Chapter 25 - THE EMPTY CRIB
Two weeks later.
The heat of early summer had finally arrived, burning off the damp, rot-filled memories of the lake.
Ethan had sold the house at a sixty-percent loss. They didn't care about the money. They packed three suitcases, put their furniture in storage under an assumed corporate name, and drove six hundred miles west to a small, unincorporated mountain town in the Allegheny plateau.
The new house was a cedar-shake cabin tucked at the end of a long gravel driveway, surrounded by hundreds of acres of protected state forest. No internet lines were connected to the property. Ethan had installed a closed-circuit, hardwired analog camera system powered entirely by a private solar array.
For the first time in five months, the air felt clean.
Claire stood on the wrap-around porch, watching the late afternoon sun cast long, amber shadows across the pine trees. Lily was on a woven rug near her feet, stacking large wooden alphabet blocks, humming a sweet, nonsensical song that belonged entirely to herself.
Ethan walked out onto the porch, carrying two glasses of iced lemonade. He sat in the rocking chair beside Claire, handing her a glass.
"Miller called this morning from a burner phone," Ethan said quietly.
Claire didn't look up from Lily. "What did they find?"
"Richard’s remains were identified," Ethan said, his voice dropping into reverent sorrow. "They held a private burial yesterday in White Plains. Thomas was there. Miller said it was quiet."
Claire reached over and rested her hand on Ethan's knee. "And Julian?"
"The reservoir was dredged," Ethan replied, staring out at the peaceful forest. "Nothing. But Miller said the falls are sixty feet high over jagged rocks. No one could have survived that drop with a skull fracture, Claire. Even if the current carried him ten miles downstream, he’s gone."
Claire took a deep breath, letting the fresh mountain air fill her lungs. For the first time since the night in the boathouse, the tension lines around her mouth relaxed.
"We made it," she whispered.
"We made it," Ethan agreed.
Night fell gently over the mountains.
By nine o'clock, Lily was tucked into her crib in the corner bedroom on the ground floor. Ethan and Claire sat on the sofa in the living room, a fire crackling low in the stone hearth. There was no monitor between them. The bedroom was twenty feet away, the heavy oak door open to the hallway.
Ethan stood up to lock the front deadbolt—purely out of habit, not fear.
As he turned the brass latch, a sudden, sharp crack resonated through the silence.
Not the wind. Not an old floorboard settling in the cool night air.
The distinct, unmistakable metallic click of a window latch unlocking.
Ethan’s entire body went rigid. "Claire."
Claire stood up from the couch instantly, her face draining of color. "What was that?"
Ethan grabbed the flashlight and the revolver from the mantelpiece. He didn't hesitate. He rushed down the short hallway toward Lily's room, his heart slamming against his ribs so violently he could feel it in his teeth.
He pushed the bedroom door open.
The cool mountain night air hit him like a physical blow.
The double-hung sash window above the crib was thrown wide open, the white lace curtains billowing wildly in the mountain wind.
Ethan sprinted to the crib.
The white mattress was empty. The stuffed rabbit was lying on the floor, torn cleanly down the middle, its synthetic cotton stuffing scattered across the braided rug like snow.
"Lily!" Claire shrieked from the doorway, dropping to her knees. "Lily!"
Ethan lunged toward the open window, thrusting his flashlight beam out into the pitch-black yard.
The white beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the muddy earth directly beneath the sill.
Imprinted deeply into the wet soil were two fresh, unmistakable boot prints, pointing toward the black forest.
And pressed into the wooden sill of the open window, held down by a clean, polished kitchen knife driven two inches into the pine wood, was a handwritten index card.
Ethan leaned out into the wind, his flashlight shaking violently as the light illuminated the fresh, black fountain-pen ink:
*You thought I only had two boys, Ethan.*
May you like
*Look behind you.*
Behind Ethan, from the pitch-black shadows of the hallway closet right behind Claire, a floorboard creaked.
