Alan
The grand foyer of the Vance Manor felt like a tomb.
The air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of lilies and the suffocating silence of a house. It felt like the house had lost its spirits just like me.
I stepped through the front door, my suit jacket rumpled and my mind a fractured mosaic of fear and fury.
I had driven like a madman from the office, the image of Cyril’s shattered face at the cabin door burned into my retinas.
I believed that no matter how mad she was, she should be home by now.
I checked the time on my wrist and it was past midnight.
"Alan! You're back!" Susan hurried toward me from the living room, her face a mask of frantic relief that quickly morphed into something more fragile.
"Is she here?" I barked, not even stopping to acknowledge her. "Is Cyril
