A tray rested across her lap. The bowl of soup on it appeared untouched.
Her hands trembled around a folded document.
The room carried the sharp scent of medicine and antiseptic.
When she saw me, her eyes widened.
“Ariel?”
I rushed to the bed.
“Marjorie, what happened? Are you injured? Has Owen done something to you?”
Tears filled her eyes, but she shook her head.
Then she looked anxiously toward the hallway.
“You shouldn’t have come inside.”
Her words were barely more than a whisper.
“Why not?”
Her cold fingers closed around my wrist.
“Because Owen will be back soon.”
For illustrative purposes only
Part 4: Behind the Bedroom Door
Before I could answer, the front door opened downstairs.
Marjorie froze.
Footsteps crossed the entrance hall.
“Ariel,” she whispered urgently. “Please hide.”
My first instinct was to call the police.
Then I remembered that I had left my phone on the kitchen counter after rushing upstairs.
