Chapter 3 - The Locked Chest
“I wasn't opening it,” I said calmly, stepping back from the dark rosewood chest. “I was looking at the drawings.”
Monique walked into the room, her black shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. She picked up one of the crumpled pieces of paper, smoothed it out with her gloved fingers, and tossed it into the wastebasket near the desk.
“Miss Zara draws those when she is disturbed,” Monique said coldly. “Which happens whenever people pry into things that do not concern them.”
“Her mother was a pianist, wasn't she?” I asked, watching Monique’s face carefully.
Monique’s hand paused over the wastebasket. “Mrs. Kretti was a world-renowned concert artist before she married Mr. Kretti. Now, if you are finished violating house rules, Miss Zara’s tutoring session has concluded.”
I walked out of the room, but my mind was spinning.
Why black piano keys? Why a locked chest from her mother’s past? And why did Dr. Kesler insist on sedating an eight-year-old girl every single night at nine o'clock?
That evening, at 8:55 PM, I returned to the hallway.
Instead of sitting outside Zara’s door with a book, I brought a small, silver velvet box from my own room. Inside was the bracelet I wore over the scar on my left wrist—a delicate silver chain with a tiny, hanging bell charm that produced a faint, crystalline chime whenever it moved.
At 9:00 PM, the crying began again.
It was weaker tonight, but the sorrow behind it was just as deep.
I sat on the floor, placed the velvet box near the gap beneath her door, and gently shook the bell.
Chime.
Chime.
The crying stopped instantly.
“Zara?” I called out softly. “I brought something.”
Silence. Then, tiny footsteps approached the door.
“What is it?” her raspy voice asked.
“It’s a bell from a town far away from here,” I said. “When I was little, my father left, and my mother worked two jobs. I spent every night alone in a small apartment. I was terrified of the dark. So a neighbor gave me this bell and told me that as long as I held it, the dark couldn't touch me.”
A long pause followed.
“Did it work?” Zara asked through the wood.
“It worked every single time,” I whispered. “I’m putting it under the door now.”
I slid the silver velvet box through the gap beneath the mahogany door.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, I heard the faint click of the box opening, followed by the soft, beautiful chime of the tiny silver bell echoing inside her room.
Suddenly, the heavy door unlatched with a quiet click.
The mahogany door swung open two inches.
Zara Kretti stood in the warm light of her room, wearing cotton pajamas, holding the tiny silver bell in her hand. Her gray eyes were red-rimmed, but for the first time since I had arrived at the estate, she wasn't looking down at the floor. She was looking straight at me.
“The chest under my window,” Zara whispered, her small voice trembling. “It has my mother’s music inside. But the doctor took the key.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. “Dr. Kesler took the key?”
Zara nodded slowly. “He said... he said if I ever open it, my mother’s ghost will leave this house and never come back.”
A surge of white-hot rage washed through my veins.
Kesler hadn't been treating her grief; he had been weaponizing it. He was keeping this child trapped in an endless loop of fear and guilt, using her trauma to maintain his million-dollar retainer and keep Vincent Kretti dependent on his medical authority.
“Zara,” I said gently, dropping to my knees so I was at eye level with her. “Your mother’s love isn't locked in a box. And no ghost is going to leave you.”
May you like
Zara looked down at the tiny silver bell in her palm, then back at me. “Can you get the key?”
“I will get the key,” I promised her. “I give you my word.”
