“No. It’s the woman. Martha. And Lucas. I came by unannounced and… what I saw isn’t normal. This isn’t anything the doctors recommended. I think she’s taking advantage of the fact that you’re never home. You need to see this yourself.”
Robert hung up.
Every deal, every dollar disappeared from his mind.
Fear took over.
He left without explanation, drove like a madman, parked away from the house, and entered silently. The mansion was quiet.
Then he heard it.
Not crying.
Not screaming.
Rhythm.
Metallic sounds… followed by silence… then laughter.
Laughter.
From Lucas.
Impossible.
Robert removed his shoes and crept toward the rarely used living room. The doors were slightly open.
Inside, the room was unrecognizable.
The Persian rugs were rolled aside. On the polished wood floor sat Martha and Lucas, cross-legged, surrounded by pots, pans, lids, wooden spoons—kitchen chaos.
Martha tapped gently on a pot.
Boom.
She brushed a whisk against a pan.
Shhh-shhh.
Then tapped a plastic container.
Tap.
“The house isn’t silent, Lucas,” she whispered. “The house sings.”
Lucas watched her hands—focused, alive.
“Your turn,” she said softly. “Tell me how you feel. No words needed.”
Lucas took the spoons.