Chapter 9 - BLACKWOOD HOUSEBlackwood House stood beyond the northern edge of the city.
No cameras.
No security signs.
No visible staff.
Just a stone road disappearing into pine trees.
I arrived at 2:14 a.m.
Exactly the time Aaron had once called me years ago begging for money.
Funny how some numbers follow you.
Jasmine sat beside me.
“You don't have to go inside.”
“Yes, I do.”
“What if Aaron was telling the truth?”
“He lies when he's afraid.”
“And what if this time he wasn't?”
I turned to her.
“Then I'll find out.”
We approached the front door.
It opened before we knocked.
An old woman stood there.
She looked at me.
Then smiled.
“Miss Hawthorne.”
My chest tightened.
“Nobody calls me that.”
“I was told to.”
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
I stared.
“He's been dead three years.”
“Yes.”
The woman stepped aside.
“He prepared this house before he died.”
I entered.
The interior smelled of dust and cedar.
Photographs covered the walls.
My family.
My childhood.
My father.
And one photograph of a newborn baby.
I walked toward it.
Underneath was a brass plaque.
Noah.
I touched the glass.
“He kept pictures.”
The woman nodded.
“He loved that child.”
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs.”
I ran.
The hallway seemed endless.
A child's room stood at the end.
I opened the door.
Empty.
The bed was made.
A wooden airplane sat on the desk.
My breath caught.
The exact model.
Aaron had once told me he had bought one for our son.
But I had never seen it.
I picked it up.
Inside the cockpit was a tiny engraving.
For my little pilot. Love, Mom.
I sat on the floor.
I don't know how long I stayed there.
Then I heard footsteps.
The old woman entered.
“He left.”
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“Who took him?”
“A man.”
“What man?”
She hesitated.
“Your husband.”
I froze.
“Aaron.”
“Yes.”
“Where did he take him?”
“I don't know.”
The woman handed me an envelope.
“He said to give you this only after you saw the room.”
Inside was a photograph.
Aaron stood with Noah.
The boy was holding his hand.
They looked close.
Almost father and son.
On the back was a handwritten note.
I failed you. I will not fail him.
I crumpled the paper.
“This doesn't excuse anything.”
“No.”
The old woman nodded.
“But perhaps it explains the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?”
She looked at me.
“Your husband didn't steal your son from you.”
“Then who did?”
She whispered:
“Your mother.”
I felt the world stop.
“My mother?”
“She gave the order.”
“No.”
“She believed Noah was in danger.”
“What danger?”
“Roland Vale.”
I shook my head.
“Roland was gone.”
The woman looked at me with sadness.
“Some men disappear because they are dead.”
“And some?”
“Because they want you to think they are.”
A noise came from downstairs.
A door slamming.
The woman stiffened.
“We're not alone.”
I reached for my phone.
No signal.
Lights flickered.
Then darkness.
Jasmine grabbed my arm.
“Someone's here.”
We heard footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming up the stairs.
One.
Two.
Three.
I held my breath.
The footsteps stopped outside the room.
The door opened.
A man stood in the hallway.
I didn't recognize him.
But the old woman did.
She whispered:
“Roland.”
He smiled.
“Hello, Alyssa.”
My blood turned to ice.
Roland Vale looked older than his photographs.
But his eyes were exactly the same.
Cold.
Focused.
Alive.
I whispered:
“You're supposed to be dead.”
He smiled.
“That was the idea.”
Jasmine stepped in front of me.
Roland looked at her.
“Still loyal to the wrong side.”
Then he looked at me.
“Your father ruined my life.”
“What do you want?”
“Your trust.”
“You'll never get it.”
“Maybe not.”
He tilted his head.
“But you will open it.”
“Why?”
He smiled.
“Because your son is not where Aaron took him.”
My heart stopped.
“Where is Noah?”
Roland stepped closer.
“Ask your mother.”
Then he disappeared into the darkness.
Seconds later, the house exploded with alarms.
The old woman screamed.
Jasmine dragged me toward the back exit.
We ran.
Outside, a black SUV was waiting.
The rear door opened.
A small hand reached out.
A child's voice said:
“Mom?”
I froze.
It was Noah.
He stared at me.
May you like
And for the first time in nine years, I heard my son call me by the word I had dreamed about.
“Mom.”
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