PART 2: I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, louder than the footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor – News

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, louder than the footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. The door handle jiggled again, but this time there was a hesitation, a pause that stretched on longer than I was comfortable with. It was as if Ethan was waiting for something, or maybe… someone. My grip tightened on Ryan’s hand, my only tether to reality in this nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sounds, trying to keep my mind from spiraling into panic.

Ryan’s breathing was shallow, but steady. He was still alive. I focused on that, praying for it to be true, that his little heart hadn’t given out, that his body wasn’t succumbing to the poison that had flooded our systems only moments ago.

I could hear Ethan’s footsteps move further into the house. The woman’s voice—low and anxious—broke the silence, but I couldn’t make out the words. I knew that if I stayed quiet enough, maybe, just maybe, I could hear more. So I stayed there, breathing shallow, feeling the sticky warmth of sweat on my skin, praying for time to slow down.

“Is it done?” the woman asked again, her voice cutting through the stillness, a tinge of fear in her words.

“Not yet,” Ethan replied, but there was a certain finality in his voice, like he was readying himself for the end of it all. “We wait. We stay here until it’s finished.”

The door rattled again. My body froze. I glanced down at Ryan, whose wide eyes were filled with confusion, his face pale under the dim light of the bathroom. He was scared—no, terrified—but I had to keep him calm. I had to. For both of us.

“Mom… what’s happening? Why can’t we leave?” Ryan’s voice was barely a whisper, but in the quiet, it cut through the room like a knife.

I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t let him see my fear, not now. I had to be the strong one. I had to be the one who stayed composed while we waited for help. But deep down, I knew I was on borrowed time. My mind was racing, and the more I tried to control my thoughts, the more they slipped away from me, like water through my fingers.

“Stay quiet,” I whispered hoarsely, my voice strained from the effort of holding back tears. “We’ll get through this. Just… don’t make a sound.”

Ryan nodded, his little hand trembling in mine. It was all I could do not to cry, not to give in to the overwhelming sense of hopelessness that was clawing at my insides.

The door handle rattled once more, louder this time. The sound of a shoe scraping across the floor followed. Then a soft thud, as if someone had dropped something heavy on the ground.

I could feel the air around me grow thicker, heavier. My pulse quickened.

Ethan’s voice, cold and calm, echoed down the hallway. “They’re still alive. This isn’t over yet.”

I pressed my back into the bathroom wall, my breath coming in ragged bursts. He was coming closer. I knew it. He was checking every room, looking for us. And he would find us.

Then, from the distance, I heard the unmistakable sound of a drawer opening—slow, deliberate. The soft scrape of metal against metal. My breath hitched in my throat. The kitchen. He’s in the kitchen.

I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t risk it. I had to move.

“Stay here,” I whispered to Ryan, my voice trembling but firm. “Don’t move.”

I pushed myself off the bathroom wall and crept toward the door. I could hear the faint noise of Ethan and the woman talking again, but their words were muffled, distant. It was my chance.

I grabbed the doorknob with sweaty fingers, turning it just enough to squeeze out. The house was silent again, save for the soft creaking of the floorboards beneath my feet as I tiptoed down the hallway. The kitchen was ahead. That was where I had seen Ethan earlier—placing the plates, setting the table, everything so meticulously done. Everything felt wrong, and now, I had to find out why.

I moved as silently as I could, my heart hammering in my chest, almost as loud as my footsteps in my ears. I reached the kitchen. The counter was clear, save for the half-eaten remnants of the meal Ethan had prepared. The green sauce on the plate had made my stomach turn earlier, but now, it felt like a warning, a signal that something worse was about to happen.

Then I saw it.

The trash can in the corner of the room. The lid was slightly ajar. I didn’t hesitate. I rushed toward it, lifted the lid, and dug through the contents, heart racing. My fingers brushed against something small, something glass. I pulled it out, and there it was—the vial. The same greenish tint. The poison.

I froze. The reality of it hit me all at once. Ethan had planned this. He had planned it all.

I didn’t have much time. I shoved the vial into my pocket, hoping no one had seen me. Then, I heard the sound of footsteps again—closer this time. Much closer.

I darted back toward the hallway, but my body was shaking, my movements sluggish from the poison. The door creaked again. Ethan was here. He was almost at the bathroom door.

I could hear him muttering to himself, but this time, it was different. His words were hurried, frantic. “I can’t believe it’s taking so long,” he muttered. “They should’ve been gone by now.”

No. No, we’re not going down like this.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I had to be ready. I had to stay alive long enough for help to arrive. I turned to Ryan, who was still in the bathroom, eyes wide, but he was holding on. We could survive this. We had to.

And then, from the corner of the room, I heard the sound I had feared most—the door opening again.