Chapter 9 - The Final Storm
On the twentieth day of January, a heavy winter blizzard rolled across upstate New York, blanketing the cedar cottage in three feet of pristine, white snow.
Mark Ellison stood at the iron gate at the edge of the property, shivering in a thin trench coat. He had used the last fifty dollars in his pocket to pay an illegal taxi driver to take him upstate after tracing Eleanor Vance's car movements through a court filing.
His face was gaunt, his beard unkempt, his shoes soaked through with freezing water. He looked up at the warm yellow light glowing from the cottage windows on the hill.
He pushed open the iron gate and began trudging up the snow-covered driveway.
"Clara!" Mark screamed into the howling wind, his voice raw and pathetic. "CLARA! LET ME IN!"
He reached the front porch and slammed his fists against the heavy oak door. "CLARA! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME! I'M YOUR HUSBAND! TELL THE LAWYERS TO DROP THE CHARGES! CLARA!"
The oak door creaked open.
Mark gasped, taking a step forward—only to be met by the towering frame of Dr. Aris Thorne and two private security officers standing in the warm hallway.
"Step back, Mr. Ellison," Dr. Thorne said coldly, his voice cutting through the wind.
"Where is she?!" Mark yelled, trying to peer past the doctor’s shoulder. "I know she’s in there! She’s my wife! She has to sign the legal waiver for the bankruptcy court!"
"She is beyond your courts, Mr. Ellison," Dr. Thorne replied, his eyes filled with absolute disgust. "And she is certainly beyond your reach."
"You have no right to keep me from her!" Mark shrieked, reaching for the door frame. "I built her! I gave her a family! She was nothing before me!"
The two security guards stepped out onto the porch, grabbing Mark by his arms and forcing him back down the stairs into the freezing snow.
"If you step onto this property again, Mr. Ellison, you will be arrested for felony stalking and violation of a protective order," the lead guard warned, tossing Mark’s wet coat into the snow beside him.
"Lucas!" Mark screamed, looking up at the second-floor window where a shadow stood behind the curtain. "LUCAS! TELL THEM TO LET ME IN! I'M YOUR FATHER!"
Upstairs, behind the glass, Lucas stood in the warm room, watching his father down in the snow.
Mark looked up, locking eyes with his son, pleading with his hands outstretched, waiting for the boy he had raised to come down and save him.
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Lucas reached out and slowly pulled the heavy velvet curtain shut, blocking out the sight of his father forever.
Down in the driveway, Mark fell to his knees in the freezing mud and snow, screaming into the silent storm until his throat bled, surrounded by the absolute darkness he had spent a lifetime creating.
