Finding The Truth

Finding The Truth
The morning broke gray and thin over the Blackwood estate, the mist still clinging to the treetops like pale smoke. Inside, the house was already stirring. Rebecca sat on the veranda in her robe, a porcelain cup of coffee balanced delicately between her fingers. Her eyes weren’t on the horizon but on the old oak that stood beyond the gate — the same place Gary used to stand when thinking, or hiding. She couldn’t remember which.
The faint hum of a car broke through her thoughts. She turned just as a black sedan came up the gravel drive, the tires crunching against the wet stones. Sofia stepped out, looking sharper than the day before, her expression a mixture of relief and exhaustion.
Rebecca rose to greet her, offering a polite nod. “You’re early,” she said flatly.
“I thought it was time for a visit,” Sofia replied, pulling her coat tighter around her. Her gaze drifted up toward the mansion’s facade — its windows gleaming like watchful eyes. “It’s been too quiet here lately.”
Rebecca gave a thin smile. “Quiet is good. Quiet means peace.”
Sofia didn’t answer, only followed her inside.
In the kitchen, the scent of butter and freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Marisol stood by the stove, her sleeves rolled up, hair tied neatly back. She moved with quiet precision, turning pancakes in a pan as if she’d done it her whole life.
Elliott entered with a sleepy grin, his hair still messy from bed. “Smells amazing,” he said, leaning against the counter.
Marisol smiled shyly. “I thought it would be nice to have breakfast ready before Mrs. Blackwood came down.”
He nodded, clearly impressed. “You didn’t have to—”
But she interrupted, teasing softly, “Someone has to make sure you eat something other than coffee.”
Their laughter echoed softly through the room, a strange warmth in the otherwise cold house.
Then, without warning, Rebecca’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “I see you’ve found yourself a little helper.”
Elliott turned sharply. His mother stood in the doorway beside Sofia, her expression unreadable.
“Morning,” he said cautiously.
“Good morning,” Sofia added politely, stepping in. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“You are,” Rebecca said with a smirk, then moved to the table, setting down her empty cup. “But I suppose that’s nothing new.”
Marisol glanced nervously between them. “Should I—?”
“No,” Elliott said quickly. “Stay. Please.”
But the moment was already broken. Rebecca sat down, crossing her legs, while Sofia quietly took in the room — her eyes darting between the new maid, the AI screen flickering faintly on the wall, and the strained silence hanging over the family.
“I came to check on you,” Sofia said finally. “Just to see how you’re settling in.”
Rebecca gave a faint laugh. “We’re adjusting. Though this place does have its moods.”
Sofia’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Rebecca’s eyes drifted to Craig’s inactive monitor. “Ask your little machine.”
Across town, Rami’s car pulled into the hospital parking lot. He stepped out, phone pressed to his ear, the sunlight glaring off the windshield.
“Still no answer,” he muttered to himself. Erika’s line went straight to voicemail again.
Inside, the hospital felt colder than usual. The halls were lined with officers now, their presence heavy. The morgue technician’s death had triggered quiet panic — but no one wanted to admit how strange it all was.
Rami met the forensic doctor again in the corridor. “You said the blood trail ended by the east exit?”
The doctor nodded, pale and tired. “Yes. Whoever took the body knew exactly where to go. No cameras in that section — it’s under renovation.”
Rami clenched his jaw. “So someone from the inside.”
“Most likely,” the doctor said. “But we don’t know who. The signature used to remove Luca’s body was... fake. I’ve never seen that name before.”
Rami exhaled slowly. The mystery was tightening like a noose. He stepped outside, dialing Erika again — nothing.
Then a thought crossed his mind.
Jesse.
If anyone knew the connection between Luca, the technician, and whatever was still unfolding, it would be him.
Rami walked briskly to his car, pulled the door open, and made the call. “Yes, this is Inspector Rami Osei. I need clearance to visit an inmate. Name: Jesse Blackwood.”
He hung up, his reflection faint in the rearview mirror eyes dark, determined.
Somewhere between the morgue and the mansion, the ghosts of the Blackwood family were stirring again.

Sofia leaned back in her chair, her hands wrapped loosely around a cup of tea she hadn’t touched. The morning light fell through the high windows, painting narrow bars of gold across the polished floor. She glanced around the living room — the subtle changes, the cleaner air, the faint scent of lavender — all signs of a house trying to start over.
“How’s everything going so far?” she asked casually, though her tone carried more weight than the question implied.
Rebecca was the first to answer, smoothing her skirt. “Peaceful enough,” she said, then leaned forward with a faint whisper. “Though something isn’t right about that new maid.”
Sofia’s brow lifted slightly. “Marisol?”
Rebecca nodded. “Too quiet. Too polite. And she listens… too much.”
Sofia smiled softly, the kind of smile that wasn’t quite agreement. “Sometimes the quiet ones hear what others don’t.”
Elliott broke the tension with a small laugh and gestured toward the sofa. “Please, sit. You’ve been running around for us for weeks.”
“Thank you,” Sofia said, settling down. Her eyes swept over the room again — the soft gold drapes, the restored portraits, the faint hum of the AI system echoing somewhere behind the walls. “It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “Different than it was before. But still…” she trailed off, her gaze shifting toward Craig’s inactive monitor. “Be careful. Keep your eyes open. And if you ever feel unsafe — call me, or get security. You never know when the past decides to come knocking.”
Her words lingered, heavier than the air.
Marisol, who had been quietly arranging dishes on the counter, wiped her hands on her apron. “Excuse me, ma’am,” she said softly to Clara. “I’ll check upstairs.”
Clara nodded distractedly.
Marisol disappeared up the staircase, her footsteps soft against the polished wood. Upstairs, the air smelled faintly of rosewater and steam. She passed by the bathroom door just as Clara stepped out of the tub, water glistening on her shoulders. A towel clung loosely around her body.
Her baby bump, round and unmistakable now, caught the morning light. She brushed her damp hair in slow strokes before the mirror but in its reflection, another face flickered behind hers. Pale. Smiling faintly. Molly.
The brush slipped from Clara’s hand. She froze, staring at the mirror, her heart thudding in her chest. But when she blinked, the face was gone. Just steam and her own reflection again.