Breaking and Entering

The kitchen window latch was broken. It had been broken since 1996, when a teenage Julian had forced it open to sneak in after a night of drinking. Arthur had promised to fix it. He never did.

Elena stood in the shadow of the rose bushes, her heart pounding against her ribs. She was wearing Julian's spare mechanic's jumpsuit, stolen from the back of his car while he was buying cigarettes. It smelled of oil and stale smoke, a second skin of deception.

She pressed her palms against the glass. It was cold, slick with rain. She pushed up.

The window groaned, but it slid open.

She climbed through, landing awkwardly on the counter next to the sink. The kitchen was dark, silent except for the hum of the refrigerator.

It felt like walking into a mausoleum. The house was empty now. Arthur was dead. Julian was gone. Sarah was... somewhere.

But the house remembered.

Elena dropped to the floor, her boots making a soft thud on the linoleum. She wasn't here for memories. She was here for the coffee mug.

The key.

She moved through the house like a ghost, avoiding the squeaky floorboards she had memorized as a child. She reached the hallway. The door to the guest room was closed.

She tried the handle. Locked.

Of course. Sterling had locked it from the outside.

She knelt down, peering through the keyhole. Darkness.

She needed to get in. But if she broke the door down, it would make noise. And she didn't know if the police had left a patrol car at the gate.

She remembered the ventilation grate. The one she had used to escape.

If she could get back into the tunnels, she could crawl up into the room from below.

She turned and ran back to the kitchen. The basement door was a black rectangle in the gloom. She opened it and descended the stairs, the air growing cooler with every step.

The furnace room was exactly as she had left it. The grate was still loose, hanging by a single screw.

She pushed it open and crawled inside.

The metal was cold against her stomach. She dragged herself forward, the smell of dust filling her nose.

She reached the section of ductwork below the guest room. She pushed up on the grate. It lifted easily.

She climbed out, emerging into the room like a thief in the night.

The room was exactly as she had left it. The bed was a mess of letters. The lamp lay in pieces on the floor.

And on the nightstand, the coffee mug.

Elena rushed to it. She looked inside.

Empty.

The dregs were there, a brown sludge at the bottom. But the key was gone.

"Looking for this?"

Elena spun around.

Sarah was sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. She was holding the silver key in one hand and a lighter in the other.

"You came back," Sarah said, her voice flat. "I knew you would."

"Where is Julian?" Elena asked, her eyes fixed on the key.

"Running," Sarah said. "Like he always does. He thinks he can outrun the truth."

She tossed the key in the air and caught it.

"He didn't find it," Sarah said. "He tore this room apart, but he didn't check the mug. He's not thorough. Not like Dad."

"You killed him," Elena said.

"I set him free," Sarah corrected. "There's a difference."

She stood up.

"You want the key, Elena? You want to know what's in the box?"

"I know what's in the box," Elena said. "The proof. The money."

"No," Sarah said. "The money is gone. Dad spent it. On lawyers. On bribes. On keeping us quiet."

She held up the key.

"This isn't a key to a fortune. It's a key to a grave."

"What are you talking about?"

"Box 404," Sarah said. "It's not at the club. It's at the cemetery. The columbarium."

She threw the key to Elena.

"Go ahead. Open it. See what he really valued."

Elena caught the key. It was cold, heavy.

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"Because I'm done," Sarah said. She flicked the lighter. A small flame danced in the darkness. "I'm done being his keeper. I'm done being his daughter."

She dropped the lighter onto the bed, onto the pile of letters.

The paper caught instantly. The fire spread, consuming the words, the lies, the history.

"Get out, Elena," Sarah said, walking toward the door. "Before you burn with it."

She unlocked the door and walked out, leaving Elena alone with the fire and the key.

Elena looked at the flames. Then at the key.

She turned and ran for the window. She wasn't going to burn.

She was going to the cemetery.

But as she climbed out onto the trellis, she saw a light in the study window below.

Someone else was in the house.