CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 9
THE SECOND ATTEMPT
The front door opened slowly.
Victor and I heard it from the library.
Neither of us moved.
A cold draft traveled through the hallway.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Someone was walking through the foyer.
Victor lowered the phone.
“Ethan.”
I nodded.
“He said Grandma Eleanor.”
“I know.”
“But Eleanor is dead.”
Victor looked at the will.
“Apparently, she's not.”
I stared at him.
“You heard the child.”
“Yes.”
“And he said another boy was with him.”
“Evan.”
“But Evan is dead.”
Victor's expression hardened.
“Then someone wants us to believe he is.”
Another footstep sounded upstairs.
Victor reached for the gun he had taken from the security office.
“Stay behind me.”
We moved toward the library door.
Before we reached it, a woman's voice echoed through the house.
“Victor?”
He stopped.
I recognized the voice immediately.
Serena.
But something was wrong.
She sounded calm.
Almost cheerful.
“Victor, darling?”
He looked at me.
“She knows we're here.”
A second voice came from upstairs.
A child's voice.
“Daddy?”
Victor went pale.
“Ethan.”
He ran.
I followed.
We reached the staircase.
Ethan was standing at the top.
Alone.
Barefoot.
Still wearing his hospital clothes.
His face was wet with tears.
Victor rushed toward him.
“Ethan!”
The boy ran into his arms.
“Daddy!”
Victor held him tightly.
“Are you hurt?”
Ethan shook his head.
“Where were you?”
“I woke up in the room.”
“What room?”
“The one with the pictures.”
Victor looked at me.
“The nursery?”
Ethan nodded.
“I was sleeping.”
“Who brought you here?”
Ethan looked toward the hallway.
“Grandma.”
“Serena?”
He shook his head.
“Grandma Eleanor.”
Victor's face tightened.
“Ethan, Eleanor is dead.”
Ethan frowned.
“No.”
“She is.”
“No.”
“Ethan—”
“She told me you would say that.”
Victor went silent.
“What did she look like?”
Ethan thought.
“Like Mommy.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Like Eleanor?”
He nodded.
“But older.”
Victor looked at me.
Then at Graves.
The old butler was standing at the bottom of the stairs.
His face was completely white.
“You know something,” Victor said.
Graves shook his head.
“I know enough to be afraid.”
We took Ethan into the library.
Victor locked the doors.
The boy sat on the sofa, clutching his purple elephant.
I knelt beside him.
“Sweetheart, did the woman tell you her name?”
“Grandma.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“She said Daddy had been bad.”
Victor's face tightened.
“What did she say I did?”
“She said you forgot your promise.”
“What promise?”
Ethan shook his head.
“She wouldn't tell me.”
“Did she hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone else come?”
Ethan nodded.
“A boy.”
Victor froze.
“Evan?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he look like?”
Ethan pointed toward Victor.
“Like Daddy.”
Victor's breathing stopped.
“Did he have dark hair?”
“Yes.”
“Was he tall?”
“Yes.”
“Did he have a scar?”
Ethan nodded.
Victor looked at me.
“That was Daniel.”
“Or Evan.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel is dead.”
I stared at him.
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
Victor looked at the will.
“Because the man we met underground was not my son.”
“Then who was he?”
Victor's expression became grim.
“A decoy.”
The lights went out.
Ethan screamed.
Victor grabbed him.
I reached for my phone.
No signal.
The library doors rattled.
Someone was trying to open them.
Victor moved toward the door.
“Stay back.”
A voice came from the hallway.
“Victor.”
Serena.
“Open the door.”
Victor didn't answer.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
“What?”
“The will.”
Victor looked at the folder.
“You killed for this?”
“No.”
“You hurt Ethan.”
“No.”
“You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Then Serena whispered:
“Because if I had told you the truth, you would have killed us all.”
Victor's voice became cold.
“Who is 'us'?”
“The children.”
“What children?”
“All of them.”
The door rattled again.
“Victor, listen to me.”
He stared at the wood.
“Where is Ethan supposed to be?”
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
“With Clara.”
Victor froze.
“Clara is alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
Victor looked at me.
Then back at the door.
“Why did you bring Ethan here?”
“I didn't.”
“Then who did?”
A pause.
“Your mother.”
Victor stopped.
“My mother is dead.”
“So was Eleanor.”
The door suddenly stopped moving.
Serena's voice became a whisper.
“Dead women have been protecting your children for a very long time.”
Then she was gone.
Victor opened the door.
The hallway was empty.
But something had been left on the floor.
A white envelope.
He picked it up.
Inside was a photograph.
Ethan.
Sleeping.
Taken that night.
Victor stared.
“How?”
The photograph had a timestamp.
2:14 A.M.
Current time:
2:17.
Three minutes earlier.
Someone had been watching us.
On the back was a message.
THE SECOND ATTEMPT WILL BE DIFFERENT.
Victor looked at me.
“Second attempt?”
I felt cold.
“Second attempt at what?”
He didn't answer.
Then Ethan screamed.
Victor spun around.
The boy was staring toward the window.
“She's there.”
“Who?”
“Grandma.”
We rushed over.
The curtains moved.
The window was open.
A woman's silhouette stood outside.
Victor ran toward it.
“Stop!”
He threw open the curtains.
Nothing.
Only the garden.
Then he saw the footprints.
Small.
Bare feet.
Leading away from the window.
And beside them—
blood.
The police arrived twenty minutes later.
Detective Morgan examined the footprints.
“She came through the window?”
Victor nodded.
“Looks like it.”
Morgan crouched.
“Small adult feet.”
Victor frowned.
“Adult?”
“Definitely.”
I looked toward the garden.
“So not a child.”
Morgan shook his head.
“Whoever made these tracks wanted us to think it was.”
He stood.
“Someone is playing with you.”
Victor looked at him.
“Not someone.”
“Who?”
Victor stared toward the dark trees.
“Everyone.”
At three in the morning, Morgan discovered something beneath the window.
A piece of fabric.
Black.
Torn.
I recognized it.
“Serena's dress.”
Victor looked at me.
“She was here.”
Morgan examined it.
“There is blood.”
“Her blood?”
“Probably.”
Victor's face hardened.
“Find her.”
Morgan nodded.
Then his radio crackled.
An officer spoke.
“We found a vehicle.”
“Where?”
“Near the old chapel.”
Victor immediately turned.
“Whose?”
“Registered to Serena Blackwood.”
Everyone went silent.
Morgan asked:
“Is she inside?”
A pause.
“No.”
“Then what did you find?”
The officer hesitated.
“A body.”
The vehicle was parked beside the chapel.
The driver's door was open.
The windshield was cracked.
Blood covered the passenger seat.
A body lay twenty feet away beneath a tree.
Victor approached slowly.
Morgan stopped him.
“Don't.”
Victor stared.
“Is it Serena?”
“We don't know.”
The body was covered with a black coat.
Morgan lifted it.
Victor gasped.
It wasn't Serena.
It was Dr. Adrian Black.
His throat had been cut.
His eyes were open.
And in his hand was a piece of paper.
Victor took it.
The paper contained only four words:
SHE DID IT.
Underneath was a fingerprint.
Serena's.
Victor stared at it.
“She killed him.”
Morgan nodded.
“Looks that way.”
But Graves stepped forward.
“No.”
Everyone looked at him.
“What?”
Graves pointed at the body.
“Dr. Black's watch.”
Morgan examined it.
“What about it?”
“It stopped at 1:47.”
“So?”
Graves looked at Victor.
“The chapel camera records every hour.”
Morgan frowned.
“You're saying?”
Graves whispered:
“Dr. Black died at 1:47.”
Victor looked at the watch.
Then at the blood.
“What's wrong?”
Graves's voice trembled.
“Serena called us from the manor at 2:14.”
Victor froze.
Morgan understood immediately.
“She couldn't have killed him.”
“Exactly.”
The fingerprint had been planted.
The note was staged.
Someone wanted Serena blamed.
Victor looked toward the woods.
“Find her.”
Morgan nodded.
At dawn, we returned to the manor.
Ethan was asleep in my room.
Victor stood in the study.
He looked exhausted.
“What are you thinking?”
He stared at the will.
“My father knew this would happen.”
“Why?”
“Because he wrote about it.”
He opened the final page.
A paragraph was hidden beneath the fold.
When the second attempt is made, the family will believe the wrong woman is responsible.
Do not trust the evidence.
The killer will use the blood of the innocent to hide the blood of the guilty.
I stared.
“Your father predicted this?”
“No.”
Victor looked at the handwriting.
“This was added after his death.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The ink is newer.”
He held the page beneath the lamp.
“Someone added this recently.”
“Who?”
Victor shook his head.
Then we heard a sound.
A child crying.
Not Ethan.
A different child.
Victor went still.
“Where?”
The sound came from the basement.
We followed it.
The crying became louder.
At the bottom of the stairs, we found the door to the underground house open.
No one had opened it.
Victor drew his gun.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
We entered together.
The crying came from Room 8.
Victor opened the door.
Nothing.
Then a small boy's voice came from inside the closet.
“Please.”
Victor opened it.
A boy was hiding inside.
Maybe six years old.
Thin.
Dirty.
Terrified.
He looked at Victor.
Then screamed.
“Evan!”
Victor froze.
The boy ran into his arms.
“You came back.”
Victor looked at me.
“What is your name?”
The child clung to him.
“Evan.”
Victor closed his eyes.
“Evan…”
The boy whispered:
“Daddy?”
Victor's face broke.
He hugged him.
But then the child looked over Victor's shoulder.
His eyes widened.
“She's here.”
I turned.
A woman stood at the end of the corridor.
Gray hair.
Pale face.
Long black dress.
She looked exactly like Eleanor in the old photographs.
Victor slowly lowered his gun.
“Eleanor?”
The woman smiled.
“No.”
She stepped into the light.
“I am your mother.”
Victor froze.
“My mother died thirty years ago.”
The woman smiled sadly.
“So did I.”
She looked at the little boy.
“But some deaths are only stories.”
Then she pointed at the child.
“That is not Evan.”
Victor looked down.
The boy was smiling.
His eyes were cold.
The woman whispered:
“That is the second attempt.”
The child's face changed.
He reached into his pocket.
Pulled out a small knife.
And drove it toward Victor's chest.
I screamed.
Victor twisted.
The blade missed his heart by inches.
He fell backward.
The boy ran.
The woman disappeared.
And the will fell from Victor's hand.
When I picked it up, one final page had appeared beneath it.
A page that had not been there before.
Written in fresh black ink:
THE REAL EVAN IS ALIVE.
Then below it:
AND HE HAS BEEN WATCHING YOU FROM THE BEGINNING.
I looked toward the dark corridor.
Somewhere beneath the house, a door slammed.
And a man's voice whispered:
“Finally.”
Victor looked at me.
“Who was that?”
I stared into the darkness.
“I don't know.”
Then the voice came again.
This time, unmistakably.
“Dad.”
Victor went completely still.
Because the voice belonged to the man we had buried twenty-two years ago.
May you like
Evan.
And he was standing behind us.
