Chapter 7 - Dawn Over the Blackwood Estate
By sunrise, the storm had entirely blown itself out.
The sky over the Blackwood Estate was a brilliant, washed sapphire blue, glittering with the clean, sharp light of an early autumn morning. The ancient oaks dripped diamond-like raindrops onto the manicured gravel paths, and the air smelled of wet earth and pine.
Inside the master suite, the fire crackled warmly in the marble hearth.
Toby sat propped up against a mountain of goose-down pillows, wearing a thick wool sweater that belonged to me when I was a boy. He was holding a large bowl of oatmeal with cream and brown sugar, eating slowly under the watchful, tearful eye of Hannah, who sat on the edge of the mattress stroking his hair.
I walked into the bedroom, carrying a fresh cup of coffee, and sat down in the armchair beside his bed.
“How are you feeling, son?” I asked softly.
Toby swallowed his bite of oatmeal and looked up at me. His skin still had the pale, ghostly cast of prolonged captivity, but the terrible, haunted look in his eyes had begun to soften, replaced by the flickering warmth of a child realizing the monsters were gone.
“My legs hurt when I walk,” Toby admitted quietly, looking down at the wool blanket over his shins. “And I don't like the dark anymore, Dad.”
“You’ll never have to see the dark again, Toby,” I promised, leaning forward to rest my hand over his small, pale fingers. “I swear to you on my life. From now on, every room in this house will have the lights left on.”
Toby gave a small, fragile nod. He reached out and picked up his old digital voice recorder from the bedside table, turning it over in his hand. “What about the house? Are we going to sell it?”
I looked past him toward the tall windows, watching the sunlight strike the grand stone pillars of the veranda.
“No, we’re not selling it,” I said, a slow, peaceful smile touching my lips. “We’re keeping the house. We’re going to tear down the East Wing nursery, rebuild the gardens, and plant a whole field of wildflowers where the old koi pond used to be.”
Toby smiled—a real, wide, unobstructed smile that reached all the way to his eyes.
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Down in the stone cellars, deep beneath the foundations of the mansion, three floors down where no light ever reached, a muffled, frantic hammering began against an iron door.
I didn't hear it. Or if I did, I simply let the sound blend into the morning wind, paying it no more mind than the scratching of a rat in the wainscoting.
