Chapter 92 - The Chime in the Dark
The blackout fell over Oak Ridge like a heavy wool blanket, smothering every ounce of light. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the sound of the freezing wind tearing through the pine needles and the harsh, ragged intake of our collective breath. On the veranda, the darkness was absolute. The comforting silhouette of the stone balustrade vanished into the murk, leaving only the sound of wet boots shifting against flagstones.
"Get down! Clara, get behind me!" Vance’s voice lashed out with razor-sharp authority, cutting through the sudden void. The metallic snap of his service holster undoing was unmistakable in the quiet night. His flashlight clicked on an instant later, a harsh beam of white halogen slicing through the mist and bouncing off the leaded glass of the French doors.
The parlor window was empty.
The gaunt man in the soot-stained coat had vanished into the pitch-black interior of the manor, leaving behind only the fogged outline of his breath against the glass. But in the vacuum where his presence had been, a sound began to drift through the frame. It was high, tinny, and impossibly clear—the faint, mechanical chime of the vintage music box. It was playing the old French lullaby our mother had wound beside our cribs before everything fractured into greed and hostility.
"Lily," I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My maternal instinct surged past every ounce of terror that held my boots rooted to the veranda. "Caleb! Lock the truck!"
"I’m on it, Katherine!" Caleb’s voice bellowed from down the driveway, firm and steady despite the chaos. The heavy steel door of his pickup slammed shut, followed immediately by the dull thud of the central locks engaging. In the beam of Vance's flashlight, I could see Caleb standing guard by the cab, his shotgun angled across his chest, his eyes fixed on the tree line and the manor entrance alike. Inside the cabin, Lily’s small face appeared briefly against the glass, clutching the torn Easter ribbon to her chin, her eyes wide with bewilderment.
"He was inside the house while the feds were tearing through the east wing," Clara whispered, her fingers digging painfully into my forearm. Her knuckles were bone-white, the brass keys to the estate trembling against her palm. "Katherine... that was the music box mother kept in the wall safe. The one nobody knew about except Arthur and..."
May you like
She stopped, unable to speak the name. Vance took point, his weapon raised, his flashlight illuminating the brass handle of the parlor door. "Stay behind me. Both of you. The local substation was supposed to have cut the power grid to the outbuildings, not the main panel. Someone bypassed the breaker from within the cellar."
With a sudden, violent kick, Vance breached the door. The French latches splintered inward, and the smell of ancient dust, damp cedar, and cold hearth smoke rushed out to swallow us whole.
