Chapter 2: The House with the Blue Door
For an hour, Arthur stood paralyzed across the street, hidden behind the trunk of a large elm tree. Dusk began to bleed into the sky, painting the clouds in violent shades of purple and bruised orange. The house remained silent, but a warm, yellow light flicked on in the kitchen window.
Unable to bear the agony of not knowing any longer, Arthur crossed the street. Every step felt like walking through deep water. He approached the blue door and raised his fist. He knocked three times.
Silence. Then, the soft padding of footsteps.
The door creaked open, held by a heavy brass chain. A sliver of a face appeared in the gap.
Arthur stopped breathing.
It was her. The same emerald-green eyes, the same smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. But she looked older, tired, her hair pulled into a messy knot, and a deep scar marred the left side of her jawline.
“Yes?” she asked. Her voice was cautious, devoid of any recognition.
Arthur’s vocal cords felt like sandpaper. “Eleanor?”
The woman flinched. The color instantly drained from her face, leaving her as pale as a sheet. She tried to slam the door, but Arthur’s expensive leather shoe was already wedged in the frame.
“Please! Eleanor, it’s me. It’s Arthur!” he pleaded, his voice breaking into a sob. “They told me you were dead. I held a funeral. I buried an empty casket for you!”
“I don’t know who you are!” she cried out, her voice laced with genuine panic. “My name is Clara! Leave us alone, or I’m calling the police!”
“Clara?” Arthur repeated, bewildered. Then, he held up the silver music box through the gap in the door. “Then how do you explain this? Lily showed it to me in the park.”
Eleanor—Clara—stared at the silver object. Her eyes widened, and a sudden, violent tremor shook her entire body. She clutched her head, a gasp of intense pain escaping her lips.
“Mommy?” Lily’s small voice echoed from the hallway.
“Stay back, Lily!” Eleanor gasped, still holding her head. The sight of the music box seemed to be forcing a locked door in her mind to splinter and crack.
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“Please,” Arthur said softly, removing his foot from the door and taking a step back to show he wasn't a threat. “I just want to talk. If I am a stranger, call the cops. But if you look at me… really look at me… tell me you don’t feel anything.”
Eleanor hesitated. She looked at the music box, then slowly lifted her gaze to meet Arthur’s tear-filled eyes. A flicker of something profound and agonizing flashed in her emerald eyes. With a shaking hand, she reached out and unlatched the chain.
