Chapter 14: Blackwood
The photograph lay on the conference table.
Clara couldn't take her eyes off the little girl.
A faded blue sweater.
Dark curls.
A stuffed rabbit clutched tightly against her chest.
The image stirred something deep inside her.
"I know that rabbit," she whispered.
Julian looked at her.
"How?"
Clara closed her eyes.
"I used to read to her."
Everyone in the room froze.
"You... what?"
"I wasn't always locked in the west wing."
The memories came faster now.
"They moved me."
"Sometimes to the cabin."
"Sometimes..."
"...to Blackwood."
The convoy reached Blackwood Conservatory just before sunset.
What remained of the once-grand estate stood behind rusted iron gates wrapped in vines.
Broken stained-glass windows reflected the fading light.
The roof had partially collapsed years ago.
Officially, the place had burned down and been abandoned.
Unofficially...
Fresh tire tracks led through the overgrown driveway.
The detectives exchanged uneasy glances.
"Someone's been here recently."
Julian looked toward the tactical team.
"Stay alert."
The front doors groaned as officers forced them open.
Dust floated through shafts of sunlight piercing the darkness.
The grand entrance hall still held traces of its former beauty.
A cracked marble staircase.
Burned portraits hanging crookedly on the walls.
And at the center of the hall...
A magnificent black grand piano.
Clara stopped walking.
Her breathing quickened.
"It was here."
She slowly approached the piano.
"I remember."
She ran her fingertips across the scorched wood.
A faint melody echoed in her mind.
Then another memory surfaced.
Evelyn standing beside the piano.
The little girl crying.
And Clara kneeling beside her.
"It's okay," Clara had whispered.
"You'll be all right."
Evelyn had smiled.
"No."
"She'll be exactly what we need."
"Mr. Vance!"
A detective called from the second floor.
"We found something."
Everyone hurried upstairs.
Behind a collapsed bookshelf, officers had uncovered a hidden steel door.
The keypad beside it no longer worked.
A tactical officer used a hydraulic spreader.
With a loud metallic crack...
The door swung open.
Cold air rushed out.
The room beyond was untouched by the fire.
Rows of filing cabinets lined the walls.
Computers.
Medical equipment.
Observation windows.
It wasn't a conservatory.
It was a research facility.
The lead detective slowly walked to the nearest cabinet.
Every drawer contained thick files.
Each one labeled with a letter and a number.
Echo-03
Echo-07
Echo-11
Dozens of names.
Dozens of lives.
Julian's chest tightened.
"How many people?"
The detective looked through several folders.
"At least twenty-seven documented subjects."
Clara whispered,
"I wasn't the first."
"And not the last."
A younger detective switched on one of the surviving computers.
To everyone's surprise...
The monitor flickered to life.
"No password."
He clicked through several directories.
One folder appeared.
ACTIVE SUBJECTS
Inside...
Only one file remained.
Echo-28
The detective opened it.
A recent photograph filled the screen.
A little girl.
The same child from the old photograph.
Only now she looked twelve years old.
Alive.
Frightened.
Still holding the same stuffed rabbit.
Julian looked at the profile.
Status:
CURRENTLY ACTIVE
Location:
Restricted
Clara's voice broke.
"They still have her."
Before anyone could react, a faint sound echoed through the underground hallway.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Uneven.
Right.
Left.
Pause.
Right.
Left.
Pause.
The detectives immediately raised their weapons.
"Tactical team!"
"Move!"
The footsteps stopped.
Then a calm female voice echoed through the speakers hidden in the ceiling.
"Congratulations."
Every light in the room flickered on.
The voice continued.
"It took you longer than expected."
Julian recognized it immediately.
"Evelyn."
A soft laugh filled the room.
"You've become quite persistent, Mr. Vance."
Julian stepped toward the nearest speaker.
"Show yourself."
"No."
"I've learned that people are always more interesting..."
"...when they believe they're getting closer."
Clara's hands began shaking.
"Evelyn..."
The voice softened.
"Hello, Clara."
"You survived."
"I admit..."
"...that disappoints me."
Julian's anger exploded.
"Where is the girl?"
Silence.
Then—
"You've spent four years searching for one person."
"Now imagine searching for twenty-eight."
The line went dead.
The room fell silent.
A detective rushed to the computer.
"She accessed the system remotely."
"Can you trace it?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"But..."
He frowned.
"She left something."
A new file had appeared on the desktop.
Its title was simple.
For Julian and Clara
Julian clicked it open.
Inside was a live video.
The little girl sat in a small room, hugging her stuffed rabbit.
She looked directly into the camera.
Then whispered four heartbreaking words:
"Please... don't stop looking."
Clara burst into tears.
Julian wrapped an arm around her as the screen suddenly went black.
At the bottom of the monitor, a single line of text appeared:
May you like
Tick... Tick... Tick...
The countdown had begun.
