The attic on the third floor was like a whole new world. Sophie stood at the door, blinking in disbelief. It was nothing like what she’d seen the night before. The door was old, sure, but it wasn’t the same door, nor was the lock.
Sophie stepped closer, recalling vividly how she’d taken a hammer and smashed the door to bits. So how could there be no trace left?
Odie, watching the scene unfold, couldn't help but furrow his brows. He knew what Gordon was capable of, but resetting and rebuilding everything in a single night? That was beyond expectations.
“No way…” Sophie muttered, staring in shock. She tried to open the door, but Odie, standing behind her, caught her hand. “I told you it was just a dream, didn’t I? But no, you wouldn’t listen. Now look at you, losing it all over again.”
Despite his frown, Odie met Sophie's gaze, and her eyes were filled with a seriousness he hadn't seen before. “I’m not crazy, Odie. It wasn’t a dream.”
Her words struck a chord, and Odie found himself at a loss for anything harsh to say. He released her hand, glanced away, and added, “Even if you want to have a peek, you should ask the owner first. Isn’t barging into someone’s attic a bit rude?”
Odie’s reminder snapped Sophie back to reality. The house belonged to Gordon. He’d know the ins and outs of this place, and surely, what was hidden in the attic.
With that realization, Sophie stumbled down the stairs. Odie watched her, nearly tripping several times. He wanted to reach out, but his hand stalled mid-air. Eventually, he pulled it back, thinking, “Stubborn and reckless! She’s just asking for trouble!” Yet, despite his thoughts, he found himself following her downstairs.
On the second floor, Sophie stopped outside Gordon's room. Her hand was raised, but, like yesterday, it hung there, suspended as if held by an invisible string.
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Revenge is best served cold