Chapter 35 - The Blackout at Havencrest Safehouse
The truth was a labyrinth, and every turn was lined with corpses.
Leaving Hannah under the armed protection of Thorne’s elite private security inside the Medical Vault, Daniel, Clara, and Vance drove under cover of darkness to Havencrest—Daniel’s secluded, fortress-like retreat on the jagged cliffs of Long Island Sound.
It was the only place Daniel kept the off-grid encrypted archives of his late wife’s personal diaries and the records of the maternity hospital Elizabeth had attended before her mysterious "fatal car accident" four years ago.
The rain beat against the gothic stone facade of Havencrest like a swarm of angry hornets.
Inside the cavernous, oak-paneled study, Daniel ripped open an iron safe hidden behind a 17th-century oil painting. He pulled out the leather-bound diary of Elizabeth Sterling.
"Page seventy-two," Clara murmured, reading over his shoulder with a flashlight. "Look at the handwriting. It changes."
Daniel turned the yellowed pages. Elizabeth’s elegant cursive suddenly turned into jagged, frantic scrawls dated two days before Hannah was born:
*‘The clinic is not mine. The doctors are smiling, but they wear Eleanor’s eyes. They took the scan today. There were two heartbeats, Daniel. But they told me there was only one. If you are reading this, forgive me. They made me switch the—’*
Suddenly, the lights died.
The hum of the emergency generators cut out completely. The entire mansion was plunged into inky, suffocating blackness.
*Clack. Clack. Clack.*
The sound of high heels echoed against the marble floor of the Grand Foyer downstairs.
"Vance," Daniel whispered, drawing his sidearm, pulling Clara behind him into the alcove of the study.
"I hear it," Vance whispered, flicking the safety off his tactical rifle.
Through the darkness, an ethereal, melodic voice drifted up the sweeping spiral staircase. A woman’s voice, singing the very lullaby Daniel had heard his mother sing, the same lullaby Elizabeth had sung to the empty nursery:
*"Hush now, darling, close your eyes... the architect falls, the shadow will rise..."*
A flare hissed to life in the doorway. Blinding red phosphorus illuminated the hall.
Standing in the doorway, drenched in rain, wearing a tailored crimson gown identical to the one Eleanor wore on the night of the gala, was a woman. Her face was Eleanor’s. But her eyes were completely, horrifyingly hollow.
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Behind her stood four heavily armed operatives wearing obsidian tactical gear, their assault rifles aimed directly at Daniel’s chest.
"Good evening, Daniel," the woman purred, tilting her head. "Did you really think the woman who raised your baby was your wife?"
