Chapter 10 - The Knock at the Door
The mountain wind howled through the Douglas firs outside, rattling the double-paned glass windows of the coastal cabin.
Down in the bay, thick fog was rolling off the dark ocean, crawling up the granite cliffs like a mountain of white steam, swallowing the trees, the rocks, and the narrow dirt access road that connected the cabin to the highway.
It was 9:00 PM.
Maya was asleep in the small bedroom upstairs, tucked safely beneath three heavy down quilts, her stuffed velvet bear clutched tightly against her chin.
Downstairs, the hearth fire had burned down to a pile of deep, glowing red embers, casting long, dramatic geometric shadows across the cedar ceiling beams.
James sat at the wooden kitchen table. The reassembled pump-action shotgun lay flat across his knees, a box of heavy 12-gauge red shells sitting open beside his hand.
Lily stood near the high window overlooking the dark porch, her hands wrapped tightly in her thick wool blanket, her eyes watching the white fog press against the glass.
"She knows where we are, doesn't she?" Lily asked quietly, her voice devoid of fear now, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve.
"She bought the land through a shell company in 1998," James replied, his thumb sliding a heavy red shell into the shotgun’s tubular magazine with a crisp, metallic CLICK. "She wanted this cabin to be her retirement hideout. She knows every stone on this ridge."
Suddenly, three slow, deliberate knocks echoed through the quiet cabin.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
The sound was not frantic. It was not violent. It was the calm, polite knock of an invited guest arriving for late tea.
Lily froze.
James stood up smoothly from his wooden chair. He rack-fed a shell into the shotgun chamber with a loud, mechanical SHUCK-CLACK that sounded like iron tearing through ice.
He held the weapon low at his hip, his finger resting lightly along the side of the trigger guard.
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"Stay behind the stone hearth, Lily," James commanded softly.
"No," Lily said, her eyes flashing with a fierce, dangerous light as she dropped her wool blanket onto the sofa. "She’s my mother, James. I'm opening the door."
