Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE THAT NEVER SOLD
Blackwood House stood beyond an iron gate at the end of a road that no longer appeared on modern maps.
Nora arrived shortly after sunrise.
The mansion had once been beautiful. Claire had designed part of its western wing before Nora was born, combining dark walnut walls with tall windows and stone fireplaces. Family photographs showed gardens filled with roses and summer dinners beneath strings of lanterns.
Now dead vines covered the gate.
The gardens had disappeared beneath weeds.
Most of the windows were hidden behind heavy curtains.
Nora parked outside and stared at the house for several minutes. Her mother’s warning repeated in her thoughts.
Go only during daylight.
She checked her phone. No signal.
That did not surprise her. The nearest town was nearly fifteen miles away, and the surrounding hills interfered with reception.
What disturbed her was the security camera above the gate.
Its red light was blinking.
Nora approached the intercom and pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
She used the brass key on a small lock hidden behind a metal plate. The gate opened without resistance.
Someone had maintained it.
Nora entered the property and followed the cracked path toward the house. Halfway to the entrance, she noticed tire marks in the mud.
Fresh tire marks.
At the front door, she found no dust on the handle.
The brass key opened it.
A breath of cold air moved through the doorway.
“Hello?”
Her voice traveled into the empty foyer.
The chandelier was unlit, but morning light entered through the high windows. White sheets covered the furniture. A grandfather clock stood motionless beside the staircase.
Nora stepped inside.
The door closed behind her.
She spun around and grabbed the handle. It opened normally.
“Old house,” she whispered.
She left it slightly open and began exploring.
The foyer appeared abandoned, but several details contradicted that impression. There were no cobwebs in the main corridor. The wooden floor had recently been polished. A silver tray on the dining table carried a single wine glass.
Inside the glass, a dark red mark remained along the rim.
Someone had used it recently.
Nora photographed everything.
She moved toward her mother’s former studio. The door was locked, but the brass key opened it.
Dust covered the room. Rolls of architectural paper filled the shelves. A drafting table stood beneath the window exactly as it had in old family photographs.
On the wall hung a portrait of Claire.
Nora approached it slowly.
Her mother had been thirty-eight when she died. She was shown wearing a white shirt and holding a pencil, her eyes fixed on something beyond the artist.
Nora touched the frame.
“I wish you’d told me what you were afraid of.”
A click sounded behind the portrait.
Nora stepped back.
The painting moved forward by less than an inch.
She lifted it from the wall and found a small compartment containing a cassette recorder, two tapes and a photograph.
The photograph showed Claire standing beside Ethan and Adrian Crowe in the basement of Blackwood House. Behind them was a steel door marked with a symbol Nora had never seen before.
A circle divided by three vertical lines.
On the back, Claire had written a date.
Three days before her death.
Nora inserted the first cassette into the recorder and pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then Claire spoke.
“Test recording forty-seven. Adrian still believes Ethan approved the project. Ethan still believes Adrian closed it. Neither man knows the truth.”
Nora leaned closer.
“If anything happens to me, the evidence is beneath the western staircase. The access code is Nora’s birthday followed by the day Ethan proposed.”
Footsteps interrupted the recording.
Claire stopped speaking.
A man entered the room.
His words were faint but recognizable.
“You shouldn’t be recording this.”
Adrian.
Claire answered, “And you shouldn’t be using my husband’s company to watch innocent people.”
The cassette ended.
Nora stared at the machine.
A floorboard creaked in the corridor.
She turned.
A shadow moved beneath the studio door.
Nora grabbed the photograph and recorder. Before she could reach the exit, the doorknob slowly turned.
The door opened.
An elderly man stood outside wearing a gray caretaker’s coat.
He lifted both hands.
“Please don’t scream.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Samuel Reed. I looked after this house when your mother was alive.”
Nora kept the heavy recorder raised like a weapon.
“Why are you here?”
“Because I saw the gate open.”
“You’re watching the cameras?”
Samuel glanced toward the portrait.
“No, Miss Vale.”
“Then who is?”
His face became pale.
“The same person who watched your mother.”
A car door slammed outside.
Samuel hurried into the studio and locked the door.
“Did you tell anyone you were coming?”
“My father.”
“And Adrian Crowe?”
“No.”
Samuel looked through the narrow gap between the curtains.
A black sedan had stopped in front of the house.
Adrian stepped out.
May you like
Samuel turned toward Nora.
“Then your father told him.”
