My father stood in the entryway, shaking the rain off his heavy coat. The wet wool smelled of ozone and damp earth. His eyes, usually clouded with the forced solemnity of a grieving parent, were sharp, scanning the living room like a wolf assessing a trap. On the floor, my mother lay unconscious, her breathing shallow, while the television behind her continued to broadcast Valeria’s face silently on mute.
I pressed the phone harder against my ear, hiding it beneath the collar of my shirt, trying to muffle the sound of my own frantic breathing.
“The old mill on Blackwood Lane,” Valeria whispered, her voice a fragile thread ready to snap. “In the root cellar beneath the floorboards. If he gets there first, the truth burns. Hurry, Leo—”
The line went dead. A cold dial tone buzzed in my ear.
“Leo?” my father’s deep voice boomed through the quiet house. He took a step forward, his boots leaving muddy tracks on the hardwood floor. Then, his eyes fell on my mother’s limp body, and then, slowly, they shifted to the television screen.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The news anchor was now showing a side-by-side comparison of Valeria at seventeen and Valeria today. My father’s jaw tightened. The grief that had defined his face for seven years vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness that terrified me more than any outburst of anger. He didn’t panic. He didn’t rush to my mother’s side. He just stared at the screen, his chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic measures.
“What is this?” he asked softly, looking up at me.
“She’s alive,” I choked out, my voice betraying the sheer terror paralyzing my muscles. “Dad… they’re saying you took her. The police are looking for you.“
My father didn’t flinch. He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket. My heart hammered against my ribs—I expected a weapon. Instead, he pulled out his car keys.
“Your mother needs an ambulance,” he said, his voice disturbingly calm, devoid of any emotion. “Take care of her, Leo. I need to go settle a misunderstanding.“
He turned on his heel and walked right back out into the storm. A second later, the heavy engine of his truck roared to life, and the tires screeched against the gravel driveway as he tore away into the night.
He was heading to the mill.
