The Office Door

The door gave way under Sammy’s eager push, letting in the still, cool air of the hallway. He darted past her towards the kitchen, but Jenny halted mid-step. Nial’s office door was open. He was precise about such things—locked when unattended, papers arranged just so—yet now it stood wide enough to invite intrusion. She called his name, receiving only the empty reply of silence.

Buffy emerged from within, tail moving lazily, then padded after Sammy. Jenny’s eyes returned to the doorway, her sense of order disrupted. Inside, the desk was as she expected—papers, invoices, and notes in his handwriting—but one sheet lay at the edge as if set down in recent haste. She stepped closer. A list of names and addresses covered the page, some obliterated by thick, angry strokes of a pen. Among them, Dr. Carmichael’s stood out with unsettling clarity.

Her breath caught. Questions surged without anchor—why these names, why this pattern? The paper felt heavy in her fingers, the ink pressed into the grain with force. She hovered on the edge of speculation when a floorboard creaked somewhere behind her, sharp and sudden. Instinct clenched her chest. She called out again, softer this time, receiving only stillness in answer.

Setting the paper back in place, she shut the door deliberately, the latch clicking too loudly in the narrow hall. She lingered, listening, but the house gave her nothing except its own quiet, layered with the possibility of another presence. With groceries still in the car, she forced herself away, carrying both their weight and the unanswered questions into the next room.