Chapter 11 - The Knock at Midnight
The autumn storm rolled in suddenly around ten o’clock, rattling the tall leaded glass windows of the library. Outside, the wind howled through the towering oaks, tearing yellow leaves from the branches and hurling them against the brick facade.
Florence had retired to her bedroom on the second floor, resting peacefully after an evening that had exhausted her frail body. Hannah was in the kitchen, preparing a pot of chamomile tea to bring upstairs, while Christopher stood by the grand front doors, double-checking the security latches.
Suddenly, a loud crack of thunder shook the house.
The lights flickered once, twice, and then plunged the entire estate into pitch-black darkness.
"Christopher?" Hannah called out from the hallway, her voice tinged with sudden apprehension.
"I’m right here, Hannah," Christopher called back, clicking on the flashlight on his phone. "It's just the main transformer on the road. The backup generator should kick in within thirty seconds."
They waited in the heavy, breathing darkness. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Twenty.
The hum of the basement generator never came.
"The auxiliary switch was tripped," Christopher muttered, a sudden chill running down his spine. "That system is completely isolated. It can't fail unless someone physically cuts the line."
Before Hannah could answer, the security intercom panel on the wall let out a long, screeching beep. The front gate alarm had been triggered.
Christopher moved quickly to the small security monitor, which was running on local battery power. The grainy infrared screen showed the front gate hanging wide open, its heavy iron chains cleanly severed. A lone, black unmarked van had pulled past the perimeter and was creeping up the winding driveway without headlights.
"Christopher, who is that?" Hannah asked, stepping up behind him, clutching a heavy brass candlestick. "Is it Julian?"
"Julian wouldn't dare," Christopher whispered, his jaw set, pulling open the drawer beneath the hall table and drawing his registered semi-automatic pistol. "Julian is a coward who fights with lawyers and press leaks. This is different."
The black van stopped right in front of the sweeping stone steps of the mansion.
Three heavy thumps echoed through the heavy oak double doors.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Christopher raised the weapon, placing Hannah firmly behind his back. "Step away from the door!" Christopher shouted through the reinforced wood. "This property is guarded! Leave immediately or I will fire!"
Silence hung in the cold air, broken only by the whistling wind.
May you like
Then, a voice drifted through the door seam. It wasn't Julian Vance. It was raspy, deep, and chillingly familiar—a voice Christopher had not heard since he was a teenager, a voice that had been declared dead and buried in a Swiss avalanche twenty-five years ago.
"Open the door, little brother," the voice rasped, accompanied by the slow, metallic slide of a key turning in the lock. "You spent all this time weeping for Clara... but you never bothered to ask what happened to the firstborn."
