Chapter 20 - A Face in the Shadow
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The phone slipped from my fingers, landing with a soft thud on the rug.
My hand slowly, instinctively rose to touch the faint, silver scar tissue resting along the edge of my right jawline.
Julian Carter.
My father. The man who had supposedly died in a boating accident when I was twelve years old. The man whose memory I had cherished, whose sudden absence had left me penniless and forced me into the foster system in Brooklyn.
"Maya..." Rachel whispered, her eyes wide with terror as she backed away from the coffee table. "Did... did you know about this?"
"No," I breathed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged animal. "No... my father was a schoolteacher..."
Suddenly, the lights inside the brownstone flickered once, twice, and went completely dark.
The soft hum of the refrigerator died. The streetlights outside along the West Village sidewalk sputtered out simultaneously, plunging the block into pitch-black shadow.
Downstairs, the heavy oak front door of my brownstone creaked open.
Slow, deliberate footsteps thudded against the hardwood floor of the entryway.
Rachel gasped, grabbing my arm in the dark. "Maya... someone’s inside..."
I reached into my pocket, pulling out my burner phone, and clicked the screen on. The pale blue light illuminated the staircase leading down to the foyer.
Standing at the bottom of the stairs was a tall man in an immaculate navy suit. He wore dark leather gloves, and his face was obscured by the deep shadows of the hallway.
He slowly raised his right hand.
In his palm, resting glinting beneath the blue light of my phone screen, was a small, silver surgical scalpel.
May you like
"Good evening, Maya," a low, cultured British voice echoed up the stairwell, smooth as velvet and cold as death. "Your father sends his regards."
I stood at the top of the stairs, my cane gripped firmly in my left hand, my right hand resting over the scar on my jaw, staring down into the darkness as the shadow took its first step up the stairs.
