The Shadow in the Window

Karl pulls up outside the Cramer house. Anxiety washes over him—cold surge from gut to chest. Last time he stood on this doorstep, three years ago, Brett had shouted him down in the driveway whilst neighbours watched. Wendy had stood behind him, arms crossed, expression granite. Message unambiguous: never come back.

Inside, Wendy watches headlights flash through her fir trees. Recognises the silhouette. Face pulling tight with disdain, she heads for the door.

Karl's knocks are timid. Door swings open immediately—Wendy was waiting. Her profanity sharp and unwelcoming. She moves to slam it shut.

His hand stops the door inches from closing. They struggle—him pushing in, her pushing out. Physical battle over contested space.

Karl pleads for access to Beatrix. Claims urgency. Something in his desperation registers with Wendy—momentary pause. But she denies Beatrix is home.

Then catches him off-guard. Door's edge catches his shoulder with substantial impact. He staggers back. Door slams. Deadbolt slides home with finality.

Karl retreats down garden path. The compulsion that drove him here evaporates. All that sacrifice—Sarah hurt and dismissed—for this. Door slammed in his face.

At his car, he glances back. Figure at upstairs window—silhouette taller than Wendy, watching his departure.

He looks again. Curtains drawn tight. No gap. No movement. Nothing.

Had he imagined it? Or had someone stepped back the moment he noticed? Can't trust his own perceptions anymore. Can't separate exhaustion-fuelled delusion from truth.

Inside, Wendy rests her aching back against the door, heart thumping. Massages her throbbing temple. What has Beatrix got herself into now?