Chapter 53
“INFERNO” BY THE BUTTRESS
The clock struck five later that morning when I heard a panicked shriek down the hallway. It took me a moment to pull myself out of my dream of Quinntessa to realize Estelle was the one screaming.
“Estelle!” I shouted, ripping the comforter off my body
Lukas shot out of my bed first and shoved the cracked door open further. I raced after her through the dark hallway until I reached my daughter’s bedroom.
At first, when I tried the handle, it wouldn’t open. It twisted and jolted, but it refused to budge, almost like someone was holding it closed.
“Mommy!” Estelle sobbed on the other side.
I backed up and charged forward, throwing my shoulder into the door. It didn’t budge. Only a loud, thunderous slam echoed through the second floor. I retreated and threw my shoulder into the door again, spinning around and hitting my shoeless heel into some part of the wood.
“Estelle!” I tried the doorknob again. “Baby, Mommy’s coming!”
My shoulder slammed into the weak spots of the door. I kicked and kicked, punching it in the hopes whatever was holding it closed would move an inch.
“Eric! Eric! No! Eric!”
“Quincy?” I heard my mother’s voice behind me. “What’s going on?”
“Th-the door!” I hadn’t realized I was crying just as loud as my daughter. “It won’t open. Momma, help me. Please!”
Mom rushed over and tied her robe tight. She tried the handle before pushing on the edges of the door.
“Okay, let’s try together,” she said. “Ready?”
I nodded frantically and hovered nearby. We shared a look and counted down together before throwing our bodies into the nursery door.
Thankfully, it shot open with a loud crack. Mom and I fell to the floor while Lukas jumped over us and rushed into the room, his nose eagerly sniffing the ground.
“Mommy.” Estelle lifted her hands to me as I yanked her out of the crib. She grabbed onto my shirt and shrieked in fear.
Mom turned the lights on and released a horrified gasp.
When I faced the opposite wall, my feet numbly stumbled back, and I felt dread swarm my chest.
A large, eight-point star was drawn in blood, dripping down mural Olivia had beautifully painted of animals. In the center, connecting the points, a heart was traced out on the wall with my pocketknife stuck deep into the wall.
“I’m calling your papa.” Mom slowly backed up to the doorway, her eyes not leaving the obvious threat left for me.
“Don’t bother.” My eyes lingered on my pocketknife—the same pocketknife I had tossed at his head. “This is from him.”
Mom’s chest rose and fell as we stared at the bloody threat. She turned and brushed down her robe, storming out of my daughter’s bedroom.
“Then I’m calling your babushka,” she snapped. “This damn man. He could have picked any other wall!”
I held Estelle close and swayed back and forth. My lips pressed into her temple, cradling her head.
“I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you safe,” I whispered, swallowing back more tears.