Chapter 3 — The Pale Face in the Doorway
Arthur stood right there in the narrow doorway.
His body was completely rigid.
His face was drained of every ounce of color, leaving his skin a pale, ghostly gray.
His fingers clawed frantically at the dark fabric of his vest.
He clutched the wool material with trembling, unsteady hands.
Brenda stared at him, her breath catching in her throat.
“Dad?” she asked, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper.
Arthur blinked rapidly, his eyes darting away from hers.
He refused to meet her gaze, staring instead at the floorboards near her left shoe.
“I was just… checking the plumbing,” Arthur stammered.
His voice came out in a high, strained pitch that sounded nothing like his usual steady tone.
“The plumbing?” Brenda repeated, narrowing her eyes.
“In the hallway?”
“The pipes,” Arthur insisted, his hands still clutching his vest as he shifted his weight heavily from one foot to the other.
“They make a noise through the walls. I thought there might be a leak.”
Arthur’s nervous sweat glistened on his forehead under the dim hallway light.
His nervous avoidance of eye contact clashed violently with the stern, confident authority he usually carried around the house.
Brenda took a slow step toward him.
Arthur flinched backward, his shoulder pressing hard against the wooden doorframe.
As he raised a shaking hand to push his gray hair back, Brenda’s eyes caught a strange glint of light against his dark sleeve.
A tiny, razor-sharp shard of glass was firmly wedged into the thick fabric of his vest cuff.