Chapter 6 - Ghosts of the Past
Z
“Clarissa! What’s wrong?!” Victoria rushed over, grabbing Clarissa by the shoulders as she swayed on her feet.
Deputy Miller burst back through the front door, his face red from the cold night air. “Ms. Clarissa, I just spoke with the state police—what happened?”
“Marcus Kane,” Clarissa choked out, her hand pressed against her chest, her lungs burning. “He’s… he’s coming here.”
Deputy Miller’s expression changed instantly. His relaxed demeanor vanished, replaced by strict professional urgency. “Marcus Kane? The man convicted of aggravated assault and illegal firearm possession four years ago?”
“Alana bailed him out,” Clarissa said, her voice shaking as tears finally broke through her defenses. “She funded his custody petition. She’s using him to take Dustin away from me to destroy my legal standing!”
Victoria swore under her breath. “It’s a classic leverage play. If Marcus files an emergency motion for physical custody based on maternal instability—which they’ll argue using the domestic dispute reports from tonight—a judge could issue an emergency temporary order. They’re trying to force you into a settlement to drop the forgery charges in exchange for your son.”
The calculated, monstrous depravity of Alana’s plan sent a wave of nausea through Clarissa. They didn't just want her money; they wanted to strip away the one thing that gave her life meaning.
“Not on my watch,” Deputy Miller said sternly, pulling his sidearm from its holster and checking the magazine before slamming it back into place. “Marcus Kane has an active parole restriction prohibiting him from leaving Franklin County. If he steps foot in this county, I will arrest him on sight.”
“He won't come alone,” Clarissa said, her mind suddenly operating with hyper-focused clarity. “Marcus was never brave enough to do anything by himself. He’s a coward. If Alana sent him, Parker is with him.”
Suddenly, the power inside the lake house flickered once, twice, and then cut out completely.
The house was plunged into pitch blackness. The loud hum of the air conditioning died, replaced by the ominous, heavy silence of the surrounding woods.
Outside, the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers flickered off as well—their electrical systems compromised by a high-frequency jammer, or their power lines severed from the main pole near the road.
“Nobody move!” Deputy Miller barked, drawing his flashlight and pointing the beam toward the high ceiling. “Ms. Clarissa, get behind me! Grab the boy!”
Clarissa didn't hesitate. She darted through the dark toward the couch, lifting Dustin into her arms. The seven-year-old woke up with a startled cry, wrapping his small arms tightly around her neck.
“Mommy? Why is it dark?” Dustin sobbed into her collarbone.
“Shh, baby, I’ve got you,” Clarissa whispered fiercely, backing away toward the kitchen where the rear escape exit was located. “Mommy’s got you.”
A loud, sickening CRASH echoed from the front porch.
The heavy oak front door was blown off its hinges, splintering into pieces as two tall figures kicked their way into the dark entryway.
The light from a heavy tactical flashlight cut through the darkness, blinding Victoria and Deputy Miller.
“Sheriff’s Department! Drop your weapon!” Deputy Miller screamed, aiming his firearm directly at the beam of light.
BANG!
A gunshot exploded in the enclosed space, deafeningly loud. Deputy Miller let out a sharp cry, dropping his flashlight as he collapsed onto the floor, clutching his shoulder where blood immediately began to soak through his uniform.
“Miller!” Victoria shrieked, scrambling backward on her hands and knees into the shadows under the dining table.
Out of the darkness stepped two men.
One was Parker, his knee heavily bandaged, a dark, sinister grin plastered across his face.
Beside him stood a massive, muscular man with a shaved head, jagged scars along his jawline, and cold, dead eyes. Marcus Kane.
“Hello, Clarissa,” Marcus said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that sent chills down Clarissa’s spine. “It’s been a long time.”
Clarissa backed up against the kitchen counter, shielding Dustin behind her back. She grabbed a heavy chef’s knife from the wooden block on the counter, holding it out with a trembling, determined hand.
“Get away from us, Marcus,” she spat, her voice trembling with pure hatred. “I will kill you before I let you touch him.”
Marcus laughed—a dry, terrifying sound. He didn't look at Clarissa; his eyes were fixed on the small boy peeking out from behind her legs.
“Look at him, Parker,” Marcus said, nodding toward Dustin. “He looks just like me. And to think, you almost let this crazy bitch keep him.”
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“Take the kid, Marcus,” Parker demanded nervously, looking over his shoulder toward the driveway. “We have five minutes before the backup units realize Miller’s radio is dead. Grab the kid and let’s go!”
Marcus stepped forward, ignoring the knife in Clarissa’s hand. “Give me my son, Clarissa. Or I put a bullet in your head right here in front of him.”
