Chapter 19

Iraised my hand and knocked on the heavy, wooden door. The sound reverberated through the sticky air, mingling with the sweet aroma of magnolia blossoms. The house in front of me was a charming old Florida home, its exterior weathered by time yet still retaining its beauty. A perfectly manicured garden surrounded the house, adding to its idyllic charm.

The door"s rusty hinges groaned as a petite woman in her early seventies appeared, her silver hair pulled back into a neat bun. She greeted me with a kind smile that crinkled the corners of her bright blue eyes.

"Are you Monica Chapman?" I attempted to soften my professional tone with a touch of warmth.

Her raspy, weathered voice echoed in the empty hallway. "Indeed," she said, her eyes locked on me standing before her. You must be Agent Thomas. You sound taller on the phone." She chuckled, revealing yellowing teeth as she extended a wrinkled hand for a handshake.

"Is Victoria here?" I inquired, stepping just inside the threshold as Monica nodded and gestured for me to enter the living room.

The room grew heavy with tension as we avoided each other"s gaze. I finally broke the silence, my voice shaking.

"Condolences on the death of your son. I can"t imagine how hard this must be for Victoria. Her father gone and her mother… in jail."

Monica"s eyes were filled with sadness, and there was a hint of regret in her voice. "It"s a tragedy," she whispered, shaking her head, her hand reaching out to gently touch my arm. "But as her grandmother, it"s my duty to do what I can."

She strode across the floor, her movements deliberate, and moved to a door at the end of the hall. My pulse quickened as she turned the handle and pushed it open.

"I think she"s awake," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

As I stepped in, my heart lodged in my throat. A small, frail figure lay in the bed, her skin almost translucent under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Though she looked no older than nine, I knew the truth—Victoria was seventeen, a life measured in years but stolen in moments.

A wheelchair sat like a silent sentinel next to her bed.

"She doesn"t talk much," Monica explained, her gaze lingering on her granddaughter. "The chemo sores in her mouth… they make it painful to speak. Her voice isn"t what it used to be, either. Please, don"t wear her out. She doesn"t have a lot of strength."

I nodded, my throat tightening with emotion. I eased into the chair by her bed, careful not to bump the IV stand or disturb the oxygen tubes that fed into her nose. Her pale cheeks were sunken, and her eyes seemed to be searching for something in the dark room.

"Hello, Victoria," I said gently, taking her small hand in mine. "My name is Eva Rae Thomas."

Victoria"s eyes flickered toward me, curiosity glinting within their depths. She blinked slowly as though she was processing the information. I could see the struggle in her gaze, the fight between wanting to retreat into herself and the desire to connect with the outside world.

I continued speaking softly, trying to bridge the gap between us. "I"m here to help, Victoria. I want to find out what happened to your parents—especially your dad. Do you remember anything from that night? Anything at all?"

A fleeting look of fear flashed across her face before she closed herself off again, retreating into a cocoon of silence. It was as if the weight of her past was too heavy for her to bear, locking her memories away within the confines of her fragile body.

Monica leaned against the doorway, her eyes filled with sorrow and determination. "She"s been through so much," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Please don"t upset her."

I smiled reassuringly and nodded. "I understand, Mrs. Chapman. I"ll be as gentle as I can. We just need to gather any information that could help us find out what happened to Victoria"s parents."

Victoria kept her gaze fixed on me, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. I leaned closer, trying to convey empathy through my voice. "Victoria, I know this is difficult for you, but we need your help. Whatever you remember, no matter how small or insignificant, could be crucial to the investigation."

For a moment, it seemed like a spark of recognition flickered in Victoria"s eyes. She hesitated, then for a minute looked like she would speak, but then gave up. Her eyes closed, and she was asleep.

"I'm sorry," Monica said. "The cancer is in her throat. It makes it difficult for her to talk. She has barely said anything to me since she got here."

I nodded, disappointed. "I understand. It must be hard."

Monica's eyes grew sad. "It is. I'm just praying I won't lose her as well and will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening."

I was about to leave when Victoria opened her eyes again and stared directly at me, and said:

"Wait."