Part 16
PART 16
The east wing of the mansion was cold.
The heating vents had been closed for two years, leaving the air smelling of dust, old canvas, and forgotten time.
Dominic walked down the long corridor, his flashlight cutting through the thick darkness. Clara walked beside him, her boots clicking softly against the unpolished hardwood floors.
They stopped in front of a heavy oak door at the very end of the hall.
A strip of yellow police tape had once been here, long since removed, leaving only a faint sticky residue on the frame.
Dominic’s hand trembled as he slid the heavy brass key into the deadbolt.
Click.
The sound was incredibly loud in the dead space.
He pushed the door open.
The beam of the flashlight swept across the room, illuminating sheets of white cloth draped over large, rectangular shapes.
Easels. Canvases. Palettes.
It was an artist's sanctuary, preserved in amber.
In the center of the room sat a delicate, antique vanity table made of white-washed wood. On top of it, covered in a thin layer of dust, was a beautiful, porcelain music box shaped like a carousel.
Dominic walked over to it, his breathing shallow.
He reached out his hand to wipe away the dust, revealing the intricate paintings of golden horses on the porcelain sides.
"This was her favorite thing," Dominic whispered. "Her father gave it to her when she was a child."
He inserted the small silver key into the tiny lock at the base of the carousel.
He turned it once.
Twice.
A soft, mechanical click echoed inside the mechanism.
Instead of music playing, the top of the carousel didn't spin. Instead, the entire porcelain base split down the middle, sliding open like a secret drawer.
Inside lay a small, black digital voice recorder and a single, folded piece of heavy parchment paper.
Dominic’s breath hitched in his throat.
He reached down, his fingers brushing against the paper, but before he could pick it up, a small shadow appeared in the doorway of the studio.
Clara gasped softly, spinning around.
Noah was standing there.
He was wearing his pajamas, his bare feet blue against the cold floor. He had followed them into the dark.
He wasn't looking at his father. He wasn't looking at Clara.
His eyes were fixed entirely on the open music box.
"Mummy's song," Noah whispered.
He walked into the room, his steps light, almost weightless, as if he were a ghost returning to a familiar haunt. He stopped right next to Dominic, looking up at the vanity table.
"Noah..." Dominic began, his voice breaking. "You shouldn't be here."
"I remember," Noah said clearly. He pointed his small finger at the black voice recorder inside the drawer. "Mummy talked to the little black box. She told me... when the world gets too loud, give the key to Daddy."
May you like
He looked up at Dominic, his dark eyes filled with an ancient, devastating wisdom.
"But you were too loud, Daddy. I was scared to give you the key."
