Chapter 8 - Footsteps Above
The darkness in the house felt physical, thick and cold.
Maya’s breath caught in her throat. Her maternal instincts instantly overruled the paralyzing fear creeping up her spine. She didn't wait for Julian or Clara. She lunged through the blackness toward the kitchen drawer, her hand frantically scrambling past utensils until her fingers locked around the heavy handle of a chef's knife.
"Maya, wait—" Julian whispered in the dark, his hand reaching out, catching only air.
"Stay here," Maya commanded in a vicious whisper. "If anyone touches my daughter, I will kill them."
She moved toward the staircase, slipping through the shadows like a ghost. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird, each beat echoing in her ears above the sound of the rain outside. Step by step, she ascended the carpeted stairs, keeping her weight near the wall to prevent the old wood from creaking.
The second floor was pitch black.
The door to Lily’s room was slightly ajar, a sliver of faint gray light from the streetlight outside filtering through the gap.
Maya reached the landing. She held the knife low, close to her hip, her knuckles white around the grip. She pushed the door open with her foot.
The room was cold. The window was open, the sheer white curtains billowing wildly in the wind, allowing rain to spray across the hardwood floor.
Lily’s bed was empty.
The pink silk dress from the wedding was crumpled on the floor like a shed skin. The stuffed bear lay face down near the closet.
"Lily?" Maya whispered, her voice cracking with terror. "Lily!"
No answer.
Maya rushed to the open window, looking out into the torrential rain. Below, in the muddy backyard, a set of fresh footprints led away from the house toward the thick perimeter of trees that separated the property from the ravine.
A shadow moved near the tree line.
"Julian!" Maya screamed at the top of her lungs, throwing herself over the window sill and clambering down the trellis on the side of the house, ignoring the wooden splinters digging into her palms.
She hit the wet mud below, her shoes sliding as she sprinted toward the woods. The rain blinded her, stinging her eyes, but she could see the silhouette ahead—a tall figure wrapped in a heavy dark coat, carrying a small, blanket-wrapped bundle in its arms.
"Stop!" Maya shrieked, her voice swallowed by the thunder. "Give me back my baby!"
She closed the distance, her legs burning, driven by raw adrenaline. She lunged forward, grabbing the edge of the figure's heavy coat, bringing both of them crashing down into the wet, muddy embankment at the edge of the ravine.
They rolled down the slippery slope, churning through mud and dead leaves, until they hit the bottom near the swollen creek.
Maya scrambled to her feet, raising the knife, her face covered in mud, her eyes wild. "Get away from her!"
The figure slowly stood up, turning to face Maya under the dim glow of the lightning.
It wasn't a stranger. It wasn't a hired thug.
It was Eleanor Vance.
She wore a dark, waterproof tactical jacket over her stained beige wedding dress, which was now torn and filthy at the hem. Her blonde hair was soaked, plastered to her skull, making her face look like a stripped skull.
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In her arms, she held Lily, who was shivering violently, wrapped in a thick wool blanket, her eyes wide with terror but her mouth covered by a strip of black duct tape.
"You really are relentless, Maya," Eleanor said, her voice completely smooth, unaffected by the physical struggle. "I always admired that about you. It's a shame you didn't have the bloodline to match it."
