Chapter 14. The Matriarch's Interrogation
Panic surged through Raveene like a high-voltage current as the knocking persisted, a rhythmic, demanding sound that vibrated against the heavy oak of her bedroom door.
"Raveene, are you in there? Open the door. We have a lot to discuss."
Her mother's voice was clipped, stripped of its usual melodic softness, replaced by a terrifyingly level tone that made Raveene's pulse skyrocket. The danger of the situation was no longer a distant threat; it was standing on the other side of a few inches of wood.
"Fuck," she hissed under her breath, her eyes darting frantically to the communication device still clutched in her hand. She scrambled back from the window, pulling her leg over the sill and back into the safety of the room. "I'm coming, Mom! Just give me a few minutes," she shouted, her voice tight and breathless as she scanned her surroundings for a solution.
Her eyes landed on a heavy metallic rod tucked away in a corner—a discarded piece of hardware from some forgotten project. She snatched it up, her movements frantic. Laying the comm device against the hard edge of the window frame, she brought the rod down three times with brutal, desperate force. The plastic and circuitry shattered into a mess of jagged shards.
Shaking, she gathered the fragments and hurled them out into the darkness of the yard, watching them disappear into the shadows of the old oak tree.
Will they be able to track the debris? The thought flashed through her mind like a warning light, but she shook it off. Another time. There was no time for a forensic cleanup. She slammed the window shut, trying to keep the mechanism from screeching, then spun around to scrub the room of her presence. She yanked off her hoodie, then her shirt, standing in her singlet to mimic the look of someone settling in for the night.
Her eyes swept across the reading table, landing on her field tools. "Fuck," she cursed again. She grabbed the bag, shoved the equipment inside, and jammed it into a deep locker, clicking the seal shut before checking her reflection in the mirror. She took a long, steadying breath, trying to force the frantic light out of her eyes. Crossing to the door, she paused, composed her features, and slid the bolt back.
As the door opened, she found Mrs Hale standing in the hallway, her eyelids squinted in a way that suggested she was reading a particularly difficult script.
"Why are you sweating?" her mother asked abruptly.
The question felt like a physical jab. Raveene flinched internally, realizing that the sheer exertion of the last few minutes had left a sheen of perspiration on her forehead.
"Oh, um... the AC is off," she lied, blinking rapidly.
Mrs Hale didn't move. she remained in the threshold, her gaze sharpening into a look of profound suspicion that made Raveene's skin crawl. Raveene fought the urge to look away, maintaining a steady, sharp eye-level contact that she hoped projected innocence rather than defiance.
"Are you coming in or what, Mom? The door is open," she said, stepping back to grant her entrance.
Her mother observed her for a moment longer before a small, sharp smile touched her lips. It wasn't the warm, maternal expression Raveene had grown up with; it was the smile of a predator who had just spotted the first drop of blood in the water. "I see what you're trying to do," the look said.
Mrs Hale stepped into the room, and Raveene closed the door behind her, leaning against it as she watched her mother begin a slow, methodical circuit of the suite.
She moved with the grace of a panther, her eyes darting across the surfaces of the furniture, searching for an anomaly—a misplaced hair, a scrap of paper, anything she could use as leverage. After a moment of agonizing silence, she turned around, her voice a sudden, jarring strike.
"So, do you care to explain where you were during the lockdown hours?" she asked. The tone was deceptively soft. "I understand you might not want to discuss this with your father. He can be... harsh. I've always hated how his anger gets the better of him. But you can speak with me, Raveene. Be free with me. Tell me the truth. I'm not going to hurt you, and you know that. If you've done something wrong, the most I can do is talk to you."
Raveene forced a dry chuckle, walking over to her desk and grabbing a bag of peanuts. She tried to move with a casual, bored energy that she was far from feeling. "It's nothing serious, Mom. I got stuck at the VPD headquarters while I was trying to organize some cold cases, so I couldn't get out before the sirens started. The moment a window opened up, I ended up assisting a patrol team—just helping them clear the streets and get civilians to safety. I arrived here right after they dropped me off. That's what Dad would have heard if he hadn't been so busy making angry sounds and acting like I was a criminal."
She tossed a handful of peanuts into her mouth, crunching on them with a nonchalance she hoped looked authentic. At the far end of the room, her mother stood with her arms folded, scrutinizing every micro-expression on Raveene's face. Neither of them blinked. Raveene chewed slowly, maintaining the gaze, refusing to be the first to break.
"Is there something I'm missing here?" Raveene asked through a mouthful of peanuts. "What's wrong?"
Her mother's smile widened, a cold, knowing expression that suggested she was seeing right through the facade. She shook her head with a light chuckle. "Goodness, I really underestimated the intense strain you put yourself through at the VPD," she said, her tone clipped and melodic. The words made Raveene's stomach drop. "But I suppose there's nothing I can do to break through your defenses tonight, is there? Not even my 'calm stare' seems to work anymore. You've really grown."
Raveene's heart was drumming a frantic rhythm against her ribs, but she kept her face a mask of bored indifference. That was the danger of her mother: her unpredictability. While the Governor was a blunt instrument of rage, Mrs Hale was a surgeon. Even when she seemed calm, she was usually three steps ahead, preparing a whiplash that you never saw coming.
Mrs Hale reached into the pocket of her silk robe and pulled out her phone, the screen glowing in the dim light of the bedroom.
"Well then," she said casually, her thumb hovering over the glass. "I suppose I can easily call the chairman in charge of the patrol teams and verify your story, can't I?"
Raveene's hand froze halfway to the peanut bag. Her eyes went wide, the breath dying in her throat.