Sleepless

The nurse’s words were a dismissal, but to Iris, they sounded like an indictment. *Julian said no talk of the past.* It wasn't advice; it was a standing order.

She left The Azure Suites with the taste of hospital coffee and lies in her mouth. The drive back to Mercer Hall was a blur of high beams and shadow. When she pulled into the driveway, the house loomed against the night sky, its windows dark eyes watching her return.

She locked the front door, the heavy bolt sliding home with a *thunk* that felt less like security and more like sealing a tomb.

Sleep was impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the jagged edge of the photograph, the missing boy, the ring left on a table. She saw the invoice. *Containment Suite.*

She sat in the upstairs hallway, her back against the wall, wrapped in a quilt she had pulled from the donation pile. From here, she could see the top of the stairs and the door to her own room. It felt like a defensive position.

The house breathed around her. The boiler kicked on in the basement, a distant roar that vibrated through the floorboards. Pipes groaned as the heat expanded them.

But then, a different sound.

A rush of water.

It was distinct, unmistakable. The sound of a toilet flushing.

Iris froze. She was the only one in the house.

She held her breath, straining to hear. The rush faded into the gurgle of refilling cisterns.

It had come from below. Not the second-floor guest bath. Not the powder room off the kitchen.

Deep.

She stood up, the quilt pooling around her feet. She walked to the top of the stairs, her hand hovering over the banister.

Another sound followed. A rhythmic *clank-clank-clank* of pipes shuddering under pressure.

She knew the plumbing in this house. She knew which faucet dripped and which radiator banged. This was the sound of a line being used that hadn't been used in years.

She descended the stairs, her bare feet silent on the runner. The kitchen was a cavern of moonlight and shadow. She stood by the sink, listening.

Silence returned, thick and heavy.

Then, faint but clear, the sound of water moving through the main stack.

She placed her hand on the wall where the plumbing chase ran down to the basement. The plaster was cool, but beneath it, she could feel the faint vibration of water flowing.

Someone had used the facilities. Someone below the floor.

The sound came from the walls. Deep in the pipes.