Chapter 6 - The Key to the Attic
Mark didn't wait for Officer Vance or Julian. He bolted down the porch steps, leaped into his sedan parked at the curb, and slammed the door shut. The engine roared to life with a desperate sputter as he threw the gear into reverse, tires screeching against the asphalt as he spun the wheel and tore out of the driveway.
His knuckles were stark white against the steering wheel as he navigated the winding suburban streets toward Pier 42. The digital clock on his dashboard glowed 7:14 PM—barely twenty minutes had passed since Clara hit the living room carpet, yet his entire life had dissolved into smoke.
Elena’s parting words echoed relentlessly inside his skull: You'll find out why she was so desperate to keep you from looking in the attic.
He had never been up there. Clara always insisted the old pull-down ladder was broken, warning him that the ceiling joists were rotted and unsafe. He had trusted her. He had loved her, built a life with her, believed every word she said about her distant family and her tragic past.
Mark slammed his foot on the gas pedal, the sedan surging forward as he crossed the city limits and entered the desolate industrial zone. The rusted skeleton of Pier 42 loomed ahead like a skeletal beast rising from the dark river water.
Parked right in the middle of the gravel lot was the private medical transport van—the very vehicle that had taken his wife. Its hazard lights blinked in slow, rhythmic intervals, casting an eerie amber glow over the damp ground.
Mark killed his engine, cut his headlights, and slipped out of the car into the biting wind. He crept toward the back of the van, staying low behind a stack of rusted shipping containers. The rear doors of the vehicle stood slightly ajar, and faint, muffled sounds filtered through the gap.
He peered cautiously around the edge of the metal door. Clara wasn't inside. Instead, the back of the van was stacked high with cardboard boxes marked with old shipping labels bearing Clara's maiden name—and a heavy, locked steel briefcase resting on the floor.
Before Mark could reach for the latch, a heavy hand clamped down hard on his shoulder, spinning him around with brutal force.
It was Julian, holding a heavy iron tire iron with a calm, predatory grin. "Looking for something, Mark?"
May you like
Mark swung blindly, his fist connecting with Julian’s jaw with a sickening crunch, sending the older man stumbling backward into the gravel. But as Julian hit the ground, the side door of the warehouse slid open with a deafening screech, and stepping out into the fog wasn't Clara—it was a man Mark had never seen before, wearing Clara's missing wedding ring on a chain around his neck.
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