Chapter 4 - Shadows of the Past
By three in the morning, the council had dispersed, sending hundreds of operatives into the icy streets of Chicago.
I returned to the Prairie Avenue estate. The house was quiet, save for the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the main hall. I walked up to the third floor and pushed open the heavy oak door of the master suite.
Clara was awake.
She was sitting up in the middle of the massive bed, the heavy duvet wrapped around her shoulders like a cocoon. Bear was lying right beside her, his head resting in her lap, enjoying the slow, gentle strokes of her small hand.
On the nightstand rested a empty bowl of warm chicken soup and a tall glass of milk that the nurse had brought up earlier.
I stopped near the doorway, keeping my hands visible. "You should be sleeping, little one."
She looked at me with those intense brown eyes. The medication had worn off, leaving her tired but clear-headed.
"Where is Bear’s food?" she asked softly.
"He ate two entire steaks in the kitchen before he came back up here," I replied, taking a few slow steps into the room. "He’s probably fuller than he’s been in a long time."
A tiny, almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of her lips. "He likes steaks."
I pulled the armchair up to the side of the bed again and sat down. I pointed toward the nightstand, where Gabriel’s silver ring lay reflecting the soft light of the fireplace.
"I know whose ring that is, Clara," I said gently.
She looked at the silver ring, her small fingers tightening against Bear’s fur. "Daddy said if anything happened to him, I had to take it to the big building with the stone lions."
"The Caruso Tower," I murmured. "Your father knew I worked there."
"Are you his brother?" she asked directly, her voice remarkably steady for an eight-year-old who had lost her world six hours ago. "Daddy had a photograph in a wooden box under the floorboards. You look like the man in the picture, but your hair is grayer."
A wave of warmth and grief washed over my chest. Gabriel had kept a picture of us. All these years, while I thought he was dust in a cold grave, he had kept my face under his floorboards.
"Yes, Clara," I said, my voice softening as I looked at her. "My name is Vincent. I am your father’s older brother. I am your uncle."
Tears finally welled up in her eyes—big, heavy drops that spilled over her dark eyelashes and traced paths through the soot faint on her cheeks.
"They took Mommy and Daddy," she sobbed, her small shoulders shaking violently. "The bad men with the black masks... Daddy pushed me out the back window into the alley with Bear. He told me to run and not look back..."
I moved closer, sliding onto the edge of the mattress, and pulled her into my arms.
She didn't resist. She buried her face into my chest, her tiny hands clutching my lapels with fierce, desperate strength, weeping out seventeen years of hidden fear, cold nights, and lost innocence. I held her tight, resting my chin on her soft dark hair, feeling the delicate beat of her heart against my ribs.
May you like
Bear stood up on the bed, leaning his heavy head against both of us, joining the tight circle of protection.
"I have you now, Clara," I whispered into her hair, holding her as if she were made of precious glass. "No one is ever going to hurt you again. I promise you on my life."
