Chapter 4 - The Second Box
My blood ran cold. I scrambled to unlock my phone screen, tapping frantically on the home security application icon. The live feed from our front porch camera loaded with a sluggish wheel of death before the wide-angle lens cleared.
The screen showed our quiet suburban porch under the falling snow.
And sitting directly in the center of the welcome mat, tucked against our front door, was a second silver-wrapped gift box, tied with a red velvet ribbon.
“Miller,” I gasped into the phone, my voice trembling so hard I could barely form the words. “There’s… there’s another box. On my front porch.”
“Listen to me very carefully, Mrs. Pierce,” Miller barked over the phone, the sound of crunching snow and heavy radio static drowning out his background for a second. “Do not open the door. Do not go outside. We have a tactical unit five minutes away from your subdivision. Get away from the front windows immediately!”
“My daughter is asleep in the hospital, but what if someone—what if a neighbor—what if a delivery person walks up to it?” I cried, backing away from the hospital room window as if the digital image on my phone could reach through space and touch me.
“We’re calling local dispatch right now to lock down your street,” Miller said. “Stay inside that hospital room, lock the door, and do not let anyone in unless it’s hospital staff wearing a verifiable ID badge. Do you understand me, Elena?”
“Hurry,” was all I could manage to say before hanging up.
I turned around, locking the heavy wooden door of the hospital room with a sharp click, and slid the privacy latch across. I pressed my back against the cool wood, staring down at my phone screen.
The security camera feed showed a figure stepping out from behind the large oak tree at the edge of our front lawn.
It wasn't Richard.
The figure wore a heavy black winter parka with the hood pulled low over their face. They walked with a distinct, deliberate limp—stepping up onto the porch, bending down, and picking up the silver gift box.
For a terrifying second, the person paused, turned directly toward the camera lens, and raised a gloved hand, slowly waving goodbye before walking out of the frame into the swirling snow.
My phone rang again. It wasn't Miller.
An unknown caller ID flashed across the screen.
With shaking fingers, I pressed accept and brought the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I whispered.
May you like
“You thought you could cut him out of the family tree,” a distorted, electronically lowered voice hissed through the receiver. “You thought a restraining order and a few closed doors would keep the bloodline pure. But the roots go deeper than you think, Elena. Much deeper.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
