Chapter 5 - The Voice from the Hall
The shadows in the hallway seemed to stretch and shift as a tall figure stepped into the weak spill of amber light from the nursery doorway. He wore a heavy wool trench coat, damp from the late-night rain, and his dark hair was plastered against a scarred forehead. But it was his face that made Mark’s breath catch in his throat—the sharp jawline, the straight nose, and the unmistakable, piercing green eyes that matched the photograph resting inside the open silver briefcase on the shelf.
"David," Mark breathed, the name slipping past his lips like a curse. He didn't lower his gun, but his arm wavered slightly, the sheer shock of the apparition overriding his tactical training. "You're supposed to be food for the crabs off Portland."
The man in the trench coat gave a cold, humorless smile, stepping further into the light. His own weapon—a heavy-caliber semi-automatic pistol—was held low and steady, pointed straight at Mark’s center mass.
"Reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated, primarily by the woman standing behind you," David said, his voice smooth, deep, and laced with quiet menace. He glanced briefly at Sarah, whose shoulders visibly sagged with relief. "Hello, Sarah. Did you miss me?"
"Don't move, David," Mark warned, his voice hardening as adrenaline flooded his system. He squared his stance, shifting his weight to his back foot, ready to return fire at the first twitch of the newcomer's trigger finger. "You walk into my home, you threaten my family—"
"Your family?" David interrupted, cutting him off with a sharp, derisive laugh. "Mark, you really are a pathetic corporate drone. You think because you paid the bills and bought the clothes for six years that makes him yours? Let me enlighten you. I didn't fake my death to escape the law. I faked it to escape him."
David pointed the barrel of his gun past Mark, gesturing directly toward Leo, who was curled into a tight ball against the baseboard, sobbing quietly into his stuffed bunny.
Mark’s eyes darted sideways for a fraction of a second, his protective instincts warring with his tactical discipline. "What are you talking about? He’s a child!"
"He’s not just a child, Mark," David said, taking another slow, deliberate step forward into the nursery. "He’s the only surviving subject of Project Janus. And his biological father isn't me, and it sure as hell isn't you."
Sarah let out a piercing shriek, covering her ears as she dropped to her knees. "Don't tell him! If you tell him the truth, they will kill us all before dawn!"
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Before Mark could process the revelation, the front window of the living room shattered inward in an explosion of glass and splintered wood, and a red laser dot danced across the chest of David Vance.
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