Playing Drunk

"...the performance begins!" Walter said with a playful, feminine lilt, his eyes dancing as he prepared for the grand reveal. "I shall go and... compose myself! Or rather, compose an 'unconscious' Alison!"

He moved toward the hallway with a swaying, feminine gait, making a theatrical exit. His goal was simple: to stage a scene so convincing that no one would question the story of the girl passed out in the master bedroom. He slipped inside, shutting the door quietly to own the shadows. Amidst the silk sheets and the dim light, he arranged himself—arm over his eyes, limbs tangled in a messy sprawl—to look like a woman lost to a heavy night of drinking.

Meanwhile, back in the living room, Mr. Angelmann stepped fully into the house, his eyes scanning the area with a paternal, confused intensity.

"Where is she?" he asked, his voice echoing through the hallway.

Sandra and Rebecca quickly ushered him toward the center of the room, their faces masks of practiced composure despite the frantic beating of their hearts.

"She's just... resting, Mr. Angelmann," Sandra said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You know how she can be when she's had a bit too much... excitement."

As they moved him further into the room, Rebecca suddenly paused, her eyes darting around the empty space where her son Jacob should have been sitting. A cold prickle of realization hit her. She leaned toward Sandra, whispering urgently.

"Wait," Rebecca hissed, "where’s Jacob? He was right here a moment ago!"

Sandra blinked, her mind momentarily blanking as she scanned the room for her brother's familiar, mischievous grin. The sudden absence was jarring. If he had slipped away while they were distracted by their father...