Chapter 5 - Echoes of the First Wife
The realization crashed over me like an avalanche. The man in our house wasn't a random burglar or a phantom; he was Emma’s biological uncle, a man twisted by whatever malice had driven him to take his own sister's life.
"Mama?" Emma's small voice came from the darkness of the footwell. "Is Daddy coming?"
"Soon, sweetie. Soon," I lied, my mind racing as I shoved the papers back into the envelope.
I knew why Emma had been terrified for weeks. She must have remembered him. A six-year-old’s memory is a fragile thing, often buried under layers of trauma, but the sound of his voice, the way he knocked—it had triggered something deep within her subconscious. She wasn't afraid of the front door because of grief; she was afraid because she knew he was coming back to finish what he started with her mother.
Suddenly, a heavy blow struck the driver's side window.
I screamed. David Vance was standing right outside, his face pressed against the glass. In the dim light, I could see his eyes—hollow, manic, and completely devoid of humanity. He held a heavy iron tire iron in his hand.
"Get out of the truck, Rachel," he yelled, his voice muffled by the glass. "You're playing with things you don't understand. Give me the girl."
"Never!" I screamed.
I jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. The old engine cranked, sputtered, and then roared to life. Vance swung the tire iron, shattering the driver's side window into a spiderweb of cracked safety glass. Shards sprayed across my lap, cutting into my hands.
I slammed the truck into reverse and hit the gas. The tires screeched against the gravel, kicking up a cloud of dust as the vehicle rocketed backward. Vance was thrown off balance, stumbling into the bushes as the truck swung around.
I shifted into drive and floored it down the long driveway, leaving the house and the monster behind us in the dark.
May you like
As we hit the main road, the headlights illuminated the dense walls of pine trees. I looked at the dashboard clock. It was 7:45 PM. Tom had said he would be home around 8:00 PM. He was on his way right now, driving up this very road.
If he ran into Vance unprepared, he would be killed. I had to warn him.
