Chapter 5 - The Predator's Return
The grandfather clock downstairs struck 1:00 AM.
The heavy, metallic chimes vibrated through the floorboards of the linen closet, marking the passage of time like a countdown timer in a thriller movie. My eyes remained glued to the glowing recording screen of my smartphone, watching the digital timestamp tick upward second by second.
1:00:14... 1:00:15...
A shadow crept across the top of the grand staircase.
Richard Sterling reappeared in the upper hallway. But his demeanor had completely changed from the frantic, panicked state he had exhibited while evicting Jessica. He walked with a slow, deliberate, unhurried cadence—the measured walk of a seasoned predator returning to a cornered, helpless prey.
In his right hand, he carried a heavy iron fire poker he must have retrieved from the downstairs hearth. The curved brass tip of the poker gleamed menacingly under the amber hallway light.
He didn't head for his own study. He walked straight across the hallway, his bare feet making a soft, sliding sound against the hardwood floor, until he stood directly in front of my locked bedroom door.
My breath caught in my throat. My heart slammed against my ribs so violently I was certain the sound would echo out of the closet and alert him to my hiding spot.
Richard raised his left hand, tapping his knuckles lightly against the wooden panel of my bedroom door.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Clara?" Richard’s voice purred through the door, dripping with an oily, sickening sweetness that made my skin crawl. "Are you awake, my dear? I brought you a fresh glass of water. Just to wash away the taste of the juice."
Silence answered him from inside the empty bedroom.
Richard waited three seconds. Then, a dark, humorless chuckle escaped his throat.
"Playing hard to get, are we? Good. I like a challenge," Richard whispered to himself, his voice carrying clearly across the narrow hallway straight to my hiding spot.
He reached into the pocket of his silk bathrobe and pulled out the heavy brass skeleton key once more. He inserted it into the exterior keyhole of my bedroom door with practiced ease.
Clack.
The lock turned with a sharp, mechanical click, throwing the deadbolt back into the open position.
Richard gripped the brass doorknob, turned it slowly, and shoved the heavy oak door wide open.
May you like
Through the louvered slats of the linen closet, I watched him step across the threshold into the dark master bedroom, raising the heavy iron fire poker high in his right hand, ready to strike whatever lay sleeping beneath the duvet.
The trap was fully sprung. And the predator had just walked straight into his own cage.
