Chapter 3 - THE ROOM THEY WEREN’T ALLOWED TO ENTERDinner at Blackwood Manor began at exactly six thirty.
It felt less like a family meal and more like a corporate board meeting.
Adrian sat at one end of a table designed for sixteen people.
The triplets occupied three chairs along one side.
Mara sat opposite them.
Victor joined without invitation.
According to Helen, he had been staying at the estate intermittently since Adrian’s wife died two years earlier.
That fact immediately interested Mara.
“So,” Victor said, cutting into his steak, “how much damage?”
Mara looked up.
“To what?”
“The nanny.”
Noah kicked the table leg.
Victor smiled at him.
“You boys getting soft?”
Adrian put down his fork.
“Victor.”
“What? I’m joking.”
“Stop.”
Victor raised both hands.
Mara watched the boys.
Not one had touched his food since Victor entered.
“What happened to their mother?” Mara asked.
Silence hit the table.
Adrian’s eyes snapped toward her.
Victor’s smile disappeared.
Mara understood she had crossed a line.
But she also saw Caleb’s reaction.
His fork fell.
It clattered against the plate.
Adrian spoke first.
“My wife, Caroline, died two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Aneurysm.”
The word came too smoothly.
Practiced.
Mara nodded.
“How old were the boys?”
“Four.”
Eli stared at his plate.
Victor poured more wine.
“It was sudden.”
Mara looked at him.
“Were you here?”
His hand stopped.
Only for half a second.
“No.”
Adrian’s expression shifted.
“Why?”
“Curiosity.”
Victor chuckled.
“You ask a lot of questions for someone hired to survive forty-eight hours.”
Mara held his gaze.
“I’ve discovered children make more sense when adults answer questions.”
A tiny smile appeared on Helen’s face across the room.
Victor’s did not.
After dinner, Mara took the boys upstairs.
Their bedroom was larger than her entire apartment.
Three beds.
Three desks.
Expensive toys.
Wall-mounted televisions.
But the room was strangely impersonal.
Nothing handmade.
No photographs with their mother.
No messy collections six-year-olds usually treasured.
Noah bounced onto his bed.
“So what now?”
“You tell me.”
“Bedtime is eight.”
“What happens before bedtime?”
“Bath.”
“Stories,” Caleb whispered.
Eli glared at him.
“No stories.”
Mara caught it.
“Why not?”
“We’re babies if we like stories.”
“According to whom?”
Eli went silent.
A door stood at the far side of the room.
Locked.
Mara noticed Caleb looking at it.
“What’s in there?”
No answer.
She approached.
Eli leaped up.
“Don’t.”
The urgency in his voice stopped her.
Mara turned.
“Why?”
“Dad says we can’t go there.”
“Okay.”
She stepped away immediately.
The boys exchanged glances.
Again: not the reaction they expected.
“You’re not gonna ask?” Noah said.
“I just did.”
“You’re supposed to keep asking.”
“Why?”
Noah opened his mouth, then closed it.
Mara sat on Caleb’s bed.
“Want a story?”
“No.”
All three said it too quickly.
“Fine.”
She turned off the main lights.
A night-light glowed near the dresser.
As she reached the hallway, Caleb whispered:
“Mara?”
“Yes?”
“Can the door stay open?”
“Sure.”
“And you’ll be downstairs?”
“Right downstairs.”
“You won’t leave?”
“No.”
He nodded.
Mara stepped into the hallway.
Five minutes later, she heard whispering.
Ten minutes later, footsteps.
Then silence.
She waited.
At 8:47, a tiny figure appeared at the top of the stairs.
Caleb.
He was barefoot.
He carried a stuffed rabbit.
Mara was in the library pretending to read.
He approached silently.
“I can’t sleep.”
“Want company?”
He nodded.
Mara lifted him onto the sofa.
For several minutes neither spoke.
Then Caleb whispered:
“Do dead people come back?”
Mara’s chest tightened.
“No.”
“My mom didn’t.”
“No.”
“Your husband didn’t?”
She looked at him.
Someone had told them about Daniel.
“No.”
Caleb touched the rabbit’s ear.
“Do you miss him?”
“Every day.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Still?”
“Yes.”
He thought about that.
“Dad doesn’t talk about Mom.”
“People grieve differently.”
“Uncle Victor says talking doesn’t bring her back.”
Mara’s muscles tightened.
“What else does Uncle Victor say?”
Caleb’s eyes lifted.
Fear again.
Then footsteps sounded overhead.
Caleb jumped from the sofa.
“Nothing.”
He ran.
Victor appeared at the library entrance seconds later.
“Everything all right?”
“Fine.”
His gaze followed Caleb.
“Night wanderer.”
Mara closed her book.
“You know the boys well.”
“I should. I practically helped raise them after Caroline died.”
“Generous.”
“Family.”
He smiled.
“What was Caleb telling you?”
“About dinosaurs.”
Victor’s eyes sharpened.
“Dinosaurs.”
“Very dangerous creatures.”
His smile returned.
“Goodnight, Mara.”
“Goodnight.”
He left.
Mara waited until the sound of his footsteps disappeared.
Then she went upstairs.
The boys appeared asleep.
But the locked door caught her attention again.
This time she noticed something beneath it.
A thin piece of folded paper.
Mara pulled it free.
Crayon marks covered the page.
A child’s drawing.
Three small boys.
A woman with yellow hair.
A tall black shape.
Blue scribbles representing water.
And in one corner, written in shaky block letters:
MOM SAID DON’T TELL HIM.
Mara’s skin went cold.
She turned the paper over.
Another message.
Three words.
HE WAS THERE.
A floorboard creaked behind her.
Mara spun around.
Eli stood barefoot near his bed.
He stared at the drawing in her hand.
His face went white.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.”
Mara kept her voice gentle.
“Who was there, Eli?”
His lower lip trembled.
The hard little strategist vanished.
For one second, he looked exactly six years old.
Then he whispered:
“If we tell you, you’ll leave.”
“I said I’m staying.”
“They all say things.”
“I’m not them.”
Eli’s eyes filled.
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
He stepped closer.
And then, so quietly Mara almost missed it, he said:
“We’re not trying to make the nannies leave because we hate them.”
Mara’s heart pounded.
“Why are you doing it?”
Eli looked toward the hallway.
May you like
Toward Victor’s room.
“We’re trying to make them leave before he gets mad at them too.”
Related Stories
