Chapter 23 - The Cold Light of Dawn
The silence in the nursery stretched so thin it threatened to shatter like glass. Between them, Maya stirred, murmuring a soft, half-asleep babble before settling back into the depths of her crib.
"David?" Leah took a slow step forward, the floorboards groaning beneath her bare feet. "Put the book back. You're scaring me."
David didn't move. The paper in his hand felt like an incendiary device, hot enough to scorch through flesh and bone. He looked at Leah, really looked at her, searching for the terrified girl who had cried in his arms in the ICU eighteen months ago. But in the dim blue cast of the owl nightlight, her face seemed carved from stone.
"Maya is Type O," David said, his voice flat, devoid of inflection.
Leah stopped mid-stride. Her shoulders stiffened. "What?"
"I’m AB, Leah. You’re A negative. Two parents with those blood types cannot, under any biological law on this planet, conceive a child who is Type O." David stepped closer, holding up the hospital summary like an indictment. "Explain it to me. Please. Tell me it's a typographical error. Tell me the intake nurse made a mistake during the storm."
Leah’s eyes flickered down to the paper, then back to his face. For a fleeting second, David thought he saw panic flash in her eyes—the raw, animal instinct of prey trapped in a corner. But just as quickly, her expression smoothed into an uncanny, icy stillness.
"You've been talking to her," Leah said quietly.
"What?"
"Your mother." Leah's voice didn't rise; it dropped into a dangerous, razor-sharp whisper. "You've been in contact with Evelyn. Don't lie to me, David. That tone. That look in your eyes. It’s the exact same paranoia she injected into your veins since you were six years old."
"This isn't paranoia!" David hissed, pointing at the crib. "This is basic hematology! And what about the envelope on the porch today, Leah? Did Evelyn forge the photo of our daughter playing in the yard twenty-four hours ago? Did she forge the stranger standing three feet from our window while you were gardening?!"
Leah went rigid. The color completely drained from her skin, leaving her as pale as chalk. "What envelope?"
"Don't play dumb!"
"David, keep your voice down!" Leah lunged forward, grabbing his wrist with surprising strength, dragging him out into the hallway and pulling the nursery door shut until it clicked. She stood inches from him, her chest heaving against her sweater. "Show me the envelope. Right now."
David stared at her, caught off guard by the sheer ferocity in her demand. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out the crumpled letter, the torn wax seal, and the photograph.
Leah snatched them. She flipped the photograph over, inspecting the telephoto shot of Maya. Her hands began to tremble violently. When she read the back of the photo, her jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched beneath her cheekbone.
"Who took this, Leah?" David demanded, his voice cracking with agony. "Who is Julian Vance? Why is his name listed as the only civilian authorized to visit Evelyn at St. Jude's? And why does Evelyn know about 3:12 AM?"
Leah didn't read the letter. She didn't have to. She crushed the photograph in her fist, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.
"Julian isn't working for your mother, David," Leah whispered, looking up at him with eyes brimming with unshed tears and sheer, unadulterated terror. "Your mother is working for *him*."
"What are you talking about?"
May you like
Leah turned away, walking toward the staircase with robotic steps. "Pack a bag for Maya. We have three hours before sunrise. If we are still in this house when the sun comes up, we are never leaving it alive."
***
