99 "I thought my seven-month-pregnant wife was hiding a betrayal from me because my own mother kept whispering poison into my ears.

My blood ran instantly cold.

"What did you say?" I screamed at the monitor, grabbing it from the pillows. "Eleanor! What did you do?!"

"You sent Rachel with the baby," my mother’s voice rasped, accompanied by a wet, painful cough. "You thought the police station was safe. You thought Rachel was smart. But Rachel is sentimental, David. She always was."

"No," Megan gasped, her face draining of all color. She grabbed her phone, frantically dialing Rachel’s number. "No, no, no... ring, please ring..."

“We’re sorry, the customer you are trying to reach is out of the coverage area...” the automated voice droned from Megan's phone.

"She won't answer, Megan," my mother’s voice whispered from the monitor, sounding remarkably close, as if she were watching us from a hidden camera in the room. "Carol didn't go to your house in Berwyn. Carol was waiting down the street from the police station. A simple detour... a staged car accident... a helpful stranger offering to keep the baby warm while they waited for the tow truck. Rachel is so trusting when she thinks someone is hurt."

"You're lying!" I roared, throwing the monitor against the wall. It shattered into a dozen plastic pieces, silencing the raspy voice.

"David, the window!" Megan cried, running toward the heavy glass panes overlooking the street.

I ran to her side. We looked down. Through the fog, we could see my sedan parked at the curb. But there was another car parked directly behind it—a black SUV.

As we watched, the doors of the SUV opened. A figure stepped out, holding a small bundle wrapped in a blue-starred blanket.

It was Carol.

She looked up at the second-floor window, smiling directly at us under the amber glow of the streetlamp. She held the bundle up, a sickening display of triumph, before turning and walking toward the front steps of the house we were locked inside.

"They have her," Megan whispered, her voice falling into a dead, hollow shock. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. The sheer weight of the horror seemed to crush the air right out of her lungs. She fell to her knees, her hands pressing against the glass. "They have our baby."

"Megan, look at me," I said, kneeling in front of her, grabbing her face in my hands. My own heart was bursting with a terrifying, primal rage, but I knew that if I let it consume me, we would lose. "Look at me. We are not going to let them win. We are in the same house. They brought her here. They want us to witness whatever sick ritual Eleanor has planned. That means Lily is alive, and she is in this building."

"How do we get out?" Megan whispered, her eyes unfocused. "The door is solid oak. The windows have iron security bars on the outside. David, we're trapped."

I looked around the room, my eyes landing on the heavy, brass-tipped fireplace irons near the hearth.

"We don't need a key," I said, walking over and lifting the heavy iron poker. "We just need enough leverage."

I walked to the hidden servant's door behind the velvet curtains where Carol had slipped out. It was a smaller, thinner door, painted to match the wallpaper. I wedged the tip of the iron poker into the gap between the door and the frame, right next to the latch.

"Megan, help me!" I yelled.

She ran over, grabbing the iron bar with me. Together, using every ounce of our strength, our muscles screaming, we threw our weight against the poker.

With a loud, splintering crash, the wood gave way. The door burst open, revealing a narrow, dark spiral staircase leading down into the bowels of the house.