The Loose Board

The ladder creaked as I climbed into the darkness.

It was narrow, the metal rungs biting into my bare feet. Leo was behind me. I could hear his breathing. Fast. Shallow. He was scared.

Good. He should be.

"Elena," he whispered. "We shouldn't be up here."

"Shut up, Leo," I hissed.

I pushed the attic hatch open.

The air was stagnant, heavy with the smell of old dust and... something else.

Something sweet.

I pulled myself up onto the rough floorboards. I shone my flashlight around.

It was a standard attic. Boxes of Christmas decorations. Old suitcases. A mannequin torso I used for display.

But in the center of the room...

There was a chair.

An old, wooden chair. Facing the chimney.

And sitting in the chair...

Was a doll.

A porcelain doll. With long, blonde hair and a lace dress.

It was my doll.

The one I had when I was twelve. The one I had been holding when I opened the door.

It had been lost for twenty years.

My mother said it had been thrown away.

But here it was. Sitting in my attic.

And it was holding something.

A piece of paper.

I walked toward it. The floorboards groaned.

I reached out.

The paper was old. Yellowed.

It was a drawing.

A child's drawing. In crayon.

Three stick figures. Standing in front of a burning building.

And written underneath, in block letters:

*THE PACT.*

I stared at it.

The drawing from Chloe's phone. The photo of the three boys.

This was the original.

"Leo," I said, my voice trembling. "What is this?"

Leo climbed up behind me. He saw the doll. He saw the drawing.

He made a sound. A strangled, choking noise.

"He kept it," he whispered.

"Who?"

"Aris."

"Aris has been in our attic?"

"No," Leo said. "He gave it to me. Years ago. He said... he said it was insurance."

"Insurance for what?"

"For the fire," Leo said. "The fire at the orphanage. We started it, Elena. Aris, me, and... him."

"Him?"

"The third boy."

"Who is the third boy, Leo?"

Leo looked at me. His face was a mask of terror.

"You know him," he whispered. "You see him every day."

I frowned. "Who?"

"The security guard," Leo said. "At the gate."

My heart stopped.

The guard.

The one who waved at me every morning. The one who watched me come and go.

The one I had just driven past.

The one Aris had called on my phone.

*The third boy.*

A noise.

From the corner of the attic.

A rustling.

I shone the flashlight.

A pile of blankets.

Moving.

"Hello?" I called out.

The blankets shifted. A hand appeared. Pale. Trembling.

Then a face.

A man's face.

Thin. Gaunt. With hollow eyes and a straggly beard.

He blinked in the light.

"Is he gone?" he whispered.

I stared at him.

It was the guard.

But he looked... broken.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm Number Three," he said. His voice was raspy, unused. "Aris calls me Number Three."

He crawled out from under the blankets. He was wearing a security uniform, but it was tattered, stained.

"He keeps me here," he said. "When I'm not working. He locks me in."

"Aris locks you in my attic?"

"Yes. To watch."

"Watch what?"

"You," he said. "He likes to watch you."

He pointed to a small monitor sitting on a crate.

It showed the master bedroom.

Live feed.

From the camera in the molding.

"He likes it when you sleep," the guard said. "He says you look peaceful."

I felt bile rise in my throat.

"How long have you been here?"

"Since you moved in," he said. "Aris said... he said it was part of the deal. I watch the house. I watch the wife. And he... he keeps the secret."

"The fire," I said.

The guard nodded. "We killed them. The other kids. We didn't mean to. But we did."

He looked at Leo.

"Leo started it," he said.

I looked at my husband.

He was shaking his head. "No. No, that's not true. Aris made me do it. He said it would be fun."

"Liar," the guard hissed. "You lit the match."

I stepped back.

My husband. An arsonist. A murderer.

And a jailer.

"You knew," I said to Leo. "You knew he was up here."

Leo didn't answer. He just looked at the floor.

"Get out," I said.

"Elena—"

"Get out of my house!" I screamed.

I raised the hammer.

Leo scrambled back toward the hatch. He disappeared down the ladder.

I looked at the guard.

"You too," I said. "Go."

He looked at me. Then at the monitor.

"I can't," he whispered. "He'll kill me."

"He's in jail," I said. "Aris is gone."

The guard's eyes widened. "Gone?"

"Yes. The police took him."

A slow smile spread across his face. It was grotesque.

"Gone," he repeated.

He stood up. He was tall. taller than I realized.

"Then I'm free," he said.

He walked toward me.

"Stop," I said, raising the hammer.

He ignored me. He walked right past me. To the hatch.

He climbed down.

I was alone in the attic.

With the doll. And the drawing. And the monitor.

I walked over to the monitor.

I looked at the screen.

The master bedroom.

Empty.

Then... movement.

Leo walked into the room.

He was packing a bag. Frantically. Throwing clothes into a suitcase.

He opened the safe. He took out the cash. The passports.

He was running.

I watched him.

My husband.

The man I had built a life with. A house with.

He wasn't running to save me. He was running to save himself.

He closed the suitcase. He ran to the door.

He stopped.

He looked up.

At the camera.

At me.

"I'm sorry, Elena," he mouthed.

Then he turned and ran.

I watched him go.

I looked at the doll. At the frozen, painted smile.

I picked it up.

Underneath the doll, there was something else.

A book.

A journal.

Leather-bound. Old.

I opened it.

The handwriting was neat. Precise.

Aris's handwriting.

*Subject: Elena Rostova.*

*Entry 1: She is perfect. Broken. Beautiful. Just like the house.*

*Entry 2: Leo is weak. He will do whatever I say. He thinks he loves her. But he loves his guilt more.*

*Entry 3: The boy. The neighbor kid. He's asking questions. He saw the guard. I need to deal with him.*

I flipped the pages.

*Entry 50: Tonight is the night. The storm. The perfect cover. I will send the boy. She will react. It is inevitable.*

*Entry 51: Success. She broke. The structure failed.*

I closed the book.

My hands were shaking.

He had planned it all. Every moment. Every fear.

And I had played my part perfectly.

I looked around the attic. The shadows seemed to stretch, to reach for me.

I wasn't safe here. Not yet.

I climbed down the ladder.

I walked through the silent house.

I went to the front door.

It was still broken.

I grabbed a piece of plywood from the renovation stack. I nailed it over the opening.

*Bang. Bang. Bang.*

The sound echoed through the empty house.

I went to the kitchen.

I poured a glass of wine.

I sat at the island.

I waited.

For the police to come back. For the dawn.

For the silence to end.

But the silence didn't end.

It deepened.

And then...

A sound.

From the basement.

*Thump.*

Like a footstep.

Or a body hitting the floor.

I froze.

Leo had locked the basement door.

I had broken out through the window.

But the door...

I walked to the basement door.

It was unlocked.

Slightly ajar.

I pushed it open.

"Leo?" I whispered.

No answer.

Just the hum of the furnace. And the smell of...

Smoke?

No. Not smoke.

Eucalyptus.

My heart hammered against my ribs.

Aris was in jail. Mercer had taken him.

Unless...

Unless he wasn't alone.

Unless there was a fourth boy.

Or unless...

I walked down the stairs.

The workshop was dark.

I reached for the light switch.

"Don't," a voice said.

From the corner.

It wasn't Aris.

It wasn't Leo.

It wasn't the guard.

It was a woman's voice.

"Who's there?" I asked, raising the hammer.

A figure stepped out of the shadows.

She was wearing a white coat. A doctor's coat.

"Hello, Elena," she said.

I stared at her.

"Dr. Lipman?"

My childhood therapist. The one who wrote the file.

She smiled. It was a kind smile. The smile of someone who wants to help.

"Aris called me," she said. "He said you were having a breakthrough."

"He's in jail," I said.

"Is he?" she asked.

She took a step closer.

"Or is that just another story you're telling yourself?"

She reached into her pocket.

She pulled out a syringe.

"It's time for your medicine, Elena."

I looked at the syringe. At the needle.

I looked at the hammer in my hand.

I wasn't a child anymore.

I wasn't a victim.

I was the lady of the house.

And this was my castle.

"Get out," I said.

She laughed.

"Make me."

I tightened my grip on the hammer.

And I smiled.

"Okay," I said.