She went back to the table where the white yarn still lay coiled and reached for the cord in her bag.At least it would be quick now, with Brenda already unconscious.No struggle, no fear in those judgmental eyes.Just a necessary end, clean and efficient.
Before she could get started, a distant wail pierced the silence—the unmistakable cry of a police siren cutting through the night.Elena’s head snapped up, her body tensing.The sound suggested a patrol car on the job somewhere nearby.
Not necessarily headed here, she told herself.Just a coincidence.
She returned her attention to Brenda, calculating her options.The woman might remain unconscious for minutes or hours—there was no way to predict.If Elena completed the correction now, she would have time to arrange the scene properly, to weave the white yarn in the pattern she had planned.
Then another siren split the night, this one closer.Elena’s pulse quickened, her earlier calm beginning to fray at the edges.She hurried to a front window, searching the darkness for the telltale flashes of red and blue.Nothing yet, but the sound was definitely nearer than before.
Could they know?Had someone seen her enter Brenda’s house?No—that was impossible.The neighborhood had been deserted, curtains drawn against the night, not a single witness to her arrival.And Brenda had invited her, after all.There was nothing suspicious about two neighbors sharing tea in the small hours.
Unless...unless they had somehow connected her to Derek and Amanda.But how?She had been careful.She needed to decide quickly—complete the correction or withdraw, leaving Brenda to wake with nothing but a headache and confused memories of their conversation.
Before she could reach a decision, a sharp knock echoed through the house.Elena froze.Not the back door, where she had entered.The front door—who could be at the front door at three in the morning?
The knock came again, more insistent this time.
For a wild moment, Elena considered fleeing through the back, disappearing into the night.But she would have to gather up her bag, the yarn, the cord—evidence that would show what had almost happened here tonight.And there were the cookies, the tea …
Smoothing her expression into a mask of concerned surprise, Elena stepped over Brenda’s prone form and moved swiftly toward whoever was out there, knocking again.
At the front door, she paused, gathering herself.She was Elena Bowers, respected director of the Trentville Community Center.A pillar of the community, above suspicion.There was no reason to panic.
The peephole offered a distorted fisheye view of the porch beyond.Elena pressed her eye against it, and her breath caught sharply in her throat.
“Sheriff Graves!”she murmured aloud.And then she recognized the scarf the woman at the door was wearing around her neck.
*
Piper stood on someone’s front porch, her body rigid with tension as the voices in her head multiplied like echoes in an empty hall.
Knock.You must knock again.
She had slipped out of her mother’s home without leaving a note, following their demand that she come to this place, this house, right now.Something was happening inside this house—something that demanded her presence with a force she couldn’t ignore.
Had she called Jenna?She couldn’t remember now.Everything after waking had been a blur of motion and compulsion.The voices had surged, drowning out rational thought, driving her into the night toward this house with its darkened windows and the faint glow of light somewhere deep inside.
Danger.Death waits inside.Stop it.Stop her.
Her hand rose once more, knocking with greater force.The voices blended now, no longer separate entities but a unified command that seemed to vibrate through her entire being.
KNOCK.KNOCK.KNOCK.
Piper’s fist pounded against the door, the sound echoing down the silent street.Sweat beaded on her forehead.
“Please,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if she was addressing the voices or whoever might be inside the house.“Please.”
The door swung open.A woman stood in the doorway, her silhouette sharp against the warm glow behind her.Her eyes widened as they landed on Piper, recognition and shock flashing across her features.
“Sheriff Graves!”the woman exclaimed, her voice tight with an emotion Piper couldn’t quite identify.Not surprise, exactly.Something closer to alarm, or perhaps fear quickly masked.
The voices in Piper’s head reached a fever pitch, a hundred urgent whispers all demanding attention at once.She felt dizzy with their intensity, the world tilting slightly beneath her feet.
“I’m not—” Piper began, her voice sounding thin and distant to her own ears.“I’m not Jenna.”
The woman stared at her, confusion evident.
“I’m Piper,” she managed, though speaking required immense effort against the tide of voices.“Jenna’s sister.”
