The Ones Who Stayed Behind

The Ones Who Stayed Behind
The dawn stretched across the horizon like melted gold, spilling over the endless line of water. The cruise ship cut through the morning mist, steady and unhurried, its hum echoing faintly over the waves.
A woman stood at the railing, her dark hair brushed back by the sea breeze. Her hands gripped the cold steel, her eyes lost in the horizon’s glow it was Erika. Dressed simply, quietly elegant, she looked nothing like the woman who once walked the halls of the Blackwood mansion.
“Still thinking about going back?”
The voice came from behind her — calm, gentle, but curious. A man in his early thirties approached, tall, relaxed, carrying two cups of coffee.
Erika didn’t turn at first. The water reflected on her face like fractured light. “I’m thinking about… how easy it is to start over when you’re far away.”
He smiled faintly. “Starting over’s easy, staying away isn’t.” He passed her the coffee. Their fingers brushed. “You could always come to Alabama with me. I meant what I said.”
Erika finally looked at him — a long, quiet look that held gratitude, maybe even affection, but also distance. “I’ll think about it,” she whispered.
He nodded, leaning against the railing beside her. The sea glimmered, endless. For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe. Then she smiled — soft, fleeting — and kissed him.
The camera of life panned back, the ocean swallowing the ship into the sunrise.
Back at the mansion, the world felt heavier.
A police car rolled through the tall gates, gravel crunching under its tires. Rami was already outside near the annex, crouched beside the broken foundation, flashlight in hand. The air still carried the metallic scent of last night’s rain.
Upstairs, Elliott stood by the window beside Sofia, watching the flashing lights. “Is that really necessary?” he asked, voice low and tired.
Sofia didn’t look away from the window. “After what Rami found, yes.”
“You promised us this place was secure.”
“It is secure,” she replied evenly. “We’re just making sure nothing else was left behind.”
Below, the front door opened. Clara stood at the foot of the stairs, exhaustion painting her face. “I can’t take this tension anymore. I’m going to bed,” she said, brushing past everyone without a glance.
Marisol watched her go, eyes following her until the door closed. Sofia turned sharply toward her. “You’ll stay in the living room tonight. On the sofa. With Rebecca. Just to be safe.”
Marisol frowned. “On the sofa?”
“It’s temporary,” Sofia said firmly.
Rebecca didn’t argue. She was already sitting with her cup of tea, her eyes unfocused, lost somewhere else.
Moments later, the heavy footsteps of officers filled the entryway. Two of them entered — a man and a woman, both in dark uniforms and rain-specked coats. Sofia greeted them quickly, professionalism back on her face.
“Where’s Rami?” the male officer asked.
“Out back. The annex.”
Rami appeared moments later, wiping his hands on his jacket. “Well, it’s good to see you both again,” he said, managing a tight nod.
But the officer didn’t smile. His expression carried weight. “I think we’ve got something for you, Rami. And it’s not good.”
Sofia glanced between them, sensing the shift. “What is it?”
The officer looked down at his notepad. “We found a body. Male. We believe it’s Simon Marek. In an abandoned cabin not far from where he grew up.”
Rami’s jaw tightened. “Simon? But— he’s supposed to be dead. I mean, he was dead.”
The officer continued, grimly. “He was found shot. And the call that led us there… came from a man claiming to be Luca Blackwood. He’s injured.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
“What did you say?” Rami asked, voice low.
“Luca. Alive. Wounded. The paramedics are on site, but the voice was definitely his.”
Rami turned without a word, storming toward his car.
“Wait—” Sofia called, following him down the steps.
He turned, meeting her eyes. “Stay with them. Don’t let anyone leave the house. I’ll call once I know more.”
The male officer followed him into the car, engine roaring to life, tires spinning against the gravel as they sped off into the morning mist.
Sofia stood at the doorway with the other officer — a young woman with cold eyes and her hand already on her holster.
Elliott crossed his arms. “What the hell’s going on?”
Sofia’s gaze hardened. “Until I know for sure,” she said quietly, “no one — and I mean no one goes near the annex again.”
Rebecca looked over her shoulder at the monitor. The screen flickered once — static then Craig’s voice returned, calm and eerily polite.
“Good morning, family,” he said. “Shall I prepare breakfast for everyone again?”
Marisol froze, glancing toward the ceiling. For just a second, she thought she heard something a faint, dragging sound above the hall.
It was too heavy for a raccoon.

The house felt different after Rami left.
Still and cold, like it was holding its breath.
Sofia paced slowly across the living room, eyes darting between the large screens mounted on the wall — Craig’s monitors. The AI’s soft hum was constant, but something in its tone felt off. Behind her, the young officer stood watch near the door, her hand close to her holster.
“What did you say your name was again?” Sofia asked, turning slightly.
The woman straightened, her gaze sharp and unreadable. “Officer Leila Arden,” she said. “Special assignment out of Johannesburg Division.”
Sofia nodded. “Good. Stay close. These people have been through hell — and so have I.”
Leila’s eyes scanned the grand hall. “It’s a beautiful house,” she said quietly. “But it doesn’t feel… right.”
Sofia’s lips pressed together. “You’re not wrong.”
She turned back to the screen. Craig’s interface flickered once — the voice came, glitching, stuttering.
“Good morning… Re—becca—Elli—Maris—ol… The system is—”
Then a harsh buzz cut the voice mid-sentence.
“Craig?” Sofia leaned closer. “Craig, run a system check.”
Static.

Then another whisper through the speakers, lower, almost human.
“Don’t… go upstairs.”
Leila’s hand went to her gun immediately. “Did it just say—?”
“I heard it.” Sofia stepped back, her pulse racing. She turned toward Rebecca, who stood frozen near the stairs, eyes wide. “Rebecca, stay here with Clara and Marisol. Don’t move.”
“Craig’s just malfunctioning, right?” Elliott asked, trying to sound calm.
Before Sofia could answer, the lights flickered, every bulb in the chandelier blinking in eerie unison. Then Craig’s voice came again — only this time, whispering, not through the speakers but from the walls themselves.
“He’s back.”
The sound echoed faintly down the corridor, bouncing off the walls like a chill wind.
Leila raised her gun. “Sofia…”
“I know,” Sofia whispered. “Lock the doors. Every one of them.”