Chapter 5 - The Tapes of Blackwood Point
Daniel used the point of his hunting knife to snap the steel padlocks off the black case.
The lid popped open with a soft hiss of released air pressure.
Inside lay three thick, leather-bound clinical logbooks, a stack of high-resolution black-and-white surveillance photographs, and five mini-cassette audio tapes neatly arranged in a foam cutout matrix. Each tape was labeled with a date from fourteen months ago.
Daniel pulled the first cassette from the foam. The label read: OCTOBER 12 – CLARA V. – SESSION 14 (DOSAGE INCREASE).
He walked over to his desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out an old Sony micro-cassette recorder he used for dictating legal memos. His hands were cold, his movements mechanical, like a soldier clearing a minefield in the dark.
He dropped the tape into the deck, pressed down the mechanical play button, and sat back in his heavy leather chair.
The speaker hissed with tape hiss, followed by the clatter of a glass window being closed against rain.
Then came Victoria Vance’s voice—clear, cold, and smooth as polished glass.
"Subject displays increasing spatial paranoia. Believes her husband is monitoring her phone calls. The administration of synthetic scopolamine via the evening tea compound has successfully degraded her short-term recall capability. She can no longer distinguish between her own memories and the suggested scenarios."
Daniel gasped, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He gripped the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white.
A second voice spoke on the tape.
It was faint, trembling, and choked with dry, raspy breathing. It was Clara.
"Please... Victoria... I can't see the road when I drive... the lights are turning green when they're red... Daniel thinks I'm losing my mind... he's going to take Maya away from me..."
"He isn't going to take her away, Clara," Victoria’s recorded voice replied, her tone dripping with a terrifying, synthetic warmth. "He’s going to protect her. But you need to rest. You need to take the long drive tonight. Down to the Red Door facility. The doctor is waiting for you there."
"The Red Door?" Clara whispered on the tape. "Is Maya there?"
"Yes, Clara. Maya is waiting for you at the Red Door. Drive fast, before Daniel comes home."
A loud click cut the recording short. Silence filled the dark oak study, broken only by the steady, mechanical whir of the tape deck reaching the end of its spool.
Daniel sat frozen in his chair.
His eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on the black case lying open on his floor.
Clara hadn't suffered from postpartum depression. She hadn't lost control of her car on the fog-slicked mountain road because she was suicidal.
She had been systematically poisoned, gaslighted, and driven off that cliff by the woman who had walked into his house three weeks later wearing a beige wool suit, offering to manage his family’s legal affairs.
A soft click echoed from the corridor outside the study door.
Daniel snapped his head around.
May you like
The brass skeleton key he had used to lock Maya’s bedroom door was sitting on his desk.
And from the other side of the dark study door came the distinct, quiet sound of soft-soled pumps stepping onto the polished hardwood floor.
