BLOODlines

14: Shadows coming from the Dark

The night was thick with silence, broken only by the steady hum of Frank’s motorcycle as it tore through the lonely stretch of asphalt. The moon hung low, silvering the trees, and the air bit sharp against his face. Riding was the only thing that made him feel free these days, the only release from the crushing weight Evelyn had placed on his shoulders.

But freedom turned into terror in an instant.

He squeezed the brake at the bend—nothing. His eyes snapped down. The lever gave no resistance. His heart thudded. Panic roared in his ears.

The bike swerved dangerously. Gravel scattered under his tires as he fought to steady the machine. His pulse hammered. Someone had done this. Someone wanted him dead.

“Think, Frank, think!” he shouted at himself.

The curve loomed closer. He gritted his teeth, pulling hard on the clutch and kicking down the gears to slow the machine. The bike screamed, tires skidding, sparks flying. The world blurred into streaks of black and gray.

For a split second, he thought this was it—that he’d crash into the guardrail and vanish into the ravine. But instinct and desperation saved him. He threw his weight to the left, leaning into the skid. The bike wobbled violently, then slammed onto the roadside dirt with a bone-rattling jolt.

Frank was hurled forward, rolling hard across the ground. Pain ripped through his side as rocks tore at his skin. He came to a stop, gasping for breath, staring at the night sky. Alive—but barely.

The motorcycle lay a few meters away, its headlight still glowing faintly, tilted like a dying eye.

Frank pushed himself up, his body screaming. Rage boiled inside him, hot and blinding.

“This was no accident.” His voice shook with fury. “She won’t stop until I’m buried.”

Back at the Adams mansion, Evelyn sipped her wine by the window, a wicked calm draped over her shoulders. She had given no direct orders to kill—yet she hadn’t forbidden it either. In her mind, removing Frank from the picture was mercy. He was poison to her daughter, and poison had to be cut out, no matter the method.

Still, she had underestimated the boy’s resilience.

Bruised and battered, Frank limped home. Miriam’s gasp filled the tiny apartment as he stumbled inside, bleeding and dirt-streaked.

“My God, Frank! What happened?”

“Brakes,” he muttered, collapsing into a chair. “They cut them.”

Miriam pressed a trembling hand to her lips. “No… this has gone too far. We must go to the police.”

Frank shook his head fiercely. “And say what? That Evelyn Adams is behind this? She’s too powerful, Mama. The police won’t touch her. If anything, they’ll make us disappear.”

His mother’s tears flowed freely. “Then what choice do we have? Must I watch them kill you piece by piece?”

Frank clenched his fists, staring at the floor. He wasn’t afraid of Evelyn anymore. But he feared for his mother—and for Cherish. If Evelyn was willing to go this far with him, what would she do to her own daughter if she disobeyed?

“I have to protect Cherish,” he said at last, his voice low and steady. “Even if it means sacrificing everything else.”

At the hospital, Cherish awoke in the middle of the night, heart pounding, as if some invisible thread connected her to Frank’s suffering. She couldn’t explain it—only that something was wrong.

She pressed her hands together in silent prayer. “Please let him be safe. Please don’t let him give up.”

The nurse found her trembling at dawn, staring blankly out the window. But Cherish didn’t speak of it. Her fear was too heavy, too real.

By morning, Frank was out again, despite his injuries. He couldn’t afford weakness. Word on the street was that more “warnings” were coming. Two strangers in sleek suits lingered outside his apartment block, pretending to read newspapers. A black car idled near the corner each night.

Miriam begged him not to leave. “You’ll be killed, Frank! Please, stay home.”

But Frank only tightened his jacket and kissed her forehead. “If I hide, Mama, they win. And if they think fear will make me give up Cherish—they don’t know me at all.”

That evening, as Frank walked home under the weak glow of a streetlamp, he felt it again—eyes on him. Shadows shifted behind him.

He quickened his pace. The sound of footsteps followed.

Then, a voice drifted from the darkness. Cold. Mocking.

“You should have stayed away from her.”

Frank turned. Two men stepped out of the shadows, blocking his path. Their smiles were sharp, their intent unmistakable.

This wasn’t a warning anymore.