Chapter 2
Sarah’s breath came in ragged, shallow gasps as her palms flattened against the cold iron of the cage. The paint was chipping slightly near the hinges, revealing rusted underlayers that smelled of old iron and damp earth. "Eleanor, have you completely lost your mind?" Sarah’s voice shook, vibrating with a lethal combination of maternal fury and rising terror. She tried to reach through the narrow bars to touch Toby’s trembling shoulder, but the spacing was deliberately engineered to keep small hands trapped safely inside.
Toby whimpered, leaning his forehead against the metal. "It hurts, Mommy. The floor is hard."
David arrived a second later, his hand resting heavily on Sarah’s shaking shoulder. His face was bloodless, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle twitched near his temple. "Mom, open this right now," David said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, unfamiliar register. "This isn't a joke. Put the key in the lock before I take it from you."
Eleanor remained as still as a marble monument. She smoothed the front of her silver dress with deliberate slowness, her eyes flicking from David to Sarah with icy detachment. "You both knew the rules of the estate, and you both chose to ignore them," Eleanor replied, her voice carrying the dry, papery cadence of absolute authority. "The boy displays the erratic temperament of his maternal lineage. He requires containment before the tendencies manifest further. Lilywood House does not tolerate weakness, nor does it excuse disobedience."
"He is eight years old!" Sarah screamed, the restraint finally cracking in her voice as she lunged toward her mother-in-law, only for David to pull her back firmly. "He drew on the wallpaper in the east hallway, Eleanor! That is not a demonic possession, that is childhood! You cannot treat him like an animal!"
"In this family, order precedes affection," Eleanor stated softly, turning her back on them to inspect a blooming rosebush nearby, entirely unbothered by the dramatic confrontation playing out behind her.
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David gritted his teeth, his eyes scanning the immediate perimeter of the backyard. "Where are the spare tools? The maintenance shed is locked, but there has to be something."
Sarah looked desperately at her son, whose big, frightened eyes met hers through the bars. She swallowed hard, forcing her panic down into the pit of her stomach. She knew Eleanor’s stubbornness was absolute. Arguing was a waste of precious time. She needed a strategy, and she needed it now.
