Chapter 4 - The Sound of the Serpent
The digital voice recorder clicked as the audio loop ended, returning the nursery to a heavy, suffocating silence.
The storm outside seemed to pause, holding its breath before unleashing another violent wave of thunder against the glass.
I slowly raised my head from the recorder. My hands were no longer shaking; they had gone completely, numbly still. The grief that had hollowed me out for three years was instantly incinerated by a rage so pure and cold it felt like liquid nitrogen in my veins.
Julian Vance.
My lawyer. My closest confidant. The man who had stood beside me at the gravesite, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder while offering condolences for a son he had personally helped brick up behind a wall.
“Mark…” Victoria whispered, her voice dropping into a pathetic, wheedling whine as she crawled across the floor toward me, her manicured hands reaching out to touch my knee. “Mark, please. You don't understand the pressure we were under. The shipping market collapsed in 2022, the mortgages on the logistics yards were coming due, Julian said it was the only way to save the Blackwood name—!”
“Save the name,” I repeated. My voice was dangerously soft.
I stood up slowly, looking down at the woman I had shared a bed with for fifteen years. I didn't yell. I didn't kick her. I merely looked at her the way a surgeon looks at a cancerous growth that has finally been exposed to the light.
“Hannah,” I said, not taking my eyes off my wife.
“Yes, Mr. Blackwood?” Hannah replied, her face grim as she supported Toby’s weight, helping him stand.
“Take Toby down to the master suite. Draw a hot bath, find some of my old winter clothes, and call Dr. Henderson—the real doctor from the county hospital, not the one Victoria kept on retainer. Get him here tonight.”
“Right away, sir,” Hannah said, gently guiding my son toward the nursery door.
May you like
Toby paused at the threshold. He looked back at me over his shoulder, his hollow eyes reflecting the amber glow of the bedside lamp. “You’re going to call Uncle Julian, aren't you?”
“No, son,” I said, a dark, thin smile touching the corners of my mouth. “I’m not going to call him. I’m going to invite him over for a drink.”
