Chapter 2 – Locks and Keys
1344 Words
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Rori sat at the kitchen table, fingers curled around a chipped mug of tea gone cold. The folder Sandro had given her lay open in front of her, its contents spread like puzzle pieces she didn’t want to solve.
Security proposal. Job offer. Surveillance photo.
She stared at the image again—her and the kids at the park. Emi mid-jump, Tomo laughing, Souta holding Kevin the Dinosaur like a talisman. She remembered that day. It had felt normal. Safe.
But someone had been watching.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Still awake?
She didn’t respond.
Another buzz.
Unknown Number: You always were a night owl.
Her breath caught. That wasn’t Sandro. That wasn’t Ren.
That was Evan.
She deleted the messages, but her hands trembled. She stood, walked to the sink, and turned on the water just to hear something other than her thoughts.
The next morning, Rori woke to the sound of Tomo arguing with Emi over cereal.
“I called dibs on the last bowl!” Tomo shouted.
“You can’t call dibs on food, Tomo. That’s not how breakfast works,” Emi snapped back.
“Then I call dibs on oxygen.”
“Fine. Suffocate.”
Rori groaned and rolled out of bed. Her feet hit the cold floor, grounding her. She padded down the hall, pausing at Souta’s door. He was still asleep, curled around his sketchpad, Kevin tucked under his arm.
In the kitchen, Emi was pouring milk with the precision of a surgeon. Tomo was sulking, arms crossed, a spoon dangling from his mouth.
“Morning,” Rori said, reaching for the coffee pot.
“Morning,” Emi replied. “Tomo’s being dramatic.”
“I’m being oppressed,” he muttered.
“Oppressed by cereal?” Rori asked, pouring herself a cup.
“By tyranny.”
“You’re eleven.”
“Exactly. I’m in my revolutionary phase.”
She chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Eat your tyranny flakes.”
Souta wandered in, rubbing his eyes. “Kevin says we need strawberries.”
“Kevin’s getting demanding,” Rori said.
“He’s a king now. He has needs.”
“Of course he does.”
She took a sip of coffee and winced. Burnt. Again.
Emi leaned against the counter. “Are you okay?”
Rori blinked. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You didn’t sleep. I heard you pacing.”
“I was just thinking.”
“About the guys from last night?”
Rori hesitated. “Yeah.”
“They were… intense.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Emi tilted her head. “Do you trust them?”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“Not even us?”
Rori looked at her daughter, her fierce, brave girl. “You’re the only ones I do.”
The knock came just after breakfast.
Three sharp raps. Not the hesitant kind. The kind that said I know you’re home.
Rori’s heart skipped. She motioned for the kids to stay put and opened the door.
Sandro stood there, sunglasses perched on his head, holding a paper bag.
“Morning,” he said, flashing that grin. “I brought croissants. Figured you might need reinforcements.”
“You were here last night.”
“And yet, here I am again. Persistent, aren’t I?”
She stepped aside. “Come in.”
He handed her the bag and followed her into the kitchen, where the kids stared at him like he was a movie character come to life.
“Bonjour,” he said, bowing slightly. “I come bearing pastries.”
Emi raised an eyebrow. “Are you French now?”
“I’m multilingual. It’s part of the charm.”
Tomo leaned forward. “Do you speak drone?”
Sandro grinned. “Only in binary.”
“Cool.”
Souta peeked from behind the fridge. “Do you speak dinosaur?”
Sandro crouched to his level. “I do. But only the royal dialect.”
Souta’s eyes widened. “Kevin will be impressed.”
Rori set the bag on the counter. “You didn’t come here just to flirt with my children.”
“No,” he said, his tone shifting. “I came to talk about last night.”
She stiffened. “I haven’t decided anything.”
“You don’t have to. But you should know—Ren found more cameras. One in the alley behind your house. Another near the school.”
Her stomach dropped. “The school?”
He nodded. “We’re pulling footage now. Whoever this is, they’re methodical. Patient.”
“Evan?”
“Could be. But it feels bigger.”
She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I don’t want to drag my kids into this.”
“You didn’t. Someone else did.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re not alone, Rori. You don’t have to be.”
She looked up at him, searching for the lie. But his eyes were steady. Warm. Real.
And that scared her more than anything.
Later that afternoon, Rori sat in her car outside the volleyball gym, watching Emi through the windshield. Her daughter was fierce on the court, ponytail flying, sneakers squeaking against polished wood. She was strong. Resilient.
Rori envied her.
The passenger door opened.
Ren slid in, silent as a shadow.
She didn’t jump. She’d seen him coming.
“You’re not subtle,” she said.
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
He handed her a flash drive. “Footage from the alley. You should see it.”
She plugged it into her laptop, heart pounding.
The screen flickered. Grainy black-and-white footage. A figure in a hoodie. Standing. Watching. Not moving.
Then, slowly, the figure turned toward the camera.
Rori’s breath caught.
It wasn’t Evan.
It was someone else.
Someone she didn’t recognize.
Ren’s voice was low. “They know your schedule. Your routines. Your kids’ names.”
She swallowed hard. “What do they want?”
“We’re going to find out.”
She looked at him. “Why are you helping me?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the screen, jaw tight.
Finally, he said, “Because no one should have to live like this.”
She studied him. “You don’t strike me as the bleeding-heart type.”
“I’m not.”
“Then what are you?”
He turned to her, eyes unreadable. “Someone who’s seen what happens when people wait too long to ask for help.”
She didn’t know what to say to that.
So she said nothing.
Flashback
She was back in their old kitchen. The one with the cracked tile and the broken cabinet hinge she never got around to fixing.
Evan stood at the stove, stirring sauce. He didn’t look up when he spoke.
“You’re going to wear that to dinner?”
Rori glanced down at her blouse. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s cheap. You look desperate.”
Her throat tightened. “It’s clean.”
He turned, spoon dripping red onto the floor. “You think that’s enough? You think clean makes you presentable?”
She didn’t answer.
He stepped closer, voice low. “You’re lucky I even let you out of the house.”
She remembered the way her fingers curled around the edge of the counter, white-knuckled. The way her heart pounded, not from fear—but from fury.
She remembered the moment she stopped loving him.
That night, Rori sat on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, watching the street.
The quiet pressed against her like a weight.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: You looked beautiful today. Shame about the company you keep.
She stared at the message, heart thudding.
Then another buzz.
Unknown Number: You should’ve stayed with me. I kept you safe.
She didn’t reply.
Instead, she opened the folder Sandro had given her and stared at the contract.
Luciani & Takahashi Security.
Protection. Partnership.
She didn’t want to need them.
But she did.
And that terrified her.
- Writer
