Under the protection of my twin brother

Chapter 2. The Whisper behind the door

I couldn't sleep. He was hiding somewhere beyond the horizon of my mind, teasing me with fleeting images that immediately fell apart as soon as I tried to grasp them. I lay on my back, staring up at the ceiling, where the shadows from the branches of an old oak tree played outside the window. They moved slowly, hypnotically, but they couldn't lull away the day's accumulated tension.

Every sound in the house seemed exaggeratedly loud. The creaking of old parquet in the distance. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Even his own heartbeat, which was a steady, insistent thud in his ears. Knock, knock, knock. It's like someone is knocking on the inside, asking to be let out.

I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, but the sheets felt rough, the pillow too soft or too hard, the air in the room stale and heavy. I got up and walked barefoot across the cool carpet to the window. The night was clear and moonless. The city below glowed with millions of lights, cold and indifferent. Somewhere out there were people who went to bed without fear that their father would sell them to a friend. Somewhere out there were houses that didn't smell like fear.

I sighed and leaned my forehead against the glass. The chill briefly dulled my headache. I remembered Todd's look in the hallway. His fingers are on my shoulders. A finger wiping away a tear. That touch still burned on my skin like a brand. Gentle and domineering at the same time. Mine to protect. He said it. And in the darkness of the night, those words sounded even louder, even more dangerous.

A muffled voice came from far away, through the thick walls and floors. Male. Cutting. Father.

I froze, listening. My heart gave a painful jolt. It was late, past midnight. What could he be doing in the office at this hour?

Then there was an answer. Female. High-pitched, high-pitched voice. Evelyn. But not the placid, polite voice she used at the table. This one was choked with rage, trembling.

I couldn't make out the words. Just the tone. The accuser. Desperate.

I was drawn to the door like a magnet. It was stupid. Dangerous. But curiosity — a sticky, tenacious feeling-was stronger than fear. I turned the handle softly, opening the door just enough to slip into the hallway.

He was in semi-darkness. Only the wall lamp at the far end cast a faint orange glow. The air was cool, smelling of polish and silence. But through this silence, as if through the thickness of water, voices broke through. They were clearer now. They were coming from my father's study, which was located in the opposite wing, on the same floor as the bedrooms.

I pressed myself against the wall, holding my breath, and crawled toward the sound. The carpet muffled his footsteps. I moved slowly, like a thief, pausing each movement to listen. The voices grew.

"...years, Richard! Two whole years! Evelyn shouted. Her voice rose to a high pitch. I've endured her shadow for so many years! Her children! And now ... now this?!

"You're overstepping your bounds," my father said. His voice was low, dangerous, like a warning growl. — You know the terms. You've always known them.

"Conditions?" hysterical laughter. Ringing, unpleasant. "The terms changed when you started making promises to that fat bastard!" I'm not here to -"

"You're doing what I said," her father interrupted. There was no tolerance left in his tone. "Don't forget what you owe to your position. And than you can lose it.

There was a pause. Tense, ringing. I froze a few feet from the oak door of the office. A narrow strip of light streamed out from under it. I thought they should hear my heart pounding loudly.

"You... you can't do this to me," Evelyn said, her voice breaking, tears starting to form. But not sad, but poisonous. — After everything I've done for you." After I saved you from -"

"Shut up!" There was a sharp thump on the table. I shivered, pressing my hand to my mouth. "Not a word. Never. Do you understand?

"I understand," she hissed. — I understand that I am your servant. A beautiful, well-groomed maid who should smile and keep quiet while you sell your own flesh and blood! She won't even -"

RINGING!

The sound of glass breaking, crystal, furious, cut through the silence. Something heavy hit the wall or floor. I shrank back against the wall, my eyes wide with horror. I became physically ill. My stomach clenched into a cold knot.

"Out! My father growled. "Come out now!" Before I do something we'll both regret!

There were quick, nervous footsteps on the parquet floor. Toward the door. I jerked back, my eyes darting down the hall. Make it to your room in time? No. Too far away. She'll come out and see me.

I ducked into an alcove with a tall Chinese vase a few feet away. It was a terrible hiding place. If she looks this way… But there was no other choice. I crouched down, trying to blend in with the shadows, holding my breath.

The office door was violently pushed open. Evelyn stood in the doorway. She wasn't wearing her usual silk dressing gown. She was wearing a simple dark dress, and her hair, usually styled in an immaculate wave, was slightly disheveled. Her face, in the light from the study, was contorted with a grimace of such pure, unfiltered hatred that I was afraid. I've never seen her like this. It wasn't her stepmother. It was another woman. Someone else's. Dangerous.

She took a step into the hallway, panting. Her shoulders were shaking. She turned back to the office.

"You'll regret this, Richard," she breathed. The voice was low, but every word was sharp as a blade. — I swear you'll regret it."

She slammed the door so hard that the vase next to me shook slightly. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that she would go the other way, back to her quarters.

The footsteps stopped. Then there was a new sound. Not ringing. Not a scream. A dull, muffled pop. Short. Dry. Like slamming a hand on a table, but ... not quite. There was a finality to it. It came from behind the closed office door.

I didn't understand right away. My brain, dazed with adrenaline, tried to classify the sound. A shot? No, it's too quiet. A book that fell to the floor? Too ... final.

Evelyn froze, too. I saw her profile. Her breathing stopped. Then her shoulders slowly slumped. All the rage in her posture was gone, replaced by... what? Relief? Shock? She turned her head and stared at the office door for a long, strange moment.

And then it hit me.

That sound. It burned everything inside. Burned out fear, curiosity, everything. Left only icy, absolute knowledge. I knew it. I knew it was just over. Not a fight. Not a dispute. Something more. Forever.

The sound of a gunshot, even muffled, is unlike anything else. In the movies, it's loud, deafening. In real life, behind a thick oak door, it can be just that: a short, dry click that negates everything that came before.

My mouth was dry. I felt goosebumps run down my spine and an icy funnel swirled in my stomach. Father. In the merchant profile. One. And that sound.

Evelyn slowly passed a hand over her face. Then she turned and walked down the hall. Straight to me.

My breath caught in my throat. I pressed myself against the wall, hoping the vase's shadow would hide me. Her footsteps were steady, calm now. She walked past my alcove without looking around. Her face, when it flashed into view, was smooth, stony. All emotions are erased. Only the corners of his mouth were tight.

And then I saw it. On the light cuff of her dark dress, on the inside of her wrist, there was a small scarlet spot. A small one, no bigger than a coin. But it was so bright, so garish against the fabric, that it was impossible not to notice. It looked fresh.

Blood.

The thought hit like a hammer on an anvil. Blood. Her blood? No, she wasn't hurt. She moved too confidently. Means… So...

Evelyn stopped in front of her bedroom, at the end of the hall. She turned her head and looked directly in my direction. I froze, certain that she could see me, that I was about to start screaming, accusing her.

But her gaze went right through me. She stared into space, her eyes glazed and unseeing. Then she quietly opened the door and disappeared into her room. The door closed with a soft click.

I remained crouched in the alcove, shivering with cold and shock. The silence returned. But now it was a different kind of silence. Heavy, thick, filled with what had just happened outside the door. That sound. That spot.

I had to check it out. I should have known.

I crawled out of hiding, my legs stiff and my knees shaking. I went to the office door. The streak of light under it was still there. I raised my hand to knock. It stopped. What can I say? "Dad, are you okay?" After what I heard?

Instead, I put my ear to the cool wood. Not a sound. Complete, dead silence. No footsteps, no heavy breathing, no moaning. Nothing.

Panic rose in her throat, sharp and uncontrollable. I backed away from the door, staggering. I needed to find Tod. Now."

I turned to run to his room and bumped into someone.

I let out a short, choked cry.

Evelyn was standing in front of me. She was back in the hallway. She was wearing a light silk robe over her dress, and her hair was neatly arranged. Her face is a mask of calm concern. No trace of hysteria, no hatred. Just a little tired and... something else. Vigilance.

"Sarah, dear," she said. Her voice was soft, even. Completely ordinary. "That you're awake?" What are you doing here?"

I couldn't say a word. My gaze slid involuntarily to her hand. The cuff of the robe was long, covering the wrist. No stain.

"I — I heard a noise," I finally managed. "It's like something fell."

Evelyn sighed, a little irritated, like an adult with an annoying child. "Ah, it's me. I bumped into that awful crystal ashtray in your father's office. Smashed it to smithereens. There must be shards all over the floor. She waved a hand. "It doesn't matter. They'll clean it up tomorrow.

She was lying. She lied so smoothly, so confidently, that for a second I believed her. Maybe it really was an ashtray. Maybe that cotton… But no. I knew it. I saw her face right after the sound. I saw the spot.

— You... you didn't cut yourself?" I asked, forcing myself to meet her eyes.

She smiled. Subtly, politely. "Of course not, honey. I was careful. I was just afraid of the noise. She put her hand on my shoulder. Her fingers were cold. "Go to bed. It's very late. And don't bother your father. He's... busy with important paperwork. He doesn't want to be distracted.

Her gaze was steady as she said this. It read an order. Not a stepmother's order, but an accomplice's. Go ahead and forget it. Forget what you saw. Forget what you heard.

I nodded, unable to speak. She gently but insistently turned me around and pushed me towards my room. "Good night, Sarah."

I started walking, feeling her eyes on my back. Every step was difficult. When I reached my door, I turned around. She was still standing there by the office door, leaning against the wall. She wasn't looking at me, but at the door. Her face was unreadable in the dim light.

I went into the room, closed the door, and leaned back against it. The shiver I'd been holding back burst out. I was shaking from head to toe. My teeth were chattering.

My father was there. Behind that door. And that sound... and the silence after... and the blood on her cuff...

I had to see Tod. But I couldn't get out now. Evelyn was in the hallway. She was standing guard. Guarding... what? Your secret? Footprints?

I slowly slid down the door to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. My head was buzzing. I could hear that dry, terrible pop again and again in my ears. And the appearance of a scarlet stain on a white cloth.

"It doesn't matter. They'll clean it up tomorrow, " she said about the ashtray.

But she wasn't talking about the ashtray. She was talking about something else. About what lay now in the study, in the silence and light of the desk lamp.

About something that will never be the same again.