Chapter 12 - The Ghost of Blackwood Bay
The scream caught in my throat before it could even escape my lips.
The black-and-white feed on Marcus's screen was crystal clear, transmitting from the hidden nanny cam in Maya’s nursery.
The figure on the screen wore heavy tactical gear and a dark mask, casually running a gloved hand over the carved wooden crib.
"They're in the house," I gasped, backing away from the open doorway with Maya clutched against my heart.
Marcus didn't hesitate for a single second.
He raised his weapon, his eyes blazing with a primal, lethal fury that completely wiped away his civilized demeanor.
"Get into the panic room behind the pantry, Clara," he commanded in a tone that allowed no argument. "Lock the steel deadbolt from the inside."
"I am not leaving you," I cried, tears blinding my vision as terror threatened to paralyze my legs.
"You have our daughter," Marcus said, turning to look into my eyes with fierce, desperate devotion. "Protect Maya. I will end this."
Before I could answer, a loud thud shook the ceiling directly above our heads.
The intruder wasn't trying to hide their footsteps anymore; they wanted us to know they were descending the grand staircase.
Marcus shoved me gently toward the kitchen hallway, raising his weapon as he rounded the corner toward the stairs.
I sprinted with everything I had left, my bare feet slipping slightly on the polished pine flooring.
I threw myself inside the narrow pantry, slamming my shoulder against the hidden false wall.
The heavy reinforced steel door clicked shut behind me with a sickening hydraulic hiss.
In the suffocating darkness of the reinforced safe room, the only sounds were Maya’s panicked sobs and my ragged breath.
A single monitor mounted to the reinforced wall flickered to life, showing multiple perimeter camera angles.
Outside, the mist was rolling heavily off Blackwood Bay, engulfing the estate in a thick, ghostly shroud.
Suddenly, two muffled gunshots echoed through the thick concrete walls, vibrating right through my bones.
"Marcus!" I whispered against the concrete, hot tears streaming down my cheeks.
I looked frantically at the interior monitor displaying the grand foyer.
Marcus stood near the base of the stairs, smoke drifting from the muzzle of his firearm.
Across the marble floor lay shattered glass and dark splatters, but there was no body on the ground.
A dark trail of blood led straight out the rear patio doors, disappearing into the dense fog.
Marcus didn't chase the shadow into the woods; instead, he bolted toward the kitchen, toward us.
Three distinct knocks rattled the outer metal surface of the panic room door—our prearranged emergency code.
I punched the electronic keypad with shaking fingers, and the heavy door slid open immediately.
Marcus stepped inside, breathing heavily, a deep cut bleeding across his left cheekbone.
"Are you hurt?" I cried, reaching out with one hand while holding Maya with the other.
"It's just grazing from shattered glass," he panted, his chest heaving as he scanned Maya to ensure she was safe.
"Did you get them?" I asked, my voice trembling.
"I hit him in the shoulder, but he vanished over the cliffside toward the docks," Marcus said grimly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out an object he had recovered from the foyer floor.
It was an encrypted satellite radio, dropped by the wounded intruder during the brief shootout.
A static-filled hiss crackled through the small speaker of the radio, cutting through the silence of the safe room.
Then, a voice spoke through the static—a smooth, refined voice that sent a wave of absolute horror through my core.
It wasn't Eleanor Vance, and it wasn't Isabella Sterling.
"Did you really believe Eleanor was the mastermind of the Vance trust, little brother?" the man on the radio purred softly.
Marcus froze, the color completely abandoning his features as his hand began to tremble uncontrollably.
May you like
"Julian?" Marcus whispered into the radio, his voice cracking with sheer disbelief. "You died six years ago."
***
