Elena said, her voice dropping into a harsh whisper that carried a terrifying kind of finality. “Her heart simply stopped. If you keep telling these bad stories, the men in the uniforms will take you away from this house. They’ll put you in a cold place with strangers, and you’ll never see your grandfather again, and you’ll never sleep in your own bed.”
Lily’s lower lip quivered violently. She looked up then, her wide, terrified eyes searching Elena’s face for any trace of the grandmother who used to bake cookies and read her stories before bed. There was nothing there—only the black lace, the cold skin, and eyes that looked like winter stone.
“Do you understand me?” Elena asked, her thumb pressing slightly harder into Lily’s arm. “You were asleep in your bed all night. You didn’t see anything. Say it.”
Lily swallowed hard, a sob catching in her throat. She closed her eyes, the fight draining out of her small frame, leaving behind only a hollow, echoing terror.
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“I… I was asleep,” Lily whispered, the lie tasting like ash on her tongue.
Elena released her arm immediately, smoothing down the fabric of her black dress with a practiced, elegant gesture. “Good girl,” she murmured, standing up. “We’ll practice that again later.”
