Chapter 2 - Echoes from the DarkThe iron ring around Emily’s ankle was thick and pitted with rust, a gruesome relic of her imprisonment. Ethan held the metal steady while Flora used the bolt cutters, applying maximum leverage until the rusted link snapped with a sharp clack.
Emily didn't wake. Her body had succumbed to total physical collapse.
For the next three hours, while the rain lashed against the parlor windows, Flora painstakingly washed the layers of grime from Emily’s skin, cleaned the cuts on her small hands, and dressed her in a soft, oversized cotton nightgown. Ethan remained in his study down the hall, his computer screen casting a harsh blue light over his face as he pulled up every archived file, police report, and news article concerning the disappearance of Julianna Vance-Montgomery.
The photos on the screen were striking. A vibrant, smiling eighteen-year-old girl with dark brown hair and laughing hazel eyes, standing beside her mother and father at a charity gala.
He zoomed in on a high-resolution photograph taken at a horse-riding event. There, clearly visible above the collar of her riding jacket, was the crescent-star birthmark.
"It's her," Ethan whispered, resting his forehead in his hands. "It's really her."
A soft tap on the study door broke his concentration. Flora stepped into the room, carrying a tray with two mugs of tea. Her face was drawn with exhaustion and deep sorrow.
"She’s sleeping," Flora said, setting a mug on his desk. "I managed to get a few spoonfuls of warm broth down her before she slipped back under. Ethan... her body is covered in old scars. Marks from straps, cold concrete, and years of confinement. Whoever did this to her isn't human."
"Her uncle did it, Flora," Ethan said grimly, gesturing toward the computer monitor. "Arthur Montgomery. Look at this."
Flora walked around the desk and leaned over his shoulder, her eyes scanning the articles. She read about the vast fortune, the trust fund, and the declaration of death signed by a probate judge eighteen months ago.
"Arthur Montgomery..." Flora murmured, her voice trembling. "I see his face on the news all the time. He donates millions to hospitals. He's running for the state Senate!"
"It's the perfect crime," Ethan said, his legal mind analyzing the chessboard. "He couldn't kill her outright when she was a child because her parents' will had specific clauses—if she died without an heir before twenty-five, seventy percent of the fortune went to international medical charities. But if she disappeared and was declared dead after a statutory period, Arthur, as the sole surviving relative, inherited everything."
"So he locked her away," Flora said, horror choking her voice. "He kept a child in the dark for eighteen years just to wait out the clock!"
"And someone helped him," Ethan added, remembering Emily’s words by the roadside. "She mentioned a woman named Nancy. She said Nancy told her to 'run until she found the sun.' Nancy must have been her caretaker—the person tasked with keeping her alive in that mill."
Before Flora could respond, a terrified shriek echoed from down the hallway.
Ethan was out of his chair instantly. He sprinted down the corridor, threw open the door to the guest bedroom, and burst inside.
Emily was sitting upright in the middle of the large four-poster bed, thrashing violently against the soft white duvet. The sheets were twisted around her waist, and her eyes were wide with blind, unreasoning panic.
"No! No! Please don't lock it!" she screamed, her hands clawing at her own hair. "I'll be quiet! I won't ask for the window! Nancy, don't let them take the light!"
"Emily!" Ethan called out, stopping several feet from the bed to avoid crowding her. "Emily, look at me! You're safe!"
Emily’s head whipped toward him. She pressed her back against the wooden headboard, drawing her knees up to her chest, trembling so hard the bed frame rattled against the wall.
"Where... where are the bricks?" she panted, her hazel eyes darting wildly around the room. "Where is the door with the iron slide?"
"There are no bricks here, Emily," Ethan said, his voice dropping into the calm, authoritative tone he had used by the highway. "Look around you. You're in a room with a bed, a window, and a lamp. The door is open."
He pointed toward the large double window on the far wall. The heavy velvet curtains had been drawn back, revealing the glass pane. Outside, the rain had stopped, and a pale, silvery light from the gibbous moon was filtering through the clouds, illuminating the room in soft indigo hues.
Emily slowly turned her head toward the window. She stared at the glass, her panting breath gradually slowing down.
"The... sky," she whispered.
"Yes," Ethan said gently, taking one cautious step closer. "That's the moon. You can see it from here anytime you want. Nobody is going to lock you in the dark again."
Emily looked at her hands. They were clean, white, and bandaged with fresh linen. She felt the soft cotton of the nightgown against her skin instead of the rough, filthy canvas she had worn for years.
She looked up at Ethan, her tear-stained face filled with a poignant, agonizing confusion.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "People... people only take you places if they want to hide you. Or hurt you."
Ethan walked over to the side of the bed and slowly sat down on the edge, leaving a clear distance between them.
"I brought you here because you were standing in the cold, eating grass," Ethan said quietly, his grey eyes locked onto hers with unwavering honesty. "And because nobody deserves to be left in the dark, Emily. Or should I call you Julianna?"
At the sound of the name, Emily froze. A strange, unnatural stillness settled over her. She looked at him, her lips parting slightly, a ghost of an ancient memory flicker across her eyes before vanishing into confusion.
"Juli... anna?" she repeated slowly, testing the syllables as if they were a foreign language. "That’s... that’s the name from the song."
"What song?" Ethan asked gently.
Emily began to sway softly, her fingers knotting in the blanket. In a faint, cracked voice, she began to hum a melody, then softly sang:
"Julianna, sleep sound, sleep sweet... the green grass beneath your feet... the sun will rise, the stars will shine... little girl of mine..."
Tears spilled over her eyelashes as she finished the lullaby. "Nancy sang that to me. When the room was too cold. She said... she said it was a song my real mother made for me before she went into the ground."
May you like
Ethan felt a surge of profound emotion threaten to crack his professional composure. He reached out slowly and placed his hand on the blanket near her knee.
"Your real mother loved you very much, Julianna," Ethan said softly. "And the man who stole you from her is going to pay for every single day you spent in that room. I promise you that."
