Darker than the night

Darker than the night
The storm had not left. It clung to the city like a curse, heavy clouds pressing against the sky, rain streaking down the wide windows of the Moore estate. Inside, the atmosphere was darker than the night outside.

The chandelier glowed, its light reflected off the polished mahogany table where Richard Moore sat like a stone statue, his fists clenched, his jaw tight enough to snap. Beside him, Georgia Moore paced, her silk robe brushing the floor, her sharp heels striking against the tiles in angry rhythm.

The police had just left. Their words still hung in the air, sickly and foul, like smoke after a fire.

“Escaped,” Richard muttered, his voice a growl that echoed through the large dining room. “Escaped. From our custody. The animal bites one of your men, and suddenly he vanishes into the storm? Do you realize what you sound like? Useless.”

Georgia slammed her palm against the table, the sound sharp as a whip. “Our daughter is missing, Richard. Aubrey’s been gone for months, and they tell us this… this beggar, this filth, is the one who took her. And now he’s loose.”

Richard lifted his head slowly, his eyes red and furious. “And they expect us to sleep at night, thinking Archie is hiding somewhere, laughing at us. Laughing at our loss.”

Georgia’s pacing grew faster. Her voice broke with rage, but beneath it was something else—fear. “What if she’s still alive, Richard? What if Aubrey is still breathing, waiting for us to find her, and that bastard is the only one who knows where?”

Richard rose from his chair, his towering frame casting shadows across the walls. “Then we’ll make him tell us. The police—” He spat the word like it was poison. “—the police will never do it. But we will.”

Georgia stopped pacing. Her eyes, sharp and gleaming, met his. “You mean… us.”

“Yes.” Richard’s tone was final, like a hammer striking steel. “We will find Archie before the police do. We will drag him here. And then we will tear the truth out of him. Where Aubrey is. If she’s still alive. And if he killed her…”

He trailed off, but the silence that followed was heavier than any word.

Georgia’s lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. “Then we’ll make him beg for death before the night ends.”

The storm rattled the windows as if agreeing.

Richard pulled out his phone, his fingers quick and steady. “I’ll call them.”

“Them?” Georgia tilted her head.

“Our men. The ones we keep for work the police can’t know about.” His eyes glinted darkly. “We’ll pay them well. Alive, I said. Alive. I don’t want Archie’s corpse. I want his screams.”

Georgia exhaled slowly, a strange satisfaction washing over her. “Alive,” she repeated. “Alive so we can carve the truth out of him, piece by piece.”

Minutes later, the Moore mansion was alive with whispers. Men arrived in black coats, their faces hidden under hats, their boots dripping rain onto the floor. They stood in rows in the great hall, awaiting orders.

Richard addressed them like a general at war. “Archie Rivas. Escaped convict. Rapist. Lunatic. He stole our daughter from us, and now he’s loose. The police can’t catch him. But you can. Bring him to me breathing. If he’s broken, I’ll fix him myself. If he resists, make him crawl. But he does not die until I say.”

The men nodded in grim unison. Their silence was darker than any oath.

Georgia stepped forward, holding Aubrey’s photograph high. It was a picture of a girl with bright eyes and a smile so sweet it ached to look at. “This is my daughter,” she said, her voice cracking. “Find the man who took her. Find him, and bring him home to us. For her sake.”

The men took the photo, studied it, then vanished back into the storm like wolves released from their cages.

Silence fell again in the Moore house. Only the storm remained, howling like something alive.

Richard poured himself a drink, his hand shaking slightly as he set the glass down. Georgia watched him closely, her own fury hiding the same trembling beneath her skin.

“You think he’ll talk?” she asked softly, almost fearfully.

Richard’s jaw clenched. “They always talk. In the end, when the pain becomes unbearable, they always talk.”

Georgia closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “I just want Aubrey back.”

Richard’s hand reached across the table, covering hers. “We’ll get her back. Or at least… we’ll know.”

The clock ticked loudly in the silence, each second a needle stabbing into their nerves.

Suddenly—

Thud.

The sound came from upstairs.

Georgia froze, her head snapping up toward the ceiling. “Did you hear that?”

Richard’s eyes narrowed. He set his drink aside and listened.

Another thud. Slow. Heavy. Like footsteps.

But no one else was supposed to be in the house.

Georgia whispered, her voice trembling. “Richard… is someone here?”

Richard didn’t answer. He reached under the table and retrieved the revolver he kept hidden there. Slowly, he rose, his every muscle tense.

The footsteps continued above them—deliberate, dragging, moving from one room to the next.

Georgia clutched her robe tighter around herself. “It can’t be—”

Richard cut her off with a sharp gesture. He motioned for her to stay put.

He crept toward the staircase, the revolver tight in his grip. Each step creaked under his weight as he climbed. The air grew colder, heavier, as though the storm outside had seeped into the walls themselves.

Halfway up, he paused. The hall above was dark, shadows stretching like fingers across the floor.

“Who’s there?” Richard barked, his voice deep and commanding. “Show yourself!”

Silence.

Then—

A whisper. Barely audible, but enough to chill the blood.

“Aubrey…”

Richard’s heart stopped. His hand tightened on the gun.

He turned his head toward the far end of the hall. There, at the corner, stood a figure—tall, thin, half-hidden in shadow. Its head tilted unnaturally to one side.

Georgia gasped from below. “Richard! Who is it?”

But Richard couldn’t answer. His mouth had gone dry, his throat locked. Because in the pale lightning flash that lit the hall for a split second, he saw it clearly.

Archie’s face.

Twisted into a grin.