David's Return

David opened his eyes. The room was dark, but he knew the smell. Old wood, stale air, and the faint, chemical scent of fear. He was back in the boathouse.

Only this time, he wasn't alone.

"You're awake," a voice said.

David sat up, wincing as pain flared in his side. He remembered the gun. The guard. The shot echoing through the valley.

He looked around. Claire wasn't there. Aris wasn't there.

Sitting across from him, in the same chair Sarah had occupied, was Arthur.

But Arthur was dead.

David blinked, trying to clear the fog from his mind. The figure leaned forward into the candlelight.

It wasn't Arthur.

It was Thomas.

Thomas Vance—the brother who had burned down the asylum—was sitting in the boathouse, wearing a stolen coat and holding the gun Aris had dropped.

"Where is she?" David asked, his voice rough. "Where is Claire?"

"She ran," Thomas said, his tone conversational, almost bored. "She took the girls. Smart woman. Smarter than you."

"Why are you here?"

"I came back for you, brother," Thomas said. He stood up and walked to the window, peering out into the snow. "You left me behind."

"You told us to run," David said. "You blew up the car."

"A distraction," Thomas said. "To cover my exit. I didn't stay to fight the FBI, Michael. I stayed to disappear."

He turned back to David.

"But then I saw you. Playing hero. Getting shot for a phone."

He held up the burner phone. The screen was cracked, but it was still on.

"You were trying to save me," Thomas said. "That was... unexpected."

"We're family," David said.

Thomas laughed. "Family? Our family is a crime scene. A graveyard."

He tossed the phone to David.

"Your wife left you a message."

David fumbled with the phone. He opened the voicemail.

*David, if you get this... I'm going to the house. The one in Ohio. Aris thinks Sarah might still be alive. I have to know. I love you. Please, be safe.*

David looked at Thomas.

"Ohio," he said.

"Yes," Thomas said. "The beginning. And the end."

"We have to go," David said, trying to stand. His legs buckled.

Thomas caught him. His grip was surprisingly strong.

"You can't go anywhere," Thomas said. "You're bleeding."

David looked down. His shirt was soaked with blood. The bullet had grazed his ribs.

"It's just a scratch," David lied.

"It's a hole," Thomas corrected. "But I patched it up while you were sleeping. You're welcome."

"Why?" David asked. "Why help me?"

Thomas looked at him, his blue eyes intense, unreadable.

"Because I need you," he said. "I can't get into the house alone. It's rigged."

"Rigged?"

"Arthur didn't just hide bodies there," Thomas said. "He hid his legacy. And he protected it."

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. It was a page torn from the ledger.

"I memorized this," Thomas said. "Before I gave it to you. The codes. The safe combinations. But there's one thing I don't have."

"What?"

"The biometric key," Thomas said. "Retinal scan. Voice print."

He pointed at David.

"He programmed it for his heir. For the son he chose."

David stared at him.

"You want me to open the vault."

"I want you to open the door," Thomas said. "So I can burn what's inside."

"And if Sarah is there?" David asked. "If our mother is alive?"

Thomas's expression hardened.

"Then we save her," he said. "Or we bury her properly."

He offered David a hand.

"Are you coming, brother?"

David looked at the hand. The hand of the boy who had screamed in the basement. The hand of the man who had survived hell.

He took it.

"I'm coming."

They left the boathouse, stepping into the snow. The storm had passed, leaving the world silent and cold.

"How are we getting there?" David asked.

"I stole a car," Thomas said, pointing to the black sedan parked in the trees. The guard's car.

They got in. Thomas started the engine.

"One more thing," Thomas said as he put the car in gear. "If we find her... if she is alive..."

"What?"

"Arthur wouldn't have kept her alive for sentimental reasons," Thomas said. "He kept her because she was useful."

"Useful how?"

"Sarah Kovac wasn't just an actress," Thomas said. "She was a chemist. Before she met Arthur. Before she got pregnant."

David frowned. "A chemist?"

"She developed the formula," Thomas said. "The patent that made Vance Pharmaceuticals a billion-dollar company. Arthur didn't just steal her life. He stole her mind."

He looked at David.

"He didn't keep her in a basement, Michael. He kept her in a lab."