Chapter 6 - The House Where My Mother Died
The old Sheridan estate looked exactly the way I remembered.
Except now I knew memories could lie.
The gates were covered in rust.
The driveway was cracked.
The garden where my mother once planted flowers had become nothing but wild grass and dead branches.
But the house remained.
Standing there.
Watching.
Waiting.
I stepped out of the car.
Perry followed.
Evan came behind us.
Jolene stayed at Maize with Mabel.
I wanted her safe.
For once, I wanted someone innocent kept away from the things my family had created.
The three of us stood in front of the house.
Nobody spoke.
Because we all understood.
This wasn’t just an abandoned building.
This was where everything started.
My mother died here.
My father disappeared here.
And somehow, twenty-eight years later, I was standing at the same place looking for answers.
“Are you sure about this?” Perry asked.
I looked at the front door.
“No.”
He glanced at me.
That answer surprised him.
I continued.
“But I’m done running from things I don’t understand.”
Perry nodded.
That was the closest thing to approval he ever gave.
We walked forward.
The front door was unlocked.
Just like the message said.
That bothered me more than if it had been locked.
A locked door meant someone wanted to keep people out.
An unlocked door meant someone wanted someone to come in.
And I knew exactly who that someone was.
I pushed it open.
The house smelled old.
Dust.
Wood.
Memories.
The furniture was still covered.
The walls still carried faded pictures.
But something felt wrong.
Too clean.
An abandoned house should feel forgotten.
This house felt prepared.
Like someone had been waiting.
Perry noticed too.
“Someone has been here.”
I looked around.
“How long?”
He touched the dust on the table.
“Recently.”
Evan walked deeper into the room.
His face changed.
“You’ve been here before?”
I looked at him.
“No.”
He stared at the staircase.
“My mother brought me here once.”
That stopped me.
“When?”
“When I was six.”
I moved closer.
“What happened?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“She told me never to come back.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the second floor.
“Because she said someone was still living here.”
I frowned.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
Evan’s voice lowered.
“But I saw someone.”
The silence returned.
A child’s memory.
A forgotten house.
A warning from a woman who knew secrets.
I looked around.
“What did you see?”
“A man.”
“Who?”
Evan shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
I walked toward the staircase.
Every step felt heavier.
My childhood memories were strange.
I remembered this house differently.
I remembered my mother laughing.
I remembered running down these halls.
I remembered my father carrying me on his shoulders.
But now every memory had a shadow.
Every happy moment had a question hiding behind it.
We reached the second floor.
My old bedroom was at the end of the hallway.
I stopped.
The door was slightly open.
I knew that door.
I had closed it thousands of times as a child.
Slowly, I pushed it.
Inside, nothing had changed.
The bed.
The bookshelf.
The old wooden desk.
Everything remained.
Except one thing.
A small box sat on the desk.
New.
Not old.
Someone had placed it there recently.
Perry moved first.
“Don’t touch it.”
I stopped.
He examined the room.
No wires.
No movement.
Nothing obvious.
He opened the box carefully.
Inside was a key.
And another photograph.
I picked it up.
This time, I recognized everyone.
My mother.
My father.
Me.
And someone else.
A man standing in the background.
Watching.
The same man from the first photograph.
But this time, I saw something different.
His face.
His eyes.
I knew him.
Not from childhood.
From my adult life.
The man who had been at my company meetings.
The man who had advised me.
The man who had helped me build my empire.
I felt the blood leave my face.
“No.”
Perry looked at me.
“Who is it?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because saying the name made it real.
“Adrian Vale.”
Evan looked confused.
“Who?”
“My father’s closest friend.”
The man who taught me business.
The man who told me my father was weak.
The man who helped me take control after my father disappeared.
The man who always said my mother’s death was a tragedy we had to accept.
My hands tightened around the photograph.
He wasn’t just someone from the past.
He had been standing beside me my entire adult life.
The box contained one more thing.
A small cassette tape.
Different from the one my mother recorded.
This one had a date.
The night she died.
I stared at it.
My entire life had been shaped by that night.
And now I was finally going to hear what really happened.
Perry found an old player in the closet.
Somehow, it still worked.
The tape clicked.
Static.
Then voices.
My mother.
My father.
And another man.
I froze.
Because I recognized the third voice immediately.
Adrian.
“Thomas, you don’t understand what you’re doing.”
My father’s voice answered.
“I understand perfectly.”
“You’re willing to destroy everything because of one woman?”
My mother spoke.
“Adrian, stop.”
A long silence.
Then Adrian said something that made my entire body go cold.
“You should have listened when I warned you.”
The recording continued.
“You think Knox will forgive you when he learns the truth?”
My father answered.
“He deserves the truth.”
A sound.
Like someone moving.
Then my mother screamed.
The tape cut.
No ending.
No explanation.
Just silence.
Evan looked at me.
“That’s it?”
“No.”
I stared at the recorder.
Someone had stopped it.
Someone had removed the final part.
Someone had wanted us to hear enough to understand.
But not enough to know everything.
Then the old house phone rang.
Nobody moved.
Because there was no reason it should work.
The line had been disconnected for years.
It rang again.
Perry looked at me.
I picked it up.
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a voice.
Older.
Tired.
Broken.
“Knox.”
I closed my eyes.
Because I knew that voice.
My father.
Thomas Sheridan.
Alive.
“Where are you?”
Silence.
Then he answered.
“I’m somewhere your mother wanted you to find.”
My grip tightened.
“Why did you leave?”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Then my father whispered:
“Because I was trying to keep you alive.”
I looked around the room.
The house.
The photographs.
The secrets.
“Tell me the truth.”
His voice became urgent.
“Knox, listen to me carefully.”
The sound changed.
Like he was moving.
Like someone was near him.
“He knows you found the house.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
A pause.
Then my father said the name.
The name I already feared.
“Adrian.”
The call suddenly ended.
At the same moment, the lights in the old Sheridan estate turned on.
One by one.
Down the hallway.
A shadow appeared at the end of the corridor.
May you like
Someone had been inside the house with us the entire time.
And then the bedroom door behind us slowly closed.
