Chapter 6
Forced back toward the main house as the sun began to cast long, skeletal shadows across the lawn, Sarah and David brought Toby inside the cavernous, wood-paneled foyer of Lilywood Manor. The interior smelled of old beeswax, polished mahogany, and centuries of accumulated dust. Towering ancestral portraits lined the stairwell, their painted eyes seeming to follow Toby’s every move with stern, disapproving glares.
"Sit here," Sarah whispered fiercely, guiding Toby onto a velvet-upholstered bench near the grand fireplace. She knelt before him, taking his small, pale face in her hands. "Toby, listen to me very carefully. Nothing Grandma says or does is true. You are a wonderful, kind boy. Do you understand?"
Toby nodded solemnly, his lower lip quivering slightly. "I want to go home, Mommy. My real home with my blue bedroom."
"We will, sweetheart. I promise," Sarah said, though her voice lacked the absolute conviction she wanted to project. She looked up at David, who was pacing back and forth across the Persian rug, his fingers tearing nervously at the collar of his light blue shirt.
"We need to find the land deeds and our passports," David whispered urgently, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry up the open staircase. "Eleanor keeps her personal safe in the second-floor study. If I can find the physical keys to the back service gates, we can hike through the northern woods toward the highway before dark."
"It's too risky," Sarah replied, glancing toward the heavy oak doors that led to the parlor where Eleanor had disappeared with Mr. Vance. "They're watching us. Every room in this house is wired with old intercoms. We need to be smart, David. Rushing only plays into their hands."
Suddenly, the grandfather clock in the corner chimed heavily, its deep, resonant gongs shaking the floorboards. The front door clicked shut with a finality that made them all jump. Eleanor walked into the foyer, holding a thick, leather-bound ledger under one arm. Her silver dress seemed to gleam maliciously in the fading light of the afternoon.
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"The evaluation will begin at sundown," Eleanor announced, her tone leaving no room for debate. "Dr. Sterling has already arrived via the back service lane. I suggest you prepare the boy. Resistance will only prolong the inevitable diagnosis."
Without waiting for an answer, Eleanor turned and glided up the grand staircase, her silver heels clicking rhythmically against the hardwood until the sound faded down the shadowy second-floor hallway.
