Chapter 6: The Missing Ordinary Thing
By morning, the staff quarters were no longer usable as a sickroom.
The rain had stopped, but cold air came through the loose window frame above the sink. Allie's breathing remained even under Dr. Leon's watch, yet the narrow bed left no room to examine her without disturbing Lily. The rabbit lay between them, damp from the floor and marked with a gray streak along its side.
I had a room prepared in the east wing.
It was not luxurious. The bed was wider, the door locked from the inside, and the windows faced the interior courtyard rather than the road. There was a private bath, a chair for Dr. Leon, and enough floor space for Lily to move without stepping over medical supplies. I sent clean clothes, water, bread, and a second blanket ahead of them.
Allie watched the preparations from the staff-room bed.
When I returned, she had pushed herself onto one elbow. Dr. Leon held the cloth around her wrist in place while she tried to stand. Her knees failed before she reached the floor.
I caught her shoulders.
She flinched at my hands, then looked ashamed of the reaction. I released her at once and offered my arm instead. After a pause, she took it.
Lily came behind us, carrying the rabbit against her chest. She would not let anyone else hold it.
The movement from the staff quarters to the east wing took less than a minute. It felt longer because each doorway revealed another place where someone might be watching. I checked the courtyard before bringing them through. Nothing moved beyond the wet hedges.
Dr. Leon settled Allie on the wider bed. He checked her pupils, pulse, and the dressings around her wrists. Lily sat on the rug with her back against the bed frame. Her pink feet were cold, so I placed the blanket over her legs.
She looked at the blanket, then at me.
“You're too tall.”
The old line remained between us, both warning and observation. I crouched until my knees touched the rug. She did not smile. She did not move away either.
Dr. Leon finished his examination and left the room to wash his hands. I stayed near the door while Lily arranged the rabbit beside her. The room had been empty for several weeks. A vase stood on the sill, a lamp on the table, and a small wooden tray held soap, tissues, and a glass.
When Dr. Leon returned, the glass was gone.
So was the soap.
The door had remained closed. Lily had not left the rug. Allie had been unable to walk without assistance. I looked at the tray again. The tissues were still there. The lamp had not shifted. A damp ring marked the polished wood where the glass had stood.
Dr. Leon checked the bathroom. The sink was dry. The wastebasket contained no wrapper or cloth. He opened the wardrobe, though neither of us expected anything inside. Empty shelves. Empty drawers.
I went back to the staff quarters.
The room had been disturbed.
Not badly. The bedcover had been pulled half an inch from the corner. One of the crayon drawings had loosened from the wall, its tape folded and gray at the edge. Allie's spare cardigan was on the floor beneath the bed, though I had seen it hanging from the chair earlier. The receipt was still in my jacket, but the old staff key I had left beside the sink was gone.
I searched the floor, the bed, and the narrow space behind the cabinet.
Nothing.
At the east-wing doorway, Lily stood with her rabbit held under one arm. She pointed past me toward the old room. Her gaze rested on the windowless-house drawings.
Dr. Leon came up beside her.
Allie, from the bed, saw where they were looking. Her face lost what little color it had regained. She tried to speak, but the words failed. Her hand closed around the blanket.
Outside, a vehicle passed beyond the estate wall.
May you like
No one moved until the sound faded.
Then I turned the lock on the east-wing door, placed the missing key's absence beside the receipt in my mind, and understood that the danger had not needed to enter through the gate.
Related Stories
