Chapter 6 - The Shadows of Carmel
The storm had rolled in from the North Pacific by the time Richard reached the coastal estate in Carmel. Rain hammered against the windshield of his SUV as he navigated the winding, cliffside roads. The house—a massive, ultra-modern compound built from glass, concrete, and dark steel—perched on the edge of a rocky promontory overlooking the roaring ocean below.
It was a property my father had built, a sanctuary that Richard had always hated because he felt out of place within its walls. Tonight, it looked like a fortress of ghosts.
Richard parked the SUV near the gate, unbuckling his seatbelt. He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a heavy black hand gun he had bought illegally years ago—a weapon with no serial number. He racked the slide, chambering a round, his knuckles white against the grip.
He stepped out into the pouring rain, pulling his coat tight around him, and approached the main entrance. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar, swaying gently in the wind.
"Hello?" Richard called out, his voice swallowed by the sound of the crashing waves and the pouring rain.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the grand foyer. The house was pitch black, lit only by the frequent flashes of lightning illuminating the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the ocean.
"I brought what you wanted!" Richard shouted into the dark, stepping slowly into the living room, holding the gun concealed inside his coat pocket. "Show yourself! Who are you?!"
Silence answered him, save for the hum of the wind outside.
Suddenly, the massive television display built into the central wall flickered to life. A video began to play.
It wasn't a clip of the helicopter. It was security footage from three months ago—taken in our bedroom. The footage showed Richard standing over my nightstand late at night, carefully pouring a tiny liquid drop into my bedtime water glass.
Richard gasped, staggering back a step.
"You thought I didn't notice the strange taste, Richard?" my voice echoed from the house's surround-sound speakers, rich, warm, and terrifyingly alive. "You thought I didn't test the water? It was a mild synthetic toxin designed to induce a miscarriage over time. You didn't just want my money... you wanted to destroy my child."
"Amelia?" Richard screamed, spinning around, aiming his gun frantically at the empty shadows. "Where are you?! Stop playing games! You're dead! I saw you fall!"
"You saw what you wanted to see," my voice replied from the darkness behind him.
Richard spun around.
Standing on the mezzanine above the living room, illuminated by a flash of lightning, was a figure dressed in a sleek black coat. She stepped into the soft ambient light of the gallery.
It was me.
May you like
Alive. Whole. Unharmed.
And very much pregnant.
