Chapter 2 - The Weight of Plaster
The silence that followed Chloe’s terrifying declaration was heavy enough to crush bone. Officer Miller stepped past Julian, his hand instinctively resting on the grip of his service weapon as his flashlight cut through the dim shadows of the hallway. The beam of light illuminated the gruesome smear of dried blood on the patterned wallpaper, highlighting the single blonde hair trapped like a trophy in the plaster. Eleanor stood frozen for a fraction of a second, her posture rigid, before her features smoothed back into an mask of pristine indifference. She smoothed the front of her maroon dress, adjusting the fabric with agonizing slowness, as if the police officer and her frantic husband were merely unwelcome guests interrupting a dinner party.
"Children have overactive imaginations," Eleanor said smoothly, her tone entirely conversational. "The renovation contractors were careless last month. They left debris behind the drywall. It is nothing more than that."
Julian looked down at Chloe, whose tear-streaked face was pressed hard against his dark blue suit jacket. He could feel the rapid, frantic beating of his daughter's heart against his ribs. He remembered the contractors. They had worked on the west wing three years ago, right around the time his sister-in-law, Clara, had supposedly packed her bags and moved across the country without a word of warning. Clara had the exact same golden hair. She wore maroon dresses just like Eleanor’s. She had laughed in this very hallway, drinking coffee from the same porcelain mugs.
"Clara didn't move to Seattle, Eleanor," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with a realization that threatened to shatter his sanity. "Did she?"
Eleanor tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she stepped back toward the master bedroom door.
"If you truly believe that, Julian, then you never really knew your sister at all, did you?"
Officer Miller pulled a small pocket knife from his utility belt, the steel blade flicking open with a sharp click that made Leo flinch.
"Step back, ma'am," the officer commanded, his voice formal and guarded. "Nobody moves until I inspect this wall."
Eleanor didn't move an inch. Instead, she reached behind her back, her fingers wrapping around the brass doorknob of the guest room. She turned it with a slow, deliberate click, her gaze never leaving her husband's horrified eyes.
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"Go ahead, Officer," Eleanor whispered softly, stepping backward into the darkness of the room. "Open the wall. But remember that once you let the past out, you're the one who has to live with the ghost."
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