Chapter 4
The metallic scent of iron hit Maya’s nostrils before her brain could even process the horrific image on the bed. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at the crumpled red pencil skirt resting among the ruffled white pillows of the master suite. Dark, dried stains marred the vibrant fabric, looking unmistakable even in the dim hallway light.
"Maya! What did I tell you?" Julian’s voice boomed up the staircase, heavy with absolute panic and fury.
Footsteps pounded against the hardwood steps as Julian rushed up the stairs, his brown suit jacket flying open. He reached the top landing and grabbed Maya by the shoulders, pulling her away from the open doorway with rough urgency.
"Didn't I tell you to stay out of here?" Julian yelled, his face flushed and distorted with a terror Maya had never seen in her father before.
"Daddy! Look at the bed! Look at Mommy's skirt!" Maya shrieked, thrashing against his grip, pointing a trembling finger into the dark room. "There's blood on it! Why is Mommy's skirt covered in blood?"
Julian slammed the heavy wooden door shut with a loud bang, cutting off the view of the bed. He knelt down, gripping Maya’s shoulders so tightly that it hurt, his eyes wide and wild.
"Your mother is fine! She is safe! Now you need to stop asking these crazy questions right now!" Julian shouted, his voice cracking.
At the bottom of the staircase, the digital chime of Sarah’s luxury watch rang out again, chillingly precise. Footsteps approached the stairs, and Sarah’s long dark hair came into view as she slowly ascended, her black blouse tucked neatly into the blood-stained replica of the red pencil skirt Maya had just seen on the bed.
"Julian, let the child breathe," Sarah said softly, stopping two steps below them. Her eyes were devoid of any warmth. "She has a right to know the truth, doesn't she? Or are you afraid of what happens when she finds the rest of the collection?"
Maya stopped struggling. She looked from her father’s terrified, guilty face to Sarah’s terrifyingly calm expression. A cold dread settled deep in the pit of her stomach.
"What collection?" Maya whispered, her voice dropping to a frightened squeak.
Julian closed his eyes, his head dropping forward in defeat. He slowly released his grip on Maya’s shoulders, looking like a man who had finally lost a war he had been fighting for months.
May you like
Sarah smiled faintly, reaching into the deep pocket of her red pencil skirt. She pulled out a small, leather-bound diary with a familiar floral pattern on the cover—a diary Maya had seen her real mother write in every single night before bed.
"Your mother's last entry," Sarah said, holding the diary out toward the little girl. "Read it, Maya. It explains everything about why I am here."
