The Watch Under the Pillow

The silence in the nursery was deafening.

Vanessa stood in the doorway, the heavy iron poker resting casually against the side of her silk robe. She didn’t look angry. She looked completely relaxed, which was infinitely more terrifying.

Leo whimpered and buried his face in Luca’s shoulder.

Luca’s arms tightened around his son. He didn’t look at the poker. He didn’t look at the glass of water. He looked directly into Vanessa’s eyes.

“What are you doing with that, Vanessa?” Luca asked. His voice was dangerously soft.

Vanessa offered a tight, artificial smile. “I heard noises. The estate is so big, darling. A woman can never be too careful. I thought perhaps an intruder had gotten in.”

Her eyes slid past Luca and locked onto me.

“But it’s only the help.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. My shoulder throbbed where she had shoved me against the vanity just hours earlier. I took a slow step backward, putting myself slightly behind Luca.

“Why was his door locked from the outside?” Luca asked.

Vanessa sighed, stepping fully into the room and letting the poker tap gently against the floorboards. Tap. Tap.

“He was sleepwalking again, Luca. I found him wandering the halls. I simply tucked him back in and turned the key so he wouldn’t fall down the stairs. I was protecting him.”

“You don’t have a key to this room,” Luca said.

“I had a spare made,” she replied effortlessly. “For emergencies.”

Luca’s gaze dropped to the glass of water in her other hand. “And that?”

“He always wakes up thirsty after his night terrors,” she said. She held the glass out toward the boy. “Here, Leo. Drink.”

Leo violently shook his head, pressing himself deeper into his father’s chest. His small hands reached out and grabbed the fabric of my apron, holding on for dear life.

“He doesn’t want it,” Luca said.

“He needs it,” Vanessa insisted, her voice dropping an octave. The sweetness was gone. “He needs his rest before the wedding.”

Luca reached out and took the glass from her hand. He didn’t give it to Leo. He held it up to the light.

The water wasn’t perfectly clear. There was a faint, powdery residue settling at the bottom of the glass.

Luca’s jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might shatter.

“Rachel,” Luca said quietly.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take Leo to my study. Lock the door. Do not let anyone inside until I come for you.”

Vanessa’s smile vanished completely. “Luca, you can’t be serious. You’re trusting my stepson with a maid who can barely hold a wine bottle?”

“Go,” Luca commanded.

I didn’t hesitate. I scooped the six-year-old boy into my arms. He was heavy, but adrenaline flooded my system. Leo wrapped his arms around my neck, burying his face in my collar.

As I moved toward the door, Vanessa stepped into my path.

She didn’t raise the poker. She just stood there, blocking the exit.

“Excuse me, Miss Bellini,” I whispered.

She leaned in close. I could smell the expensive champagne on her breath.

“You’re out of your depth, Rachel,” she whispered so only I could hear. “You’re drowning and you don’t even know it.”

Suddenly, Luca’s hand clamped down on Vanessa’s shoulder, pulling her roughly out of the way.

“Get out, Rachel,” he barked.

I ran.

I carried Leo down the grand staircase, my heart pounding in my ears. The house was entirely silent. The engagement dinner guests had all gone home. The catering staff had cleared out. It was just us in the massive, echoing mansion.

I reached the study, hurried inside, and threw the heavy deadbolt.

I set Leo down on the leather sofa. He immediately pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. He was still shaking.

“It’s okay, buddy,” I whispered, crouching in front of him. “You’re safe here. Your dad is taking care of it.”

Leo didn’t look at me. He was staring at my pocket.

The pocket where I had shoved his drawing.

Slowly, I reached in and pulled out the crumpled paper. I smoothed it out on the coffee table. The terrifying monster with blonde hair. The silver watch. The arched door of the wine cellar.

And the maid lying on the floor in red crayon.

“Leo,” I asked gently. “Why did you draw me sleeping on the floor?”

Leo looked at the paper. Then, very slowly, he shook his head.

He reached out with one small finger and tapped the red crayon marks on the maid’s chest.

Not sleeping.

Bleeding.

A cold sweat broke out across my back.

Suddenly, I noticed something else about the drawing. Behind the iron door of the wine cellar, Leo had scribbled something in heavy black crayon. It looked like a box. A square box with a cross on top of it.

I frowned, leaning closer. “What is that, Leo? In the cellar?”

Leo reached into his pajama pocket. He pulled his fist out and held it over the drawing.

He opened his hand.

A silver rosary dropped onto the paper.

My breath stopped.

I reached out with trembling fingers and picked it up.

It was my rosary. The one my mother had given me before she passed away. I had worn it every day of my life until last week, when it vanished from my locker in the staff quarters. I thought I had simply misplaced it.

“Where did you get this, sweetie?” I asked, my voice shaking.

Leo stared at me. His mouth opened.

For the first time in four years, the little boy spoke.

His voice was hoarse, raspy from disuse.

“She dropped it.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “Who dropped it, Leo? Vanessa?”

He shook his head.

“The lady in the picture.”

I froze. I looked at the drawing of the blonde monster. “Vanessa?”

“No,” Leo whispered. He lifted a trembling finger and pointed across the dimly lit study.

He was pointing at the massive oil painting hanging above the fireplace.

A portrait of Luca’s late wife, Isabella.

She had died in a car accident four years ago.

“She dropped it in the cellar,” Leo whispered, his eyes wide with terror. “When the monster locked her in.”

My blood ran completely cold.

Before I could process what he was saying, a heavy thud echoed from the hallway outside.

Then, the sound of a struggle.

I stood up, backing away from the locked door.

“Rachel!” Luca’s voice bellowed from the hallway. It was filled with a primal, desperate panic I had never heard before. “Rachel, don’t open the door! Do not open—”

His voice was suddenly cut off by a sickening crunch.

Then, silence.

“Mr. Moretti?” I called out, my voice cracking.

Nothing.

I grabbed the heavy bronze letter opener from Luca’s desk. I pushed Leo behind the sofa. “Stay down,” I mouthed to him.

I crept toward the heavy oak door. I pressed my ear against the wood.

I could hear heavy, ragged breathing on the other side.

Then, the brass handle slowly began to turn.

It hit the locked deadbolt and stopped.

For ten agonizing seconds, nothing happened.

Then, a piece of paper was slowly slid beneath the crack of the door.

I backed away, staring at the white rectangle on the carpet.