Emma’s grandmother smiled and told her they had “run out” of Disney tickets, but she had no idea what I was about to cancel from my phone. / Chapter 21 / 111

Chapter 21 - The Knock on the Door

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet cottage.

1:15 AM.

I sat in the dark living room, illuminated only by the faint green status LEDs of the security monitor on the coffee table. The four camera feeds showed nothing but empty stone pathways, wet cobblestones, and the dripping branches of the ancient oak tree in the front yard.

I took a slow sip of water, trying to regulate my breathing.

Perhaps Arthur was being overly cautious. Britain was a large country. Jessica had no car, no resources, no legal footing. The likelihood of her finding this specific cottage in a secluded village outside Edinburgh was infinitesimally small.

Then, Camera 3 blinked.

It was the feed covering the rear garden gate. A shadow—tall, slender, drenched in rain—moved across the infrared sensor.

My breath caught in my throat. I leaned forward, zooming in on the digital monitor.

The figure stepped into the pale amber glow of the porch light.

It was a woman. She was wearing an oversized trench coat, soaked through with rain, her blonde hair matted against her pale, sunken cheeks. Her mascara was smeared down her face like dark war paint, and she was clutching an expensive designer handbag whose leather was ruined by the weather.

It was Jessica.

She looked entirely unhinged. The arrogant, smirking sister who had stood in my mother’s living room, watching Emma’s heart break while she pocketed envelopes of cash, was gone. In her place stood a desperate, shivering phantom.

She walked straight up to the rear kitchen door.

*Thump. Thump. Thump.*

Three deliberate knocks echoed through the silent house.

My blood turned to pure ice. I reached for the landline receiver on the wall and dialed 999, keeping my eyes fixed on the security monitor.

"Emergency services, which service do you require?" the operator's crisp voice sounded in my ear.

"Police," I whispered, my voice cold and lethal. "I have a fugitive trespassing on my private property. She is dangerous."

Before the operator could respond, the voice from the other side of the kitchen door broke through the heavy wood—not a scream, not an apology, but a shrill, hysterical laugh that made my spine go rigid.

"David!" Jessica sang out, her voice cracking with manic delight. "Open up, big brother! I brought Mom with me!"

I froze.

Behind Jessica on the camera monitor, stepping out of the dark shadows of the pine trees, a second figure slowly emerged into the light.

It was an old woman, leaning heavily on a walking stick, wearing a stained winter coat, her face twisted into a grotesque, triumphant smile as she stared straight into the lens of the security camera.