Page 50 of Not This Night

Rachel shook off her observations, sternly reminding herself of their purpose there. She glanced at Ethan, whose eyes reflected a similar morose curiosity. She stole a quick glance back at the mansion and steeled herself for the confrontation ahead.

Rachel's hand lifted once more, this time knuckles straining. She rapped sharply on the polished wood. Her stance was relaxed but alert, eyes scanning the high windows for any sign of movement. Beside her, Ethan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a quiet anticipation hanging between them.

Time stretched thin as they waited. The wind whispered through the trees, the only response to Rachel's knock. She held her position, patience etched into the lines of her face, a stillness that belied the keen sharpness lurking in her gaze.

"Texas Ranger," Rachel declared again, her voice cutting through the stillness. She let the badge clipped to her belt glint in the stray beam of moonlight, her authority needing no further embellishment.

The door's hinges groaned, a slow creak that seemed to resonate with the tension in the air. A sliver of space widened, and there she was—Bethany Meyers. Eyes wide, darting. A tremor in her fingers as they gripped the edge of the door like a lifeline.

The woman had gaunt features, and she wore a bright, pink bathrobe. Her wizened skin whispered her age, and the curlers in her thinning, silver hair were just as pink as her robe. She pulled her robe tightly around herself, shooting Ethan a reprimanding glare as if he’d been trying to sneak a peak at the shriveled goods.

But Ethan had already been staring at his feet, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

"Ms. Meyers?" Rachel's gaze locked onto those nervous eyes, reading the wordless story they told.

“Who are you?”

“Rangers,” Ethan said.

“I heard,” she replied.

“Er… that’s who we are,” Ethan said slowly. “May we speak inside?" His words were clear, tinged with a warmth that seemed to reach out through the cool air between them.

Rachel observed Bethany's stance, the rigid way she held herself—like a deer aware it was in a hunter’s sights.

"Inside?" Bethany echoed, her voice threading through the small opening of the door, laced with caution. She clutched the chain lock like a talisman, the metal glinting weakly. "Not appropriate, is it?”

Ethan blinked. “I, er… ma’am, we’re investigating a crime.”

“Yes… yes, so what about all that... that mess over there? What's happening?"

Rachel took in the rapid rise and fall of Bethany's chest, her eyes flickering past Rachel to the scene beyond. "I'm here about something else, Ms. Meyers," Rachel said, keeping her tone level. "It's important."

"Important?" The word hovered, filled with Bethany's rising curiosity. "I saw police cars earlier. Is everyone okay? Was someone hurt?"

"Your concern is noted," Rachel replied, maintaining eye contact, her expression softened by understanding. "Right now, I need your help with an ongoing investigation. May we come in?"

Bethany's grip on the door faltered, a silent struggle playing across her face as she weighed her fear against her need for answers. Her eyes, wide and searching, fixed on Rachel once more, seeking reassurance in the steady gaze of the ranger before her.

"Ms. Meyers," Rachel cut in, her voice slicing through the barrage of questions with practiced precision. "We're not here about today's incident. We need to discuss what you witnessed three weeks ago."

Bethany's breath hitched, her barrage silenced by the shift in focus. The chain rattled faintly as she drew a sharp breath, the memory surfacing with visible effort.

"Three weeks?" Her voice wavered, her memory seeming to recede behind a veil of confusion and fear.

"Exactly," Rachel affirmed, giving an imperceptible nod. "It’s imperative we talk about that day."

In the tense silence that followed, Ethan's gaze wandered, landing on a small crucifix perched atop a cluttered entryway table. Its presence was unassuming yet deliberate amongst the keys and mail.

"Nice crucifix," Ethan remarked casually, the words flowing naturally as he leaned slightly to examine the artifact. "My mother has one just like it. She always says it keeps her grounded."

Bethany glanced at the crucifix, then back at Ethan, a thread of connection winding its way through her uncertainty. "Your mother?" she echoed, the edge in her voice softening fractionally.

"Yeah," Ethan smiled, the gesture reaching his eyes. "Faith was a big part of our lives growing up. It's something that... brings us together, especially during tough times."

The subtle shift in Bethany's demeanor was almost imperceptible, but to a trained observer like Rachel, it spoke volumes. Trust, or the beginning of it, flickered in Bethany's eyes, the shared understanding of faith acting as a bridge over troubled waters.

The chain clinked, metal sliding through metal, and the door opened wider. Bethany Meyers' hand trembled as she pulled it away, her cautious gaze flickering between Rachel and Ethan. She stepped back, granting them passage into the dimly lit foyer.

---