Chapter 19: The Cradle and the Grave
Chapter 19: The Cradle and the Grave
I followed the trail of wet boot prints up the stairs, my hand gripping the railing so tightly my nails bit into the wood. Every step felt like a descent into hell.
"Noah?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own breathing.
The door to Noah’s playroom was standing wide open. Inside, the colorful blocks and stuffed animals were untouched, a stark, terrifying contrast to the violence downstairs.
Sitting in the center of the room, in a small wooden rocking chair, was Ethan.
He was alive, but his face was covered in cuts, his shirt torn and stained with soot. He was holding his arm tightly against his chest, his eyes staring blankly at the wall.
"Ethan," I sobbed, rushing forward and throwing my arms around him. "Where is he? Where is Noah?"
Ethan slowly turned his head, his eyes hollow, completely broken. He didn't look at me. He looked down at the floor between his feet.
"They took him, Claire," he whispered, his voice completely dead. "They didn't want the money. They never wanted the money."
"Who?" I demanded, pulling his face toward mine. "Who took him?"
Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, old cassette tape—the kind Diane used to use for her answering machine messages thirty years ago. "She left this on the counter. She said you’d know what it means."
I snatched the tape from his hand, ran down to the den, and shoved it into the old tape player I kept for archiving clients' old records. I hit play.
The static hissed for five seconds. Then, a voice filled the room. It wasn't Vanessa’s. It wasn't Vince’s.
It was Diane’s.
May you like
The recording was old, the audio grainy, recorded years before her death in the facility.
Claire, my sweet, useful girl, Diane’s voice purred through the speaker, carrying that same polished, venomous sweetness that had dictated my entire life. If you are hearing this, it means Vanessa failed, and you thought you won. But a mother always has a ledger. The money in the Caymans was never the real inheritance. The real inheritance is the debt you owe this family for breaking it. I’ve taken care of the boy. He’s going back to where we started. Come find us where the rosemary grows, Claire. Or don't come at all.
