The House Gives Up Its Eyes
The next morning, the villa became an excavation site.
Technicians arrived with plain cases and careful faces. Every room was swept. Every lamp, curtain rod, shelf, vent, and toy examined. The household staff gave statements. Some cried. Some admitted they had suspected but feared dismissal. One gardener said he always felt the rabbit looked wrong, then apologized as if instinct required proof to deserve respect.
Ava stayed in the kitchen with Graham while the work continued.
She wore Theo’s old wool socks and wrapped both hands around a mug of tea she did not drink.
Graham sat across from her.
Not at the head of the table.
Across.
That mattered.
“I should have listened earlier,” he said.
Ava looked at the wood grain.
“I tried to tell you once.”
He closed his eyes.
He remembered.
Six months after Theo’s death, Ava told him she felt watched in the playroom. He had kissed her forehead and said grief made rooms feel full.
He had meant comfort.
She had heard dismissal.
“I am sorry,” he said.
She wanted to punish him with silence.
For one minute, she did.
Then she said, “I know you were sad.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“No.”
The honest no hurt less than a comforting lie would have.
Edmund entered with a sealed evidence bag containing the rabbit. Graham stood too quickly.
Ava flinched.
Edmund noticed and softened his voice. “We can store it elsewhere.”
Ava stared at the bag.
The rabbit’s soft ears were flattened against plastic. The red point was dark now.
Theo had loved it.
Celeste had used it.
Ava did not know which truth deserved custody of the object.
“Don’t throw it away,” she said.
Graham’s face crumpled.
“I won’t.”
“But don’t put it back by the fireplace.”
“No.”
Edmund nodded. “It will remain secured until the investigation ends. After that, you decide.”
You decide.
Ava had not realized how hungry she was for those words.
By afternoon, twenty-three devices had been removed from the villa.
Twenty-three.
The number made Graham sit down on the stairs.
Ava sat beside him.
For a while, they listened to empty rooms become empty again.
No hum.
May you like
No hidden eye.
Only the old house creaking as if embarrassed by what it had held.
