Chapter 9 - The Stalker in the Rain
The revelation from Nurse Holloway made me physically sick.
My parents hadn't just covered up a childhood squabble. They had known—since Vesper was a toddler—that she was pathologically violent, lacking empathy, and capable of extreme harm. Instead of getting her medical intervention, they had weaponized her, fueled her narcissism with trophies, and sacrificed me whenever she exploded.
At five that evening, Frank Vance called with an update.
"A warrant has been issued for Vesper’s arrest on charges of Malicious Wounding under Virginia Code § 18.2-51," Frank stated. "It’s a Class 3 felony, carrying five to twenty years. Furthermore, your father and Arthur Pendelton are being indicted by a special grand jury on Monday for felony obstruction of justice and witness tampering."
"Has Vesper been arrested?" Declan asked.
"Not yet," Frank warned. "The deputies went to your parents’ home, but she wasn't there. Her car was gone. Her phone is pinging off various towers around the county. She went dark, Declan. Keep your doors locked. I’m requesting an emergency protective order, but a piece of paper doesn't stop a sociopath."
Night fell over Richmond with an ominous, unrelenting downpour. The rain lashed against the large bay windows of our suburban home, rattling the glass. Declan had checked all the deadbolts and activated the perimeter alarms. We sat in the kitchen, unable to eat, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.
Around eleven o'clock, the storm intensified.
Suddenly, the house went pitch black.
The refrigerator hummed to a halt. The ambient lights died. Only the rhythmic lashing of the rain against the glass remained.
"The power’s out," Declan said, instantly reaching into his pocket and pulling out a tactical flashlight. The beam sliced through the darkness. "Stay here, Sloane. The backup generator should kick on in ten seconds."
Ten seconds passed. Twenty. The generator didn't roar to life.
"The transfer switch was manually tripped," Declan muttered, his voice cold and alert. "It’s on the outside wall near the garage."
Then came a sound that made my blood freeze.
*Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.*
It wasn't the wind. It was the distinct sound of fingernails dragging slowly across the glass of the French patio doors at the back of the kitchen.
Declan swung the flashlight beam toward the glass.
Standing on the dark, rain-drenched patio was Vesper.
May you like
She was soaking wet, her blonde hair plastered to her skull like drowned weeds. She was wearing an oversized black coat, completely drenched. But it was her face that terrified me.
She wasn't crying. She wasn't hiding. She was smiling—a wide, unblinking, grotesque smile, her eyes wide with manic euphoria. In her right hand, dragging against the limestone tiles, was Declan’s heavy iron tire iron, which she had pulled from his unlocked tool chest by the shed.
