Chapter 2 - The Hallway Camera
My phone buzzed sharply against my palm while the dispatcher continued giving me instructions. The screen lit up with a caller ID: Lauren. My sister.
I swiped down and declined the call. Seconds later, a text message preview flashed across the screen. Mom had clearly already reached out to my sister to spin the narrative. Lauren’s text demanded that I calm down, claiming there had been an “innocent accident” involving a knot in Chloe’s hair, and warning me not to ruin Kaye’s birthday party over a minor cosmetic issue.
I turned the phone facedown on the bed, cutting off the noise. As I did, my eyes caught a small white plate sitting on the nightstand. Sliced apples. Untouched, brown at the edges. I slid the plate closer to Chloe, hoping she might want something, but she didn’t even reach for it. That small, heartbreaking detail made the bile rise in my throat.
Then I heard movement in the hallway.
Mom was sliding away from the doorway. Slowly. Casually. Too casually.
She was inching her way down the carpet toward a small, black digital camera sitting on the polished mahogany hallway table right beside the silver bowl where Arthur always dropped his car keys.
I moved before she could take another step. I sprang up from the bedroom floor, stepped out into the hallway, and planted myself squarely between Helen and the hallway table. I didn't touch the camera, but I made an impenetrable wall of my body.
“Don’t,” I warned.
Helen froze, her hand hovering inches from the device. Arthur pushed past her from the bedroom, stepping into the hall with an exhausted, deeply disappointed scowl—the exact same look he used to give me when I was a teenager and embarrassed him in public.
“That’s for the birthday pictures,” Arthur snapped, stepping forward. “You don’t even know what’s on it.”
That single, defensive sentence changed the entire landscape of the room. It wasn't just a camera for the party; it was an insurance policy.
I brought my phone back up to my ear. “There’s a digital camera on the hallway table,” I told the dispatcher, keeping my voice laser-focused. “And both of my parents suddenly want it moved out of sight.”
The dispatcher’s response came back instantly, sharp and authoritative: Leave everything exactly where it is. Do not let anyone touch it.
“Understood,” I said.
Mom picked up a paper napkin from the table, folding it once into a tight square. Unfolding it. Then folding it again with trembling fingers. Arthur retreated into the kitchen, the refrigerator door opening and closing with a heavy thud, though he didn’t take anything out.
An eerie stillness settled over the house. Then I felt a soft tug at my jacket.
Chloe had followed me out of the bedroom, clutching her stuffed rabbit under one arm like a shield. The instant her eyes landed on the black camera sitting on the table, she stopped dead in her tracks, her small body stiffening so sharply I nearly bumped into her.
I crouched down to her eye level. “Sweetheart?”
She looked at me, her lower lip quivering. I reached out and gently pointed toward the camera on the table. “Do you recognize that?”
She nodded frantically, her wide eyes reflecting pure terror.
Helen jumped in before I could draw another breath, her voice shrill. “Sweetheart, you’re confused, you don’t know what you’re saying—”
“Be quiet, Mom,” I said, not raising my voice, but injecting enough ice into it to freeze her in place. For once, Helen obeyed.
I turned back to my daughter, softening my tone. “Chloe, honey... when did you see that camera?”
Chloe’s gaze flicked nervously toward my father standing in the kitchen doorway, then back to me. She whispered, “Grandma put it on the dresser.”
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I kept my voice steady. “When?”
“Before... before Grandpa brought in the scissors.”
Nobody breathed. Nobody moved. The silence in the hallway was absolute.
Then Arthur suddenly lunged forward from the kitchen toward the hallway table, his hand clawing out to snatch the camera.
I dove across the space, stepping directly between him and the table, blocking his reach. “No!”
Arthur’s face hardened into a mask of ugly fury. But as he stopped short, my eyes caught a terrifying detail I hadn't noticed in the dim hallway light before: the small plastic compartment door on the side of the camera was hanging wide open.
I leaned in closer. The silver memory card was still jammed inside.
Helen saw me notice it. The last remaining color drained entirely from her face, leaving her looking like a corpse.
A heavy, violent knock exploded against the front door downstairs.
May you like
Helen flinched violently. Arthur’s hand dropped limply to his side. Another loud knock rattled the deadbolt, followed by deep, authoritative voices calling out.
Police.
