Chapter 6 - Whispers in the SnowThe winter storm hit Chicago with full force by the end of the week, blanketing the North Side in three feet of heavy, blinding snow and trapping Castellano Manor in a whiteout isolation.
The power flickered twice, casting the grand hallways into eerie, dancing shadows.
Iris was carrying a stack of fresh linens down the second-floor gallery when she heard a faint, rhythmic sound coming from the alcove near the nursery.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
She crept forward, holding a single brass candlestick.
Sitting on the wide velvet window seat, with the howling blizzard raging against the thick double-paned glass behind him, was Leo. He was holding Mr. Bumbles by one leg, repeatedly tapping the stuffed animal's plastic eye against the wooden window frame.
Iris didn't call out. She slowly knelt down on the carpet several feet away, matching his level. Without a word, she raised her hands and began to sign in American Sign Language—a slow, gentle movement she had taught deaf and traumatized children for years.
Snow falls, her hands translated silently into the cold air. The world is quiet. But we are safe inside.
Leo stopped tapping the elephant. His dark eyes flicked from the window to Iris’s hands. He watched the fluid motion of her fingers with an intensity that seemed to pierce straight through her soul.
Slowly, agonizingly, the little boy's small hand lifted from his lap. His fingers twitched, mimicking the clumsy, imperfect shape of the sign for safe.
May you like
A sharp intake of breath rattled in his chest—his lips parted as if he were about to speak—and then, suddenly terrified by his own progress, he scrambled off the window seat and bolted down the dark corridor toward his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Iris exhaled, her heart pounding against her ribs. She stood up slowly, knowing deep in her bones that the wall around the boy was beginning to crack.
