“You were aware that something unusual was happening, weren’t you?” I asked carefully, my voice strained beneath emotional turbulence.
He hesitated painfully before responding. “She does not intend harm,” he whispered, words fragile with uncertainty. “She simply believes she has reasons we may not fully understand yet.”
Ambiguity offered no comfort.
That afternoon, determination replaced hesitation entirely. I confronted Beatrice directly, finding her seated gracefully in the living room, porcelain teacup balanced with characteristic composure while muted television voices filled the background.
“I know about the nightly visits,” I said steadily, forcing calm despite the storm raging internally. “We reviewed the recordings carefully, and I genuinely wish to understand your intentions honestly.”
She placed her cup down with slow deliberation.
Her gaze met mine.
Sharp. Unreadable. Piercingly intense.
“What exactly do you imagine you have discovered?” she asked softly, her tone chillingly neutral.
Without waiting for response, she rose silently and departed.
Unease hardened into genuine fear.