Chapter 6 - THE HOUSE ON THE HILL
My father's house stood at the edge of the property.
I hadn't been there since his funeral.
I remembered the oak trees.
The gravel driveway.
The old windmill.
The porch where he'd taught me how to shoot a basketball badly and laugh at myself.
Now police vehicles surrounded it.
Detective Harris arrived before I did.
I wasn't supposed to leave the hospital.
But I convinced the doctor to discharge me under supervision.
I needed to see the house.
When I arrived, Harris met me outside.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“You don't have to go inside.”
“I do.”
He sighed.
“Stay beside me.”
I nodded.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, dust covered the furniture.
My father's desk remained exactly where I'd remembered it.
I walked toward it.
My fingers touched the wood.
“He used to sit here every night.”
Harris nodded.
“We found something.”
He pointed toward a loose floorboard.
Underneath was a metal box.
Inside were papers.
Old photographs.
And a handwritten note.
I picked it up.
My father's handwriting.
If you're reading this, trust nobody who tells you they know what's best for you.
I started crying.
Harris looked away.
Then footsteps sounded upstairs.
We both froze.
“Police!” Harris shouted.
No answer.
He drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
We moved through the hallway.
Another officer entered from the back.
The footsteps stopped.
Then a door slammed.
They ran upstairs.
I waited below.
Seconds later, Harris returned.
Nobody was there.
But something was missing.
“What?”
“The safe.”
“What?”
“The safe from the video.”
I looked around.
My father's old wall safe was gone.
“They took it?”
“Apparently.”
My heart pounded.
Then I noticed something.
A photograph on the floor.
I picked it up.
It showed my husband standing beside my father.
On the back was a date.
Three days before my father's death.
I looked at Harris.
“He was here.”
“Yes.”
“My husband was here before my father died.”
Harris nodded.
“And your uncle was too.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know?”
He pointed toward the photograph.
My uncle was in the background.
My mother-in-law stood beside him.
I felt sick.
“All of them.”
Harris looked grim.
“This wasn't a family disagreement.”
“What was it?”
“A conspiracy.”
Before I could respond, an officer ran inside.
“Detective!”
Harris turned.
“We found a vehicle near the north field.”
“Whose?”
“Your husband's.”
My heart stopped.
“Is he here?”
“Not anymore.”
“Then where did he go?”
The officer handed Harris a phone.
“He left this behind.”
Harris looked at the screen.
Then at me.
“What?”
“He sent a message.”
“To whom?”
“To you.”
My stomach dropped.
“What does it say?”
Harris hesitated.
Then read it aloud.
You should have stayed quiet.
A second message arrived.
Now you're going to learn what happens when you destroy your family.
Then a third.
Your father made the same mistake.
I stared at the screen.
My hands went cold.
“Detective…”
“Yes?”
“He admitted it.”
Harris looked at me.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“He didn't admit anything.”
Then he pointed at the phone.
“He threatened you.”
“And mentioned my father.”
“Yes.”
“That proves something.”
“It proves he's afraid.”
I looked toward the dark fields outside.
For months, I had been afraid of him.
Now, for the first time, I understood something.
May you like
Fear could change sides.
And maybe it already had.
