Chapter 11 - THE CRYPTIC WARNING FROM CELL BLOCK C
The morning rain tapped relentlessly against the bay windows of Mark’s coastal haven. Six months had passed since Evelyn’s arrest, and for the first time in years, peace had settled over the Sterling household. Sophie was laughing again, color had returned to her cheeks, and the nightmares of dark closets and bitter poisons had finally begun to fade.
Then, the heavy brass door knocker sounded three sharp times.
Mark opened the front door to find a rain-soaked courier holding a thick, black envelope sealed with dark red wax. No return address. Just Mark’s full name typed in vintage typewriter print.
"Sign here, sir," the courier muttered.
Mark signed the pad, pulled the envelope inside, and sat at his study desk. With a sleek letter opener, he broke the wax seal. Inside was a single, faded photograph and a folded piece of heavy parchment.
Mark took out the photograph first, and his breath caught in his throat. It was a picture of his first wife, Clara—Sophie’s biological mother—who had passed away four years ago from what doctors claimed was aggressive leukemia. But in this photo, taken just weeks before her death, Clara wasn't in a hospital bed. She was standing outside an abandoned industrial warehouse, exchange a heavy leather briefcase with a shadowy figure whose face was turned away from the camera.
Mark unfolded the parchment letter. Written in jagged, erratic blood-red ink were words that sent an icy blade through his chest:
“You think you saved your little girl, Mark? You think I was the villain of your story? Poor, naive Mark. I was just the scavenger sent to collect what Clara stole. Clara never had leukemia. Ask Detective Vance why he buried the real autopsy report from four years ago. Search room 302 under the floorboards before they come for Sophie next.”
Signed, Evelyn Vance — Cell Block C, Blackthorn Maximum Security.
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Mark’s hand trembled so violently the letter nearly slipped to the rug. His phone rang on the desk, shattering the deafening silence. It was Detective Vance.
"Mark, don't panic," Vance’s voice came through, sounding unnaturally tense. "I’m driving to your house right now. Blackthorn Prison just called me. Evelyn Vance died in her cell twenty minutes ago."
