Chapter 3 - The Heavy Knock at My Door
I darted to the side window, peering through the slight slit in my kitchen curtains.
A battered grey pickup truck had just lurched into the neighboring driveway, kicking up a spray of limestone dust. The engine cut off with a sputtering wheeze. The driver's door swung wide, and the man—Marcus—stepped out onto the gravel.
He was wearing grease-stained denim, heavy work boots, and an army-green fatigue jacket. Even from fifty feet away, the tension radiating from him was palpable. He didn't walk; he stalked toward his front porch, his head swiveling side to side like a hunting hound.
Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.
His eyes had caught the open front door of his house.
I watched as his posture went rigid. He took the three front steps in a single violent leap, disappearing into the foyer. Two seconds later, an angry, muffled bellow echoed from the house next door, loud enough to pass right through my closed double-paned windows.
In my kitchen, both girls flinched as if they had been struck. Maya dropped her slice of bread onto the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest on the bench, letting out a tiny, high-pitched whimper.
"Shh, shh, come here," I whispered frantically, scooping both toddlers up into my arms.
I rushed down the hallway toward the master bedroom at the back of the house. My mind was firing on pure adrenaline. My home was a modest 1950s layout—there weren't many places to conceal two lively children if an enraged, desperate man decided to kick in a door.
I carried them into my bedroom walk-in closet. I pushed aside the rows of winter coats and quilts on the floor, clearing a cozy, hidden nook beneath the garment bags.
"Listen to Nora," I whispered, kneeling down until my face was level with theirs. "I need you two to play the quietest game of statues in the whole world. Not a peep. Not a giggle. Can you do that for Mommy?"
Lily nodded bravely, wrapping both arms around her shivering sister. "We can do it. We're church mice."
"Good girls," I said, kissing both of their foreheads.
I pulled a thick wool blanket over their laps, gently closed the closet door until it latched, and pulled my bedroom door shut behind me.
Just as I stepped back into the central hallway, a thunderous crash rattled the front of my house.
BAM! BAM! BAM!
The blows against my wooden front door were so savage that the framed cross-stitch on the entryway wall swung crooked against its nail.
I took three deep, measured breaths, smoothing my floral apron over my waist. I walked into the entryway, stopping two feet from the solid oak door.
"Who is it?" I asked, keeping my voice raised, cool, and deliberately annoyed.
"Open the damn door!" a rough, gravelly voice barked through the wood. "I'm your neighbor from next door! Open up right now!"
"Excuse me?" I retorted, crossing my arms. "You do not pound on my door like that. What do you want?"
"My nieces are missing," the man snapped, his breath sounding ragged on the other side of the wood. "Two little girls. Three years old. They got out of the backyard. Did you see them?"
"I haven't seen any children on this street all morning," I lied smoothly, staring directly at the deadbolt. "Have you checked the park down on Elm Street?"
A long, suffocating silence fell over the porch. Through the peephole, I could see Marcus's face pressed close to the glass. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with dark circles, and his thin mouth was curled into an ugly, suspicious snarl.
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"You're lying," he muttered, his voice dropping into a low, venomous rumble. "Their shoes were tracked across the edge of your lawn. Let me inside to look."
The brass doorknob began to rattle violently under his grip.
