Part 3: The House by the River
The drive south was a blur of rain, mud, and absolute, terrifying focus. Arthur pushed his old, rusted truck to its absolute limits, the engine roaring as it tore through the winding, treacherous dirt roads bordering the river. The headlights cut through the darkness like twin blades, illuminating the driving rain.
His mind raced. Eight years. He had missed eight years of Anna’s life. He had missed the birth of his granddaughter. He had sat in his empty cabin, surrounded by ghosts, while the man who smiled in public had locked his daughter in a cage just five miles away.
The guilt threatened to swallow him, but he forced it down. There would be time for guilt later. Right now, he needed to be a weapon.
The old Miller property loomed ahead. It was an isolated, sprawling estate surrounded by high wrought-iron fences, completely hidden from the main highway by a thick line of ancient pines. It was the perfect place to hide a secret. It was the perfect place to bury someone alive.
Arthur killed the headlights a quarter-mile out. He let the truck coast silently to a halt off the shoulder of the road, hidden beneath the canopy of trees.
He stepped out into the freezing rain. He didn't bother with an umbrella or a raincoat. He reached behind the seat of the truck and pulled out a heavy steel crowbar and a heavy-duty tactical flashlight.
He moved through the woods with the silent, practiced grace of a lifelong hunter. He didn't approach the front gate. He circled around to the back of the property, where the river swelled violently against the muddy banks. The security cameras were focused on the driveway, arrogant in their assumption that no one would approach from the treacherous water line.
Arthur reached the back wall of the house. It was a massive, imposing structure of gray stone and dark, tinted windows. He pressed himself against the wet stone, listening.
Nothing but the sound of the rain and the rushing river.
He moved along the foundation, searching the ground level. Ellie had said the basement.
Near the corner of the house, half-buried behind a row of overgrown, thorny rose bushes, he found it. A small, reinforced cellar window. It was painted black from the inside, blocking any light from escaping.
Arthur knelt in the mud. He jammed the flat end of the steel crowbar into the seam of the heavy iron frame. He braced his boots against the stone foundation and threw his entire, massive weight backward.
The metal groaned, protesting against the force. Arthur gritted his teeth, the muscles in his back screaming, and pulled harder.
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With a loud, violent CRACK, the locking mechanism shattered. The window swung open inward, releasing a wave of stale, freezing, mold-scented air.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He slid feet-first through the narrow opening, dropping into absolute, suffocating darkness.
