Chapter 6 - The Return
Forty minutes later, Julian Vance pulled his sports car back into the long gravel driveway of the estate.
He had spent the last half-hour sitting at a local coffee shop counter, buying an espresso, talking loudly to the barista about the rainy weather, and ensuring his presence was captured on three separate high-definition surveillance cameras.
He had carefully rehearsed his reaction. He would walk through the front door, call out for his father, pretend to search the house, "discover" the empty wheelchair missing from the bedroom, walk out to the pool, and find the tragedy. He would call 911, weeping hysterically, the picture of a heartbroken, devoted son who had left his father alone for just a few short minutes.
As he rounded the final turn of the driveway, his heart dropped into his stomach.
Flashing red and blue lights illuminated the front lawn of the mansion.
Two high-speed emergency ambulances, a police cruiser, and a fire department response vehicle were parked on the driveway, their engines idling. Paramedics were rushing back and forth through the front entrance with emergency equipment cases.
Julian’s hands froze on the steering wheel.
What happened? he thought, panic clawing at his throat. Who called them? Did the housekeeper come back early?
He slammed on the brakes, parked the car haphazardly on the lawn, and leapt out, forcing a look of wild panic onto his face as he ran toward the pool deck.
"What's going on?!" Julian screamed, pushing past a police officer standing near the patio doors. "Dad! Where is my father?!"
He burst onto the pool patio, expecting to see a white sheet pulled over a lifeless body.
Instead, he saw a team of four paramedics surrounding Arthur, who was wrapped in heavy thermal blankets, strapped securely onto an elevated stretcher. Oxygen was being administered through a mask strapped to his face.
Arthur was conscious.
Julian stopped dead in his tracks. His breath caught in his throat, his face draining of all color until he looked like a corpse himself.
He's alive.
The words echoed in Julian's mind like a death sentence. He didn't drown. He's alive.
"Are you the son?" a senior paramedic asked, stepping in front of Julian with a clipboard.
"I... yes... I'm Julian," he stammered, his eyes darting past the paramedic to lock onto the stretcher. "What happened? I just went out to grab coffee... I was only gone for thirty minutes!"
"Your father was found at the bottom of the pool by your groundskeeper," the paramedic said gravely. "He suffered a near-fatal drowning event and severe acute hypothermia. It's a miracle the young man found him when he did. A few more minutes underwater and he would have been gone."
Mateo Cruz stood near the edge of the patio, shivering in a blanket offered by a police officer, giving a formal statement to a detective.
Julian’s eyes slowly shifted from the paramedics to his father.
Arthur was sitting up slightly on the stretcher. Over the edge of the clear plastic oxygen mask, Arthur’s eyes were fixed directly on Julian.
There was no confusion in those eyes. No senility. No weakness.
Arthur stared at his son with a cold, terrifying intensity that felt like a physical blow.
"Mr. Vance, we are transporting him immediately to St. Jude’s Memorial ICU," the paramedic said, pulling the stretcher toward the waiting ambulance. "He needs immediate pulmonary treatment and neurological monitoring."
"I'm coming with you," Julian said quickly, his voice high-pitched and breathless.
"You can follow us in your personal vehicle, sir," the paramedic replied firmly, wheeling the stretcher past Julian.
As the stretcher passed within inches of where Julian stood, Arthur’s left arm suddenly reached out from beneath the thermal blanket.
Arthur’s left hand shot out and grabbed the lapel of Julian’s navy suit jacket.
The grip was shockingly tight. The wet fabric of Julian’s jacket bunched in Arthur's fingers.
Julian froze, staring down at his father's hand in absolute horror.
Arthur pulled himself up an inch off the stretcher, bringing his face close to Julian's ear. Behind the plastic oxygen mask, Arthur’s breathing was sharp, ragged, and loud.
He couldn't speak. His vocal cords were still paralyzed. But he opened his mouth, his jaw working against the air, issuing a low, guttural, rasping sound from the back of his throat.
Ahhhh...
It was not a speech; it was a promise.
Arthur released the lapel and fell back onto the stretcher as the paramedics wheeled him into the back of the ambulance, the heavy doors slamming shut with a echoing metallic bang.
Julian stood alone on the wet patio, his hand touching the wet, crumpled lapel of his suit where his father had grabbed him.
He was shaking violently.
May you like
He realized in that terrible moment that he had not just failed to kill his father.
He had woken the monster.
