“Yes, I do,” she said, “but not always the kind that people usually mean.”
A faint, bitter smile appeared and vanished on his face.
“You speak like someone much older than you are,” he noted.
“And you sleep like someone afraid of his own dreams,” she countered.
The air went completely still as Maya realized she had crossed a line. Arthur stood up, the blanket fell to the floor, and for one heartbeat, the old hardness returned to his face. Then, quietly, he said that she should leave the tray and go. She did as she was told.
At the door, he spoke again.
“Tomorrow morning, come here early,” he commanded.
Maya turned around to face him.
“Why?” she asked.
His eyes moved toward the ceiling, toward the second floor, toward the locked room.
“Because I am finally opening a door,” he stated.
Maya slept badly that night, and at dawn, she arrived while the sky was still violet over the city. Mrs. Gordon was waiting in the foyer, her face looking pale and anxious.
“Did he tell you what he plans to do?” Maya asked.
Mrs. Gordon nodded slowly.
“You do not have to go in there,” Mrs. Gordon warned.
“He asked me to be there,” Maya replied.
“That room has broken stronger people than you,” Mrs. Gordon whispered.
Maya glanced up the staircase toward the forbidden floor.
“Maybe they just tried to enter it alone,” Maya said.
Mrs. Gordon’s eyes softened just for a moment.
Arthur appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing no suit jacket, only a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and in his hand was the silver key. He did not greet them but walked to the end of the hallway where Maya followed. Mrs. Gordon stayed several steps behind, one hand pressed to her chest in agitation.
At the locked door, Arthur stopped and simply stared for a long time, Maya hearing his breathing change as he prepared himself.
“You do not have to do this today,” she said.
His jaw tightened in resolve.
“Yes, I do,” he whispered.
The key entered the lock, and the sound was small, but the effect was enormous, as the door opened with a soft, long sigh. Dust and the faint scent of lavender drifted out, and Maya stepped inside after him.
The room was a child’s bedroom, frozen perfectly in time, with pale yellow walls, white curtains, and shelves full of picture books. A tiny pair of red shoes sat near the wardrobe, and stuffed animals were arranged on the bed, waiting faithfully for a child who would never return. On the pillow lay another wooden rabbit, not the chipped one from the library, but a second one that was newer and unbroken.
Arthur stared at it as if he had been struck by lightning. Mrs. Gordon gasped behind them in the hallway.
“That was not there,” she whispered in terror.
Arthur turned slowly.
“What?”
Mrs. Gordon’s face had gone white as a sheet.
“That rabbit, it was not on the pillow when I locked this room,” she insisted.
Maya felt cold spread through her body as Arthur stepped closer to the bed and picked up the toy. A folded piece of paper was tied around its neck with a pink ribbon, and his fingers stiffened.
“Esther could not write,” he said, his voice trembling.
No one answered him. He untied the ribbon and opened the note, and Maya saw the color drain from his face instantly.
“What does it say?” she asked.
Arthur read the words once, then again, and his voice was barely human when he finally spoke.
“It says, ‘Daddy, I waited for you,’” he revealed.
Mrs. Gordon crossed herself in the doorway, and Maya’s heart hammered against her ribs. Arthur looked up, his eyes burning with shock, grief, and something far more dangerous, which was hope. Then, from somewhere deep inside the room, a music box began to play by itself, a delicate, broken melody filling the air.
Maya recognized it instantly, the same lullaby she had sung in the study. Arthur turned toward the wardrobe, and the door was open by one inch, and from the darkness inside came the soft, unmistakable sound of a child laughing.
THE END.
