Chapter 21: The Guest Room

The crib was empty.

My breath hitched, a strangled sound that died in my throat. The room was silent. Too silent.

"Where is she?" I whispered, spinning around.

Mark stood in the doorway, his face a mask of regret. Chloe was behind him, her expression unreadable.

"She's safe," Mark said. "She's already in the car."

"You... you put her in the car?"

"We're leaving, Elara. Now."

He moved toward me, hands raised as if approaching a frightened animal. I backed away until my legs hit the changing table. My hand scrambled behind me, searching for something, anything. My fingers closed around a heavy bottle of baby lotion.

"Don't touch me," I said.

"Elara, please. Just come with us. We can be a family. We can start over."

"Start over?" I laughed, a jagged, hysterical sound. "With her? With the woman who murdered your sister?"

Mark flinched. "It wasn't murder. It was an accident."

"And the identity theft? Was that an accident too?"

Chloe pushed past him. "We don't have time for this," she snapped. "Grab her."

Mark lunged. I swung the lotion bottle, connecting with his shoulder. He grunted but didn't stop. He pinned my arms to my sides, his grip bruising.

"Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing. "Help! Someone help me!"

"Stop it!" he hissed. "You're making it worse."

Chloe walked over to us. She pulled a syringe from her pocket.

"Hold her still," she said.

"No!" I kicked out, catching Mark in the shin. He cursed but held on.

The needle glinted in the dim light.

"Just a little prick," Chloe said, her voice soft, maternal. "And then you'll sleep. And when you wake up, we'll be home."

"This is my home!"

"Not anymore."

She stepped closer. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the sting.

*Crash.*

The sound of shattering glass exploded from downstairs.

Mark froze. Chloe's head snapped up.

"What was that?" she whispered.

"The patio door," Mark said, his voice tight.

"Is it the police?"

"No. I disconnected the alarm. It's... it's probably just the wind."

"Check it," Chloe ordered.

Mark hesitated, looking at me.

"Go!" she hissed. "I can handle her."

Mark released me and ran for the stairs.

Chloe turned back to me, the syringe still in her hand. She smiled.

"Just us girls now," she said.

She took a step. I threw the lotion bottle at her face.

She ducked, but it clipped her ear. She swore, stumbling back.

I didn't wait. I bolted past her, into the hallway.

I didn't run for the stairs. Mark was down there. I ran for the guest room.

I slammed the door and locked it. It was a flimsy privacy lock, easily picked, but it would buy me seconds.

I scanned the room. The bed where I had seen her sleeping with my daughter. The nightstand. The window.

I ran to the window. It was locked, painted shut years ago. I pounded on the glass.

"Help!" I screamed. "Mrs. Gable! Help!"

The door handle rattled.

"Open the door, Elara!" Chloe shouted.

I looked around for a weapon. The room was sparse. A lamp. A book.

And then I saw it. On the dresser, next to a tube of coral lipstick.

A baby monitor.

The receiver was on. And it was picking up sound.

Not from the nursery. From somewhere else.

I grabbed it, pressing it to my ear.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, sweet girl," a voice whispered. "Mommy's coming."

It was Chloe's voice. But Chloe was outside the door.

I looked at the monitor base. It wasn't plugged in. It was running on battery.

"Where are you?" I whispered.

The voice on the monitor laughed. A low, soft sound.

"I'm right here, Elara."

The closet door creaked open behind me.