Chapter 3 - THE VIBRATION OF THE WOOD
The silence in the room stretched until it felt like a rubber band ready to snap.
Then, the heavy thud of knuckles hitting solid oak shattered the quiet.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The sound came from the massive, classic brown wooden double doors at the far end of the entryway.
The heavy wood vibrated in its frame.
The brass handle rattled slightly with the force of the blows.
The man in the black shirt froze.
His shoulders locked.
The aggressive lean of his posture vanished, replaced instantly by the rigid stillness of a cornered thief.
He slowly turned his head toward the entryway.
The mother’s breath hitched.
Her fingernails bit deeply into the carpet fibers, scraping against the hard floor beneath.
A muffled, deep voice penetrated the thick wooden doors.
"Claire, open the door."
The voice was thick with age and authority.
"It's Papa."
Claire’s head snapped up from the silk robe.
Her tear-streaked face turned toward the entryway, her wide eyes reflecting the warm glow of the table lamp.
Grandpa's voice sounds like a thick blanket, the child thought.
Blankets put out fires.
Blankets hide you from the dark.
She shifted her weight, her small knee pressing into the carpet as she prepared to stand.
Before she could lift herself completely, a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder.
The man in the black shirt dropped to a crouch.
His knees cracked loudly in the silent room.
He was suddenly at eye level with them.
His grip on Claire’s shoulder was bone-crushing, pinning the seven-year-old in place.
The mother gasped, her hand darting out to grab his wrist.
His skin was burning hot.
He didn't look at the mother.
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His dark eyes bore directly into Claire’s terrified face.
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