Chapter 4 - Z
I drove ninety miles an hour down the two-lane highway back to Oakridge, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, my tires screaming around the turns. The sky had turned a dark, bruised purple, heavy with the promise of an impending thunderstorm.
When I pulled into my driveway, Emily's white SUV was parked near the garage. The front porch light was on, casting a sickly yellow glow over the rain-slicked steps.
I burst through the front door, slamming it behind me. "Nate!" I screamed. "Nate, where are you?!"
Silence answered me.
"Nate!"
I hurried into the kitchen. On the island table lay an empty glass of water and a open box of infant formula. The back sliding glass door was cracked open, letting in the damp, cold night air and the distant rumble of thunder.
I ran upstairs toward the guest bedroom. The door was wide open. The crib was empty. Luke's clothes were missing from the dresser drawers.
"Nate!" I shrieked, panic clawing at my throat.
I ran down the hallway toward the master bedroom. That was when I heard the muffled sound of voices coming from Nate's old childhood workshop in the basement.
I tore down the basement stairs, nearly slipping on the wooden steps.
The basement was dimly lit by a single overhead bulb. In the center of the room, Nate was standing near his workbench, clutching his head in his hands. He was swaying, his balance visibly compromised. Emily stood five feet away from him, holding Luke tightly in a chest carrier, her hand resting over the baby's back. Beside her stood a man in a tailored charcoal suit.
It was Julian Vance.
"What is going on here?!" I shouted, placing myself directly between Nate and Julian.
Julian looked completely calm, his graying hair perfectly slicked back, a sleek leather briefcase dangling from his right hand. "Martha, please calm down. We're just settling a family matter quietly before things get out of hand."
"Nate," I cried, grabbing my son's shoulder. His skin was burning hot, his eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded. "Nate, what's wrong with you?"
"I... I don't know, Mom," Nate slurred, his voice thick, heavy, like a man drowning in deep water. "Emily brought... brought me a drink. A smoothie. Said... said it would help me sleep..."
My eyes darted to Emily. She looked terrified, her face pale as flour, but she didn't step forward. She was trembling, squeezed between Julian and the wall.
"You drugged him!" I screamed at Emily. "You monster! You poisoned my son!"
"It's just a mild sedative, Martha," Julian said, his voice smooth, clinical, almost soothing. "Nate has been under immense emotional stress. He was becoming volatile. We couldn't risk him causing a scene when we execute the custody transfer paperwork."
Julian opened his briefcase on the workbench and pulled out a stack of legal documents. "Emily has granted me full legal guardianship rights as the natural father, pending the formal court filing tomorrow morning. We are taking Luke tonight."
"Natural father?" I gasped, the horrible realization freezing the blood in my veins. "Adrian... Adrian wasn't the father. It was you."
Julian offered a thin, cold smile. "Adrian was a foolish, impulsive boy who thought he could blackmail me. He thought a few hotel receipts and a stolen medical chart gave him leverage over my firm and my reputation. He came to my office screaming about ruined lives, threatening to tell Nate everything."
"You killed him," I whispered, the words slipping out in a horrified gasp. "The car crash... you tampered with his car."
"Adrian was drunk and driving fifty miles an hour on a winding road in a downpour," Julian corrected smoothly. "A tragic accident. But his sudden departure did leave a few loose ends. Thankfully, Emily was smart enough to cooperate. She knew that if Nate found out the truth, he would lose his job, his house, his reputation, and his freedom. I protected this family, Martha. In my own way."
"You ruined this family!" I roared, lunging toward him.
Julian didn't even flinch. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a small, silver pen-shaped device—a high-voltage stun gun. He held it up casually. "Do not test me, Martha. You're an old woman. You wouldn't survive the shock."
Behind me, Nate groaned, collapsing to his knees on the concrete floor. The drug was taking full effect, paralyzing his body even as his mind fought desperately to stay conscious. "Mom..." he rasped, reaching out a limp hand toward Luke. "Don't... let them take... my boy..."
Emily began to sob quietly, clutching the baby. "Julian, this wasn't the plan! You said we would just sign the papers and leave! You said nobody would get hurt!"
"Plans change when people start asking questions, Emily," Julian said sharply, turning his dark eyes onto her. "Now get in the car. Right now."
"No," a voice echoed from the top of the basement stairs.
We all froze and looked up.
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Standing at the top of the stairs, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker in both hands, was Clara.
"I followed you from the diner, Martha," Clara said, her voice shaking with absolute fury, her knuckles white on the iron handle. "And I called the State Police five minutes ago. They know everything. They're on their way."
