It had felt like an eternity, not merely a long day, and the unplanned Uber detour back to Joel's house to retrieve the car hadn't eased the tension one bit. As I finally pulled Jamie's car to the roadside, the engine's abrupt cessation mirrored the sudden quiet in my mind. I took a deep breath, attempting to calm my erratic heartbeat, feeling the weight of my decisions pressing down on me.

Is this really a good idea? I pondered, the question echoing in the confined space of the car. Today's earlier encounter with Louise still lingered in my mind, an unwelcome reminder of the potential for another clash. I had no more excuses to offer, no valid reasons to be found lurking on her property uninvited. The very thought sent a shiver down my spine.

Perhaps Paul's suggestion wasn't so far-fetched. Buying Kain new clothes seemed like a straightforward solution, devoid of the complexities and potential confrontations my current plan entailed. My fingers clenched around the key, its cold metal biting into my palm. It would indeed be simpler, more straightforward. "Just start the car and drive away," I whispered to my quivering hands, trying to inject a sense of resolve into my wavering spirit.

With a mechanical obedience, the key rotated, the engine hummed back to life, a brief respite from my internal turmoil. Yet, the respite was fleeting. "Fuck!" The word tore from my lips, a visceral release of pent-up frustration, echoing starkly in the car's interior. My fist collided with the steering wheel, a thud of flesh against leather, the physical pain a momentary distraction from my inner chaos. "Why does everything have to cost so much?" I implored, casting my question into the void, half-expecting the universe to sympathise with my plight, to offer some solace or solution.

But the silence that followed was a stark reminder of my solitude in this moment, of the decisions that lay squarely on my shoulders. The frustration, the indecision, the financial strain – it all coalesced into a moment of raw, unfiltered humanity. Here I was, caught in the throes of life's relentless march, a single individual wrestling with the mundanities and the monumentalities of a dual existence.

I reached across the confined space of Jamie's car, my fingers brushing against the coarse fabric of his empty backpack in the back seat. With a sense of resigned determination, I grabbed it and clambered out of the vehicle, the door slamming shut with a definitive thud behind me. My footsteps were heavy, almost dragging, as I trudged along the uneven rocky edge of the bitumen road, the small stones crunching under my shoes, echoing the turmoil inside me.

The hundred meters to the front gate felt longer than it should have, each step laden with hesitation and the weight of impending confrontation. As I approached, my eyes instinctively traced the elaborate wrought-iron beams that stretched upward from the sturdy human-height concrete pillars at the gate's entrance. The beams arched gracefully before intertwining in a complex dance of metal, a testament to a craftsmanship meant to intimidate as much as to impress.

Lifting my gaze, I studied the words etched into the metallic slab that crowned the gate, its presence an imposing sentinel. "Jeffries Manor," I announced to no one, the name resonating in the still air, carrying with it a weight of history and secrecy. The family's legacy, shrouded in whispers and rumours, felt palpable, as if the very air around the manor whispered the tales of its past.

Jamie had always been reticent about his lineage, his stories sparse and often deflected with a change of topic. Yet the rumours that circulated around the Jeffries' fortune spoke of a darker history, one mired in the shadows of a secret slave trade. The idea seemed far-fetched, yet in light of recent events, the line between the plausible and the implausible had blurred. The notion that the grandeur before me might be built on such grim foundations cast a shadow over the manor, tainting my perception of the intricate ironwork and the stately pillars.

Rumour had it that Jamie's great-grandfather's disappearance was more a matter of selective omission than a genuine mystery. Whispers in the community suggested he was not so much missing as deliberately obscured from the public eye, allegedly orchestrating an underground smuggling ring with the family's tacit consent. In the decade following his supposed vanishing, a pattern emerged where young men, barely stepping into their twenties, began to disappear. The local newspaper spun tales of these men seeking and finding their fortunes on the mainland, their faces beaming from the paper's pages, purported embodiments of success and ambition. Yet, this narrative did little to quell the undercurrent of suspicion that something more sinister was at play.

The most intriguing part of the lore, however, was the claim that beneath the floorboards of one of the estate's original ground-floor rooms lay a hidden trapdoor, a secret conduit to the backroad skirting the property's edge. The notion seemed plucked from a novel, the kind of detail that imbued the Jeffries' legacy with a clandestine allure.

A soft chuckle escaped me as these tales resurfaced in my mind, blending with the shadows and the dim light of the manor's imposing façade. Despite the persistent rumours, the exit of this fabled tunnel had never been discovered along the property's backroad. Jamie, for all his openness on other matters, had never hinted at any such secret within the family home. I suspected the truth of the Jeffries' history was far more mundane than the whispered legends suggested.

From the snippets Jamie had shared, the Jeffries' occupancy of the manor was less about choice and more about necessity. Their grandmother, Thelma, a stern but kind figure I had encountered at various family events, was the linchpin holding the family there. Her adamant refusal to transition to a nursing home meant she required continual care, anchoring her family to her side. Kain, along with his three sisters, remained under the manor's expansive roof, an unusual setup given the oldest two were nearing the threshold of their thirties. Adding to the household's complexity, Brianne, Kain's fiancée, had recently joined the fold, awaiting the completion of their own residence. Despite the manor's vastness, its halls and rooms echoing with the footfalls of its many inhabitants, I couldn't help but feel its walls contained more than just people—secrets, perhaps, lingering in its shadowed corners.

With a hint of optimism, I hoped the day's timing might play in my favour—that the sisters would be absorbed in their daily routines elsewhere and Louise would still be preoccupied with her search for Kain.

As I ventured beneath the archway, my gaze lifted to the manor's imposing silhouette against the sky. It sat, a grand yet sombre guardian, atop the hill, its presence felt long before its façade fully came into view. The dirt road that snaked its way to the summit was rough and untamed, mirroring the wild, rugged bushland that encircled the estate. This natural fortress, while offering a degree of concealment for my visit, also presented its own set of challenges. The terrain was unforgiving, a constant reminder of the thin line between ally and adversary in this secluded environment.

Hugging the edge of the road, I took solace in the natural camouflage provided by the towering gum trees and the dense underbrush characteristic of the native bushland. Their thick foliage offered a sanctuary, shielding me from any prying eyes that might glance from the manor's windows or a passing vehicle. The road, while a guide to my destination, also posed its own risks with its undefined edges blurring into treacherous falls concealed by the scrub. I tread carefully, acutely aware that a single misstep could lead to an unwanted and potentially dangerous descent.

The cool air nipped at my skin, a stark contrast to the sweat that beaded on my forehead, a physical testament to the anxiety and exertion of my cautious ascent. The overcast sky above mirrored the turmoil of my mission, its brooding clouds a silent observer of my clandestine endeavour.

Upon reaching a vantage point, I nestled myself within the confines of a particularly lush bush, its leaves and branches forming a natural screen. From here, I could surveil the driveway's terminus without risk of detection. I counted the cars in a hushed tone, "Three," letting each number sink in as I assessed the situation. Logic dictated that one was Brianne's, another belonged to one of Kain's sisters, and the third, a sinking realisation, was unmistakably Louise's.

My eyes then caught sight of Hudson, Kain's dog, a beacon of friendliness in this nest of uncertainty. There he was, tethered out back, his presence both a comfort and a complication. I had always gotten along with Hudson, his exuberant barking and wagging tail a warm greeting in past encounters. Yet, now, his potential to alert the household of my presence posed a significant risk. The back entry, which I had considered as a less conspicuous route, was now clearly off-limits. Hudson's loyalty and enthusiasm, endearing in any other context, could inadvertently unravel my plans.

As my right leg protested with the onset of a cramp, I shifted my weight, seeking some semblance of comfort amidst the tension. My mind raced through the possible entry points, and the large, glass sliding door leading into the mansion's opulent sunroom emerged as the most viable option. The overcast sky rendered the room less exposed than usual, providing a sliver of opportunity amidst the uncertainty. A fleeting thought about the rumoured trapdoor crossed my mind, bringing a brief, ironic chuckle.

With a surge of adrenaline, I darted from my leafy concealment, pressing my body against the mansion's cool, rendered wall. Stealthily, I edged toward the sunroom, every muscle tensed for quick movement should the need arise. Peering cautiously into the room, I scanned its vacant expanse, the absence of occupants offering a momentary relief. The distant blare of music suggested that the family's attention was anchored elsewhere, likely in one of the living rooms I vaguely recalled from past visits.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by the sharp tone of raised voices, triggering a surge of panic that plastered me against the wall, my body coiled in readiness to flee. But as the argument unfolded, my tension gave way to a smirk of relief. Louise's voice, unmistakable in its intensity, clashed with one of her daughters', their altercation a fortuitous distraction confirming their distance from my position.

I couldn't help but reflect on the family dynamics Jamie had shared, particularly Louise's push for Katie, the youngest at twenty-two, to leave the nest—an odd focus given her elder siblings' continued presence at home. But the rationale behind Louise's urgency was a puzzle for another day. For now, their discord was a tactical advantage, thinning the number of potential obstacles between me and my objective. With a renewed sense of purpose and a calculated breath, I prepared to exploit the momentary drama, inching closer to the sunroom's threshold, poised to navigate the uncertain terrain of the Jeffries' household.

"Now, where could you be, Brianne?" I murmured under my breath, my voice barely a whisper against the backdrop of the sprawling manor's silent judgment.

With cautious precision, I nudged the sunroom's glass door open, just wide enough to allow my frame to slip through without a sound. My steps were measured, deliberate, as I navigated the polished wooden floor, each creak a thunderous betrayal of my presence. Reaching the far end of the sunroom, I paused, straining to recall the layout of the ground floor. My attendance at the Jeffries' festive gatherings had offered glimpses into the mansion's grandeur, yet a comprehensive exploration had eluded me.

My mind raced to map out the unseen blueprint of the house. To my left, the vast kitchen and various living areas sprawled, spaces designed to accommodate the family's lavish entertainments. Logic suggested that Kain's bedroom lay to the right, though doubt gnawed at me. Was it possible I was mistaken, that his sanctuary resided on the floor above?

Louise's voice, sharp and clear, sliced through my contemplation. "Brianne! Are you heading back to your room yet?" Her inquiry was a beacon of information in the shadowy maze of my mission.

"In a minute," came Brianne's distant reply, her voice tinged with the casual nonchalance of someone at ease in their own home. "Need the loo first."

The soft shuffle of Ugg boots betrayed Brianne's path past the doorway, followed by the definitive click of the bathroom door. A surge of relief washed over me, mingling with the thrill of my covert operation. Her direction, her response—everything pointed to the layout I had surmised. Kain's room had to be on the right. If Louise expected Brianne to return directly to her room without ascending the stairs, then it was clear I was on the correct level.

With Brianne momentarily out of sight and Louise's location known, a narrow window of opportunity cracked open before me. My heart thudded against my ribs, a rhythmic drum urging me onward. I edged closer to the doorway, peering through the shadows, ready to delve deeper into the heart of the Jeffries' domain.

I need to find Kain's room, grab some clothes and return the way I've come before Brianne is finished. I couldn't leave Jamie's car out on the open road. Besides, I'd been forced to leave the car behind once today already and that had been enough of a headache. I didn't want to go through that again if it could be avoided.

I glided along the mansion's tiled hallway, the coolness of the floor seeping through the soles of my shoes, amplifying the stealth of my movements. Brianne's temporary occupation of the bathroom was a fortunate stroke of luck, her presence there a diversion that I capitalised on with a thief's gratitude.

My confidence surged as I reached the hallway's end, where the door, boldly marked with "KAIN" in stark, black letters, confirmed I had found my target. The boldness of the signage struck me as oddly convenient amidst the tension of my mission, a guiding light in the murky waters of my endeavour.

I eased the door open, allowing just a sliver of space to remain—a makeshift alarm should Brianne emerge prematurely from the bathroom. Inside Kain's room, I was met with an unexpected challenge. The space was cluttered with Brianne's belongings, her presence in Kain's personal sanctuary overwhelmingly apparent. For a moment, despair flickered within me at the thought that Kain might store his clothes elsewhere.

However, a thorough search revealed a small chest of drawers, somewhat neglected in the corner, which held the items I sought. Relief washed over me as I filled the backpack with a selection of Kain's apparel—undergarments, socks, t-shirts, and a pair of jeans and shorts. Each item was chosen with a sense of urgency, my movements swift yet silent, the fabric whispering against my fingers as I packed.

With the backpack now laden with Kain's clothes, the weight of my mission shifted from the search to the escape. I needed to retrace my steps, navigate the mansion's corridors, and evade detection—all before the echo of a flushing toilet signalled Brianne's return. The stakes were high, the margin for error slim, and every second that ticked by was a reminder of the precarious balance between success and discovery.

Panic surged through me as the unmistakable sound of boots against the hardwood floor echoed outside the room. The anticipated flush of the toilet had not served as my warning, leaving me startlingly unprepared. How had I overlooked such a crucial signal? My gaze swept frantically over the room's scant hiding spots – a bed, some cabinets, a modest built-in robe. None offered a viable refuge.

In desperation, I turned to the window, my hands working quickly to lift it open and push the fly screen outwards. As I manoeuvred to escape, the sight of a dust cloud billowing from an approaching car seized my attention. "Shit," the curse slipped from my lips as I retracted my leg, abandoning my fleeting thought of escape through the window.

My fingers scrambled for the Portal Key in my pocket, a device I hoped might offer some semblance of salvation in this dire moment. But as the sound of a knock reverberated through the room, my heart sank further. "Brianne, are you okay in there?" Louise's voice, laced with concern, penetrated the wooden barrier, intensifying the room's shrinking feel.

My legs, weak as though stripped of all strength, buckled, sending me crashing to the floor. The Portal Key, my potential lifeline, skittered out of my grasp, clattering against the far wall. In that moment of despair, another sound drifted into the room – the distinct noise of retching. A wave of realisation washed over me, tinged with a mix of relief and lingering fear. Louise's inquiry was not directed at Kain's room but at the bathroom.

My breathing, heavy and ragged, slowly found its rhythm as I pieced together the reality of my situation. I was still unseen, still hidden, but far from safe. The urgency to act, to retrieve the Portal Key and to navigate my next steps, pressed upon me with renewed intensity. The stakes were clear, and the margin for error was nonexistent.

The abrupt sound of a car door slamming shut jolted me, a clear signal that new arrivals had descended upon the manor. Voices, muffled yet discernible, drifted towards me, carried by the breeze through the open window. My actions became more frantic as I scurried across the floor, my fingers clasping the Portal Key with a mixture of relief and urgency.

Louise's voice, offering calming instructions to Brianne, seeped through the bathroom door. With the Portal Key now securely in my grasp, I edged back to the sunroom, my body low and movements calculated to avoid detection.

Then, an unexpected voice cut through the tension. "Are you lost, Luke?" Thelma inquired, her tone weary yet unmistakable. My heart seized. In my meticulous planning and stealthy execution, I had overlooked the possibility of Thelma's presence. Her frailty did not mask the sharpness that lingered in her eyes, eyes that now fixed on me with a blend of curiosity and recognition.

Frozen, my mind raced with the implications of her discovery. Thelma, the family matriarch, sat there in her recliner, a silent observer of my predicament. Would she alert Louise?

“Thelma!” Louise called from down the hall. "Where are you? I think we have an intruder."

As the external voices neared the glass sliding door, reality set in. I was cornered, ensnared in a trap of my own making. The room, once a potential escape route, now felt like a glass cage, exposing me to the approaching party.

My mind raced for solutions, but the options dwindled with each passing second. Thelma's presence, the incoming guests, and Louise's growing suspicion converged into a perfect storm, leaving me ensnared in the eye of an impending maelstrom.

In the midst of my panic, Thelma's actions took me by surprise. Her long, bony finger pressed to her lips in a universal signal for silence, and her other hand subtly beckoning me toward safety. Her suggestion was clear – the heavy royal drapes that adorned the room could be my temporary sanctuary. Despite my escalating fear, there was a glimmer of unexpected alliance in her gesture.

As I edged toward the drapes, the sound of the sliding door gliding open sent a shiver down my spine. Louise's voice, probing and authoritative, filled the room. "Did you see anyone outside?" she inquired, her tone laced with concern and suspicion.

The girls' nonchalant "No" floated through the air, their voices blending back into a casual banter as they dismissed Louise's inquiry, moving away from the immediate vicinity. Their lack of interest in Louise's concerns provided me with a crucial, albeit narrow, window of reprieve.

Louise's attention then turned to Thelma. "Are you okay, Thelma?" she asked, her voice softening, a mix of concern and familial affection evident in her tone. The question, so ordinary under different circumstances, now held the weight of my fate.

There, hidden behind the drapes, my breaths were shallow, my body tensed for any outcome. Thelma's complicity in my concealment was unexpected, her reasons unknown, but her intervention was the thread I was hanging by. My stomach churned with anxiety, a physical manifestation of the fear of discovery that loomed over me like a dark cloud. The next moments were critical, balancing on the edge of a knife that could tilt toward safety or catastrophe based on the response of a ninety-something year old.

"Yes, dear," replied Thelma's shaky voice.

"You haven't seen anyone that shouldn't be here, have you?" Louise asked.

"No, dear," replied Thelma.

As Louise's footsteps receded, a palpable silence enveloped the room, thick with my racing thoughts and the rapid beat of my heart. It was only when the sound of Louise's departure echoed down the hallway that I dared to step out from the sanctuary of the drapes.

My curiosity, intertwined with a profound sense of gratitude and confusion, propelled me to question Thelma. "Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, "Why did you...?"

Her response was a gesture for silence, that long, bony finger pressing against her lips once more, commanding my silence with an authority that belied her frail appearance. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, Thelma reached into the folds of her dress, retrieving a long, silver key suspended on a delicate gold chain. The sight of it, gleaming in the dim light, was as mysterious as it was unexpected.

She extended the key toward me, her aged hands trembling slightly, not from weakness but perhaps from the weight of the moment. "Take this," she instructed, a glint of something unspoken in her eyes.

Hesitantly, I accepted the key, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her gaze. "What's this for?" I inquired, my mind racing with possibilities, each more bewildering than the last.

"William will be most pleased," Thelma responded, her smile spreading, imbued with a warmth that seemed at odds with the cryptic nature of her words.

"William?" I echoed, the name adding another layer of mystery to the already perplexing situation. Who was William in the context of Thelma's secretive actions? The key in my hand felt heavier with the weight of its unknown purpose, tethering me to an enigma that seemed to extend far beyond the walls of the Jeffries Manor.

Thelma's words lingered in the air, mysterious and heavy with meaning. "He hasn't had a visitor for many years now," she mused, her voice trailing off as if she were lost in a memory or a thought too deep for me to fathom.

"Where is he?" My question was direct, spurred by a mix of curiosity and a growing urgency to understand the role I was being thrust into.

"In there," Thelma responded, her gaze shifting to the key now resting in my palm.

"In here?" I echoed, my voice tinged with skepticism as I held the key aloft, examining it as though it might reveal its secrets under my scrutiny. "How can he be inside a key?"

"The room," she clarified, yet her words only deepened the mystery.

"What room? Where is this room?" The questions tumbled out, each one laced with a growing impatience and a creeping realisation that Thelma's mental state might be more lucid than it appeared.

Her finger, slender and precise, directed my attention downward. "Down there," she whispered, her voice a conspiratorial murmur that sent a shiver down my spine.

"How do I get there?" The urgency in my voice was palpable, a reflection of my frustration mingling with a burgeoning sense of intrigue.

Thelma's finger, now pointed at me, brought the conversation full circle. "The key," she stated, a soft yet firm affirmation of the object's significance.

The realisation dawned on me slowly, a blend of disbelief and acceptance wrestling within my thoughts. The key was not just a piece of metal; it was a gateway, a means to unlock something far greater and more profound than I had anticipated. Thelma's cryptic guidance suggested that this key was my passage to a hidden aspect of the manor, a room shrouded in mystery and presumably untouched by time.

As I stood there, key in hand, the weight of my discovery bore down upon me. This was no longer just a mission to retrieve clothes for Kain; it had evolved into something far more complex, intertwining me with the manor's hidden depths and its unseen, perhaps long-forgotten, occupant.

The urgency in Louise's voice, laden with authority, snapped the transient bubble of conspiracy between Thelma and me. "Thelma," she boomed, her voice cutting through the air, "Time for your medication." The reality of my precarious situation settled back in, prompting me to edge toward the room's exit.

Thelma's subsequent cough, a harsh and rattling sound, drew my attention once more. "Tell Jane I miss her," she croaked out, her voice a blend of frailty and determination.

"Lahey?" I echoed, seeking confirmation, my head turning back to her. The mention of Jane Lahey, Thelma's dear friend whom she frequented at the nursing home, struck a chord. Her nod and the soft smile that accompanied her "Of course" were laden with a depth of friendship and longing that resonated in the room's stillness.

"I have to go," I whispered, the urgency returning with a vengeance. My exit was swift, my last image of Thelma being through the thick glass door as I carefully closed it behind me. Her final gesture, a finger pressed to her lips, was a silent plea for secrecy, a bond sealed between us amidst the confusion of my intrusion.

As Louise's boot crossed the threshold into the room, a signal of my dwindling window for escape, my feet propelled me forward. Thelma's message for Jane, the mysterious key, and the looming presence of Louise melded into a whirlwind of thoughts as I sprinted away, the manor's secrets echoing in my footsteps. I didn't dare to look back, knowing that the path behind me was now fraught with risks I couldn't afford to confront.