Chapter 2 - A Voice in the Dark
I walked across the frozen gravel,
the wind tearing at my coat,
until I reached the small stone building,
that served as our service office.
The two guards stood at the door,
looking uncomfortable,
their eyes shifting away from mine as I approached.
"Open it,"
I commanded,
my voice sounding like gravel.
Inside,
the room was small and dim,
smelling of old paper and woodsmoke.
Emma Carter was sitting on a wooden chair,
her hands folded in her lap,
her torn blue uniform a stark contrast to the sterile room.
She didn't look up when I entered,
her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor.
"Emma,"
I said,
softening my tone.
She flinched at the sound of my voice,
her shoulders tensing,
as if she expected another accusation.
"I saw the footage,"
I continued,
walking closer until I was standing in front of her.
She looked up then,
her hazel eyes wide with a mixture of fear and exhaustion.
"The backup files,"
I explained,
"the ones Victor didn't know existed."
Relief washed over her face,
so visible that it made my heart ache.
She slumped back in the chair,
letting out a long,
shuddering breath.
"He was going to hurt them,"
she whispered,
her voice cracking.
"I saw the needle,
Mr. Whitmore."
"I didn't know what was in it,"
"but I knew it wasn't medicine."
I sat on the edge of the desk,
looking at the woman who had saved my family.
"Why didn't you come to me?"
I asked.
"You were always so far away,"
she replied,
a hint of sadness in her voice.
"You looked at the girls like they were a memory,"
"not like they were babies."
"And Victor...
he told the staff you were unstable."
"He said if we bothered you,"
"we’d be fired."
The truth of her words hit me harder than the storm outside.
I had been a ghost in my own home,
a man who had checked out of reality,
leaving my children in the hands of a monster.
"He’s been poisoning them,
hasn't he?"
I asked,
referring to the shifting medicine bottles she had mentioned.
Emma nodded slowly,
her fingers tracing a tear in her coat.
"Small doses,"
she said.
"Enough to keep them sick,"
"enough to make a 'fever' seem natural."
"He was waiting for the right night to finish it."
"The night of the storm,"
"when no doctor could get to the ranch."
I stood up,
the rage boiling in my veins like molten lead.
I wanted to go to Victor's quarters right then,
to drag him out into the snow and show him what a father's wrath looked like.
But I had to be smart.
Victor had allies among the security team,
men he had hired and paid with my money.
"I need you to stay here a little longer,"
I told Emma,
placing a hand on her shoulder.
"If Victor thinks I'm still on his side,"
"he’ll get careless."
"I'm going to bring the girls back to the house,"
"and I'm going to have a private doctor flown in by helicopter."
Emma looked at me,
searching my eyes for the man I used to be.
"Do you trust me,
Emma?"
I asked.
"I trusted your daughters,"
she replied simply.
"They knew I was there to help."
I left the office,
the plan already forming in my mind.
I would play the part of the grieving,
fooled widower for one more night.
I would sign the papers he wanted,
but I would sign them in disappearing ink.
And when the sun rose,
May you like
Victor Hale would find out that the master of Willow Creek,
had finally come home.
