The Sound of Rain

By midnight, the storm had arrived in full force. Rain lashed against the nursery windows like handfuls of gravel, and the wind howled through the eaves of the old manor.

Elara couldn't sleep. She sat in the armchair by Leo’s bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest. The check in her pocket felt less like a lifeline and more like a bribe. *Mommy is sleeping.* The caption haunted her.

The power flickered, buzzed, and then died. The nursery plunged into darkness, save for the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the toys in grotesque silhouettes.

Then, she heard it.

*Thump. Thump. Thump.*

It wasn't the wind. It was rhythmic. Deliberate. A mechanical, hollow sound echoing through the ventilation grate high on the wall.

*Thump. Thump. Thump.* S-O-S.

Elara stood up, her heart hammering against her ribs. She knew that rhythm. She and Toby used to tap it on the wall between their bedrooms when their parents were fighting.

"Ignore any sounds from the West Wing," Julian had said.

She looked at Leo. If she stayed here, she was safe. She had the money. She could leave on Sunday and never look back. But the memory of Toby—the memory of the time she *didn't* check on him, the time she assumed he was fine—clawed at her throat. She had been a coward once. She couldn't survive being one again.

Taking a heavy brass flashlight from her bag, she clicked it on. The beam cut through the dark. She opened the nursery door and stepped into the hallway.

The house was a tomb. The carpet swallowed her footsteps as she moved toward the forbidden corridor. The air grew colder the further she went, smelling faintly of antiseptic and expensive, musk-heavy cologne.

The West Wing corridor was lined with portraits of ancestors who looked as cruel as Julian. At the end of the hall, a single door stood imposing and black.

As she crept closer, she passed a small console table. A recycling bin sat beneath it, overflowing. A sheet of thick, legal bond paper poked out. Elara pulled it free, shining her light on the text.

*Last Will and Testament... Beneficiary: Julian Thorne... Effective immediately upon death...*

She dug deeper. Another document. *Dissolution of Merger. Asset Liquidation.*

It wasn't a marriage; it was a business transaction that had run its course. The wife wasn't sick; she was a liability.

Elara reached the black door. She pressed her ear against the wood.

*Thump. Thump.* Fainter now.

She tried the handle. Locked. But not from the inside—the keyhole was on her side. A heavy deadbolt secured it.

"Hello?" she whispered.

A gasp came from the other side. Then, a frantic scratching.

Elara stepped back, her mind racing. She needed a key. Or a weapon. She turned to run back to the nursery, to grab Leo and get out, but the beam of her flashlight caught something standing at the other end of the hall.

Julian Thorne.