Chapter 7 - Darkness in the Boutique
The sudden blackout triggered a chorus of sharp gasps. The soft jazz playing from the boutique’s hidden speakers cut out abruptly, leaving a humming, ominous silence in its wake.
"Stay where you are," Marcus’s voice rang out from somewhere near the front counter, sounding strained and distant. "The breaker must have tripped. There's a backup generator in the back hallway, but the switch is rusted."
Maya stood frozen in the center of the dark parquet floor, the heavy midnight-blue silk of her dress rustling as she shifted her weight. In the dim amber wash of the streetlamps, she could barely make out the shadowy silhouettes of her family.
"Mom? Dad?" Maya called out, her voice pitching slightly with rising panic. "Where are you?"
"I'm right here," her mother’s voice answered from near the velvet fitting room curtain. A hand reached out in the dark, clasping onto Maya’s forearm with a grip so tight it bordered on painful. "Don't move, Maya. Just stay close to me."
"Where's Mina?" Arthur's voice boomed across the room, carrying a sharp edge of rising panic. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed against the floorboards as he moved toward the center aisle. "Mina! Answer me right now!"
No response came from the shadows near the display benches where Mina had been sitting just moments before.
"Mina?" Maya called out into the dark, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Stop playing games. This isn't funny anymore."
"She was sitting right there," their mother whispered, her fingers digging deeper into Maya’s arm. "I heard her dress rustle against the wood just before the lights went out. Arthur, find her. Find our daughter."
The sound of scraping metal cut through the quiet. Marcus was struggling with the backup generator; a harsh, buzzing mechanical whine filled the rear of the shop, accompanied by the smell of ozone and burnt rubber.
"Got it—almost—" Marcus grunted, his voice straining.
With a loud pop, the overhead halogen fixtures flickered back to life, flooding the boutique with a blinding, sterile white glare. Maya squinted, raising a hand to shield her eyes. When her vision adjusted, the sight before her made the breath catch in her throat.
May you like
Mina was gone. The velvet bench where she had been ordered to sit was entirely empty. But resting on the cushion, exactly where she had been slouching, was the pair of heavy-duty silver shears—and beside them, a single, freshly cut curl of long dark hair.
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