Chapter 3 - A Knock on the DoorThe sun had long since dipped below the skyline, plunging the narrow Queens street into a deep, gloomy shadow. Emma trudged up the three flights of stairs to her apartment, carrying a plastic bag filled with discounted groceries and a prescription bottle for her mother.
When she unlocked the door, the familiar scent of lavender and old paper welcomed her. Margaret was sitting by the window, staring out at the rain-slicked pavement with wide, vacant eyes.
"Mom? I'm home," Emma said softly, dropping her keys on the small wooden table.
Margaret didn't turn. "The bread is burning, Leo. The bakery windows are fogging up."
Emma’s heart gave a familiar, dull ache. Her father, Leo, had been gone for five years, but in her mother’s fading mind, time had collapsed. "No one's baking today, Mom. It's just us."
She prepared a simple dinner, helped Margaret take her pills, and finally collapsed onto the worn sofa. Her bones felt like lead. She closed her eyes, desperate for sleep to wash away the memory of the screaming metal and the smell of smoke.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Emma froze. It was past nine o’clock. No one ever visited her this late.
She stood up slowly, tightening the belt of her robe, and crept to the front door. She looked through the peephole.
There was no one standing directly in front of the lens. Only the edge of a broad, charcoal-suited shoulder and the faint reflection of a silver-trimmed tie.
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"Who is it?" Emma asked, her voice trembling slightly.
"Open the door, Ms. Brooks," a voice replied from the hallway. It wasn't loud, but it carried an authority that made it impossible to ignore. It was smooth, chillingly calm, and completely unyielding. "We need to talk about what you did last night."
