Whispers in the Downpour Chapter 2

Brenda had gone behind my back straight to my son.

A wave of nausea hit me. I hit Austin’s contact immediately.

"Mom?" his voice was raspy, thick with congestion.

"Austin, listen to me," I said, keeping my tone strictly controlled. "You are sick. You stay in bed. The storm is getting worse, and you are not stepping one foot outside that house."

Austin hesitated. "Mom... to be honest, a few days ago when I dropped Lily off, I noticed fresh cuts and burns on her forearm. Brenda said she's been emotionally unstable. I'm just really worried she might do something stupid."

Austin was naturally compassionate. Between his honors classes and track meets, he spent almost every school break helping out at the restaurant simply because he didn't want me to work myself to the bone. When Brenda had brought Lily in, he had offered to drive her home once or twice out of politeness—only for Brenda to maneuver it into a daily expectation.

Now, a horrifying thought struck me: had Lily been trying to reach out for help, too terrified to speak the truth?

"Austin," I asked carefully, "did you notice anything else strange in that apartment?"

I couldn't tell him Lily was dead. I had no concrete proof, only the supernatural warnings burned into my vision.

Austin paused to cough, the sound rough and rattling. "Lily’s nightstand... there were a bunch of prescription bottles. But when I moved a glass of water for her, some of the labels didn't look like her usual meds. I didn't think much of it at the time."

Cold sweat broke across my forehead.

Her nightstand. Austin had actually been inside Lily's bedroom.

Brenda hadn’t just improvised this; she had been curating physical traces of Austin’s presence in that room for weeks!

"Austin, does their building have hallway cameras?"

"No, it's that old complex on Glenwood. No security cams. But the older lady across the hall always leaves her front door cracked open. She startled me a couple of times."

"Austin, hear me clearly," I ordered, my voice dropping to an absolute maternal command. "Lock the front door. Do not open it for anyone. Do not answer any calls or texts from Brenda or anyone else except me and your dad. I'm calling your father right now to take you to the emergency clinic for an IV."

"Mom, but Lily—"

"I will handle it! I'll order a delivery to her door or go myself. You are sick, Austin. If you go over there and pass your infection to her, it'll only make things worse."

I made him promise three times before hanging up, immediately exporting and saving our call audio.

[Good. Keep your head. Establishing Austin's rock-solid alibi is your highest priority.]

[As long as he never enters that apartment tonight, her frame-up for sexual assault and manslaughter collapses before it starts.]

I took a deep, steadying breath and raised my phone to dial the police.

"Boss?"

Marcus, my head grill cook, walked toward the prep island with a heavy frown, holding his phone. "Brenda just called my cell. She was practically hyperventilating, crying her eyes out."

"What did she want, Marcus?"

"She said she's stuck at work and can't get through to Austin. She asked if I could convince you to let Austin check on Lily for just twenty minutes."

Over the past month, Brenda had made a habit of bringing homemade pastries to the kitchen staff and taking out the grease bins at closing time. She had quietly charmed everyone, collecting numbers under the guise of "being part of the restaurant family."

"Austin is sick with a 103 fever," I said coldly. "He's not going."

Marcus scratched his beard, looking uncomfortable. "Look, Sarah, I know the kid's sick, but Brenda sounded desperate. She just wanted someone to sit with the girl..."

"Marcus," I interrupted, staring straight into his eyes. "Who here doesn't have a family to feed? Who doesn't have children to look after? Is my son's health irrelevant because Brenda cries louder? He can barely breathe through his coughing. If I send him out into a torrential downpour on slick roads and he crashes his car, will Brenda pay for his funeral?"

Marcus blinked, the harsh reality sinking in. Thunder rattled the roof overhead as rain began to pound against the glass.

"I... I didn't think about it like that," he mumbled, wiping his hands on his apron. "How about I send one of the line cooks over with some food?"

"No," I said firmly. "I'll handle it."

Donna, our head cashier, stepped over and tugged Marcus's arm. "Marcus, use your head. Brenda only called you because Sarah already told her no. Don't let her play you against the woman who signs your paychecks."

Marcus flushed with embarrassment, apologized, and scurried back toward the pit.

My skin prickled with disgust. Brenda had laid this trap with chilling precision—insinuating herself with my staff, gathering their contacts, establishing a narrative of her own helplessness weeks in advance.

I pressed call on the dispatch line.

"911, what is your emergency?"

"My name is Sarah Miller," I said, my heart thumping against my ribs. "I need to report a homicide. Oakridge Commons, Building 4, Apartment 201. A young girl has been murdered."

I couldn't save Lily. But I would be damned if I let her killer walk free while my family burned in his place.

Crash!

A deafening smash echoed from the front dining room, followed by an aggressive shout:

"Where is the owner?! Get the damn owner out here right now!"