Chapter 19 - The Final Course
The blood drained entirely from my face. I abandoned Genevieve in the kitchen, sprinting blindly toward the stairs, taking them three at a time with primal terror fueling every single muscle in my body.
"Clara!" I screamed, bursting down the upstairs hallway.
The door to Noah and Sophie's bedroom was wide open. Moonlight flooded the empty room, illuminating two beds with tangled, rumpled sheets that were still warm to the touch. The window leading out onto the second-story balcony was slid open wide, letting the freezing November wind whip the sheer white curtains into a frenzy.
Clara was standing in the middle of the empty room, clutching a small stuffed rabbit to her chest, her body shaking so violently she could barely stand.
"They took them, Thomas," she whispered, her voice a hollow, broken shell of absolute despair. "They took my babies."
I rushed to the balcony window and looked down into the front yard. Below, standing by the edge of the dark, tree-lined cul-de-sac, was Genevieve Sterling. Flanking her on either side were two masked figures, holding the small, struggling forms of Noah and Sophie, wrapping thick winter scarves around their mouths to muffle their cries.
Genevieve looked up toward the second-story balcony, meeting my eyes through the darkness. She raised her hand slowly, miming the motion of lifting a silver cloche, before pointing a finger directly toward the dense, fog-shrouded pine forest at the end of our street.
Then, she turned and melted into the shadows along with the children.
"No!" I roared, gripping the stone railing of the balcony so hard my palms split open, dripping fresh blood onto the cold concrete below.
I turned around to grab my jacket, sprinting back toward the hallway, but as I reached the top of the stairs, I froze.
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Sitting right on the middle step, bathed in the pale, sickly glow of the hallway light, was a single silver-plated serving platter. Resting on top of the polished metal surface was a single, heavy brass key and a handwritten note scrawled in elegant, jagged cursive:
*If you want to see your children draw another breath, bring yourself and your wife to the old Blackwood Lodge before midnight. The final course is waiting.*
