And whenever I asked if she was all right, she glanced nervously toward him before answering.
One afternoon, I found them sitting together on the living room sofa.
Daniel had his arm around her shoulders.
“Smile, Grandma,” he said as I raised my phone to take a photograph.
But my mother wasn’t smiling.
Underneath the table, her trembling fingers gripped my hand.
When Daniel went to the kitchen, she leaned toward me.
“Margaret, please. Don’t leave me alone with him tonight.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Mom, what has he done?”
She opened her mouth.
But Daniel returned.
“Everything okay?”
My mother immediately released my hand.
“Of course, darling.”
That night, she called me at 2:43 a.m.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Margaret, he’s coming again.”
“Who?”
“Daniel. Every night he brings that black bag. He makes me look at things I can’t bear to see.”
“Mom, lock your door!”
“I can’t. He has the key.”
Then I heard footsteps.
“Grandma? Are you talking to Mom?”
The call ended.
I drove to her house immediately.
When Daniel opened the door, he was wearing gloves.
“What happened?” I demanded.
“Nothing, Mom. Grandma’s sleeping.”
But behind him, I could see a small black bag on the kitchen counter.
And something else.
An envelope bearing my mother’s name, with a handwritten warning:
DO NOT LET MARGARET SEE THIS.
The following afternoon, I secretly placed a motion-activated camera in the hallway, facing my mother’s bedroom door.
Two nights later, my phone alerted me at 3:17 a.m.
I opened the live feed.
Daniel was carrying the black bag.
He unlocked my mother’s bedroom and disappeared inside.
Minutes later, I heard her crying.
“Please, Daniel. I can’t do this again.”
His voice was firm.
“Grandma, we have to finish it before Mom finds out.”
