Chapter 2: The Recording Stops Before Ethan Can Reach It
Ethan’s hand came toward me, palm open, while Madison stood between him and Clara. The water kept widening over the marble, slipping around Clara’s knees and carrying a thin shine of light toward the bottom step. A dark spot marked the corner of Clara’s lip. She kept one hand on the floor and the other pressed against her side.
I pulled the phone against my chest.
Madison’s face had gone pale, but her body stayed straight inside the crimson pantsuit. She lifted one hand toward Ethan, as if she could hold the whole room still with her fingers.
“She slipped. It was just a clumsy accident.”
Her voice sounded smooth. The phone felt hot in my hands.
I was seven years old, but I knew what I had seen. I had watched Madison’s arm move forward. I had watched Clara fall. I had watched the bucket turn over after her shoulder struck the floor. The black phone had watched too.
I raised it before Ethan could take it. The screen faced him.
The recording showed the foyer from low down, tilted toward the marble. Clara was standing near the bucket. Madison moved into the frame. Her hand struck Clara, and Clara went down hard. Water flashed across the floor. The picture shook as I moved backward.
No sound came from the phone. I had turned the volume down without thinking. The silence made every movement sharper.
Ethan leaned closer. His fingers stopped in the air.
I dragged the recording backward with my thumb. Madison appeared again, crossing the foyer and bending near the base of the grand staircase. She opened a drawer built into the wood. Her hands moved through papers. She checked beneath them, then looked toward the doorway before searching again.
The phone showed only that: Madison searching where the documents were hidden. It did not show what the papers meant. It did not show why she wanted them. But she had been looking, and then she had pushed Clara.
Ethan’s eyes moved from the screen to Madison. His hand lowered.
Madison shifted sideways, trying to put herself between him and the phone. I stepped with her. My shoes squeaked against the wet marble. Clara’s fingers tightened against the floor.
Ethan turned toward Clara first. He crossed the few feet between them carefully, avoiding the water. He crouched beside her without touching the blood at her mouth. His shoulder stayed angled toward me, and he kept looking back at the screen whenever I lifted it.
Madison took one step closer.
I backed away.
The grand staircase rose behind me, wide and white, with the railing curving above the foyer. The phone strap pressed into my wrist. I held it with both hands, just as I had when I recorded everything. The screen showed a frozen image of Madison’s hand against Clara.
Madison stopped when Ethan looked at her.
He did not speak. Neither did I. Clara lowered her eyes, breathing carefully, while the water reached the edge of Ethan’s shoe.
Madison glanced at the phone again. Then she moved faster.
Her hand came out toward me.
I twisted away, holding the phone against my stomach. Her fingers missed the device but caught the sleeve of my shirt. The fabric pulled tight across my shoulder. I stumbled, and the marble slid beneath my shoes.
Ethan rose at once, leaving Clara kneeling beside the spreading water. Madison released me, but she was closer now, close enough that the phone’s edge touched my ribs.
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The recording continued to play for one more second.
Then the screen went black.
