Chapter 3 - The North Wing Secrets
The North Wing of the Vale estate was a fortress inside a palace. Heavy steel-reinforced doors separated it from the rest of the mansion, monitored by silent security guards posted at every turn.
By nine o'clock that evening, the estate doctor had taped my ribs and given me pain medication. The room they assigned me was larger than my mother’s entire apartment in Cicero, fitted with a king-sized bed, plush rugs, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the misty woods of Lake Forest.
But I couldn't sleep.
The silence of the mansion felt fake. It was the kind of quiet that precedes a storm.
I stood up, wearing a soft cotton shirt, and walked quietly down the dimly lit hallway to Noah's room. The heavy oak door was slightly ajar. I peeked inside.
The nursery was filled with state-of-the-art toys, custom wooden furniture, and walls painted a soft gray. Noah was asleep in his large bed, his tiny body wrapped tightly in a dark blue blanket.
I slipped into the room quietly, keeping my steps weightless. As I drew closer to his bed, I noticed something strange.
Noah’s sleep wasn't peaceful. His little face was twisted in discomfort, dark shadows under his eyes, sweat glistening on his pale forehead. He was whimpering softly, clutching a small piece of torn blue fabric in his fist.
Suddenly, a faint, metallic clicking sound rustled from the corner of the room near the air vent.
I froze.
I crept toward the wall, pressing my ear against the brass ventilation grate. At first, I heard only the hum of the central heating. But then, underneath the hum, I heard a high-pitched, rhythmic buzzing sound—almost imperceptible to human ears, like an ultrasonic pest repeller set to an agonizing frequency.
My blood ran cold.
Children and animals have far more sensitive hearing than adults. A frequency like that, running continuously in a room, would drive a four-year-old child insane. It would cause chronic headaches, sensory overload, sleep deprivation, and sudden outbursts of extreme rage.
Someone wasn't just failing to help Noah. Someone in this house was deliberately poisoning his environment.
I dropped to my knees, taking a small hairpin from my hair, and bent the wire to unscrew the small brass plate covering the vent. Inside the dark shaft, wedged right behind the metal lining, was a small, battery-operated black box flashing a tiny red LED light.
"You shouldn't be poking around in things that don't concern you, Miss Reed."
I whipped around, my heart leaping into my throat.
Mrs. Hargrove stood in the doorway. She was still fully dressed in her immaculate dark dress, her face shadowed by the dim light of the corridor. In her hands, she held a tray with a glass of warm milk and a small pill bottle.
"Mrs. Hargrove," I said, standing up quickly and hiding the small black device behind my back. "I was just checking on Noah."
The head housekeeper stepped into the room, her eyes darting toward the open air vent, then back to my face. A cold, menacing smile touched the corners of her thin lips.
"Mr. Vale hired you to keep the child quiet, not to play detective," she said softly, walking toward Noah's nightstand. "Noah suffers from night terrors. Dr. Vance prescribed a mild sedative to help him sleep through the night. Move aside so I can administer it."
I looked at the small brown glass bottle on her tray. The label was hand-typed, missing the official pharmaceutical seal of any certified hospital in Illinois.
"Dr. Vance?" I asked, my voice tight. "Is he the family physician who treated the previous eighteen nannies?"
"He is a trusted associate of the Vale family," Mrs. Hargrove replied smoothly, reaching for the sleeping boy. "Now step back, Clara."
"No," I said, stepping directly between her and Noah's bed. "He's sleeping. I won't let you wake him."
Mrs. Hargrove’s eyes narrowed into slit-like points. "You are forgetting your place, girl. You are a disposable servant from Cicero. If I tell Mr. Vale you failed your duties tonight, you will be thrown out into the rain before midnight—without a dime."
"Then go tell him," a deep voice cut through the dark room.
Dominic Vale stood in the doorway. He had removed his suit jacket, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the dark ink of a massive dragon tattoo coiling up his neck. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, exposing thick muscles and dark hair.
In his hand, he held a glass of scotch. His eyes were cold enough to freeze water.
"Mr. Vale," Mrs. Hargrove instantly smoothed her apron, her voice turning sweet as honey. "I was merely giving young Noah his evening medication. Miss Reed here is interfering with his treatment."
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I didn't hesitate. I stepped forward and held out my hand, dropping the small black electronic box into Dominic’s palm.
"I found this inside his air vent," I said, looking Dominic straight in the eye. "It’s an ultrasonic emitter. It emits a pitch that causes severe psychological distress in young children. He hasn't been throwing tantrums because he's crazy, Mr. Vale. He’s been screaming because someone in this house is torturing him."
