Silent, The Photograph

Two Years Earlier, Lucy

She marched off in a temper, sprinting through the narrow alleyway that connected the bungalow to the grounds of Lyme House. These people weren't going to drive her out.  First thing tomorrow, she would contact the press and make that old witch sorry. Suggesting that she was unwell and in need of rest. The witch was mad.
 
She arrived back at the bungalow out of breath. In her room, she found an A4 package, placed at the edge of the bed. Now what?

She opened the envelope and took a step back.

A photograph.

Of herself in black and white.  

Capturing a shot of her sitting on the tree trunk in the field on yesterday afternoon, smoking a cigarette while she'd waited for the early evening shift to begin.  

Someone watching.  

She'd been right to trust her instinct and run back to the bungalow yesterday afternoon.  

Her phone rang suddenly, startling her.

Private Caller.

She answered anyway: 'Yes?'

Silence.

'What do you want?'

No answer.

'Who is this?'

'Go home, Lucy,' a voice whispered.  'Go home.'

The caller hung up.