Page 18 of The Perfect Nanny

“Did you check the twins’ bedrooms, bathroom, and closet?” Lara asks Corbin, who’s now whipping through the main floor like a maniac.

“Yes, yes, of course I did. She’s-she’s not upstairs,” he calls back.

Lara pushes past me to head toward the stairs. “Fallon?” she shouts. She stops halfway up the stairs, grabbing the banister to turn around and face me. Her face reddens and turmoil fills her eyes. Her neck pulsates with panic as she screams, “We hired you to watch all three of our daughters. Where is she?”

“You didn’t mention a third child,” I say, clasping my hands over my chest. “You-you didn’t…I don’t know what you’re?—”

“Fallon. My God. Where is she?” Lara digs her fingernails into her neck as she darts up the rest of the stairs. Her ragged breaths become quieter the farther away she goes.

Corbin continues running circles around me, trekking through the living room and into the kitchen, his dress shoes thudding like a hammer.

Lara returns downstairs within seconds, strands of her hair wisping over her dewy face as she gasps for a breath. “Where is she? Just tell me, please,” she cries out.

My lungs fall flat as I try to digest what’s happening. “I—I would if-if I knew but—I never knew about Fallon,” I say. My stomach curdles as confusion and panic sweep through me.

Lara’s hands fly up to cover her mouth, her blood red nails contrasting against the whites of her eyes as she stares deep into my soul, waiting for an answer I don’t have for her. “She wasn’t with you while watching the movie? She would have fallen asleep there.”

My heart stops as her questions register the truth of her accusations. I know what I agreed to when she hired me. There was no mention of a baby. I’m sure of it. Her words continue to burn through me as I take a step backward in defense.

“Why won’t you just tell us where she is? What kind of person does something like this? Is this some kind of sick practical joke?” Mr. Smith bellows, his hot breath burning my skin as he steals the only space left between the three of us. His fists clenching by his sides as his eyes bore into mine.

“I—I didn’t do anything. I swear to you, I—” I stutter as a surge of anxiety electrifies my nerves. “Y-you ne-never mentioned—” I’m verging on hyperventilation, my mind at a loss and not knowing what to think or do.

“I’m calling the police. She’s not here,” Mr. Smith shouts, his voice bouncing off the surrounding walls. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and charges back up the stairs.

“Where would she have been?” I ask, my words grasping for sound from my dry throat.

“What in the world are you asking? She would be in plain sight,” Mrs. Smith shouts before charging back up the stairs. I follow her, desperate to see where she’s going to look for this unmentioned child. She reaches the door at the end of the hallway that’s now open and lit up with a glow illuminating the set of steps that go into another space.

Lara is shoving furniture around as I approach the top step, finding myself engulfed by lavender walls. She tears sheets from the mattress in the crib, screaming, “Fallon!”

I’m in a nursery with gabled windows. A white rocking chair is draped in a purple fleece blanket in the corner and a white dresser and changing table line the farthest wall. In large block letters hanging from the wall is the name Fallon. My blood runs cold, my skin becomes numb as my knees threaten to give out.

I spin around and scramble back down the stairs past Madden and Blakely, standing in their doorways, their eyes wide with horror.

This must be a misunderstanding, but how? No one forgets to mention a baby.

Mr. Smith steps away from the front door as I descend the last few stairs and I’m overcome with the urge to flee. I need to get out of here.

The moment my foot touches the main floor, he bolts in my direction, stopping just in front of me. “You’re not going anywhere, Haley, not until you tell us where our baby girl is…”

A bone-shattering crackle tears across the sky, releasing a heavy downpour. Thick raindrops batter against the door and windows as it feels like I’m decomposing beneath Mr. Smith’scondemning stare. He might as well pin me against the maple round table in the foyer. As if the house is judging me, the empire chandelier with its many tiers of crystal droplets hovers like a spotlight pinpointing my every move.

Blaring sirens erupt outside, and my heart races faster than the pelting rain drops hitting the windows. I lunge for the door but am held back when Mr. Smith’s grip flings me backward.

Blinding red and blue lights probe my eyes through the entryway windows. Mr. Smith’s earlier words weren’t just an empty threat. He had called the police.

“Haley. Please. We don’t want any trouble. We just want our daughter back,” Mr. Smith pleads. His loose bow tie swings with each word. His neck is red and blotchy above the top button of his white dress shirt, making his distress more apparent now that he’s removed the black tuxedo jacket.

I take a short-winded staggered breath. I gasp for air and shake my head. “But I don’t— wh-who are you ta-talking about?” I cry out. Shock has a chokehold around my neck, making my words hoarse as I try to answer the same questions over and over.

“My baby…” Mrs. Smith shrieks, slapping her arms over her chest, digging her fingernails into her bare shoulders where her strapless emerald gown clings to every curve of her body from her chest to her knees then fans out behind her and spills onto the floor like wet paint into a short trail behind her feet. “My God…where could she be?”

I stare into her pain-ridden eyes, a hint of copper swirling around her brown irises. “Yo-your t-two daughters are upstairs.” I do everything I can to remain calm, despite feeling like I’m losing my mind.

“Fallon?” Lara moans, stepping closer toward me, her heels clacking against the hardwood floors.

Thuds against the door make my heart shudder as I decipher between the thunder and a fist pounding against the wood. “Newport Police,” a man announces.

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