Chapter 6
ST. AGNES
St. Agnes Chapel had not hosted a Blackwood event in twelve years.
Victor remembered Christmas services there as a child.
Dark wood.
Cold stone.
Candles.
Tonight, police filled the surrounding woods.
Victor arrived with Evelyn.
Oliver did not.
That was the first decision Victor made.
Catherine demanded the baby.
Victor refused.
A police decoy carrier sat in the back seat.
Empty.
Evelyn approved.
“No child in the middle.”
“Finally, something we agree on.”
She almost smiled.
They entered the chapel.
Maria sat tied to a chair near the altar.
Alive.
Catherine stood behind her.
Seventy-one.
Elegant.
Silver hair.
Black coat.
Victor stared at the woman he had mourned as a mother.
She had raised him for twenty-two years.
Kissed scraped knees.
Attended graduations.
Then vanished into a fake death.
“Victor.”
Her voice still did something to him.
A childhood reflex.
He hated it.
“Let Maria go.”
Catherine smiled.
“You always liked commands.”
Evelyn stepped forward.
Catherine’s expression softened.
“There you are.”
Evelyn recoiled.
“I am not yours.”
“You are Edward’s daughter.”
“So?”
“So you are Blackwood.”
Evelyn laughed.
“That word has caused enough damage.”
Catherine looked toward the carrier.
“Where is Oliver?”
“Safe.”
Her face changed.
“You brought an empty seat.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think police can stop me?”
“I think you are seventy-one in an abandoned church.”
Maria laughed despite the tape over her mouth.
Catherine slapped her.
Victor moved.
A gun appeared.
He stopped.
Evelyn said, “You want me. Let Maria go.”
Catherine looked at her.
“I want the family restored.”
“What does that mean?”
“You. Oliver. Serena if she can be corrected.”
Victor almost laughed.
“And me?”
Catherine’s eyes moved to him.
“You were loved.”
The sentence was worse than rejection.
“You mean adopted.”
“You were never blood.”
Victor absorbed it.
For years, Catherine had told him he was her son.
Now blood erased language.
He felt grief.
Not for what she said tonight.
For every earlier moment he had believed.
Maria managed to pull the tape from her mouth.
“You are insane.”
Catherine smiled.
“You sound like Sofia.”
Maria froze.
“You know where my mother is?”
“Yes.”
“Is she alive?”
Catherine laughed.
“You people really do not learn.”
Maria’s face crumpled.
Another dead woman potentially alive.
Victor almost shouted.
“Stop.”
Catherine looked at him.
“No more dead people coming back. No more hidden parents. No more children used as leverage. Let Maria walk out.”
Catherine’s eyes hardened.
“You think you can rewrite this family.”
“I am trying to stop it from writing everyone else.”
She raised the gun toward Maria.
Police sniper laser appeared on her chest.
Catherine saw it.
Smiled.
“You brought them.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Victor frowned.
She wanted police.
Why?
Evelyn realized first.
“The chapel cameras.”
Victor looked up.
Old security dome.
Catherine had staged the scene to be recorded.
She wanted a public narrative.
If police shot her, she became victim.
If Victor complied, she regained control.
Catherine loved framing stories more than people.
Evelyn shouted, “She is livestreaming.”
Police cut the signal.
Catherine’s smile vanished.
That was the opening.
Maria kicked backward.
Chair hit Catherine’s knees.
Gun fired.
Bullet struck wood.
Victor rushed.
Evelyn pulled Maria.
Police entered.
Catherine fell.
Not shot.
Pinned.
Handcuffed.
It ended faster than Victor expected.
Power always looked larger before someone removed the performance.
Maria was freed.
She hugged Evelyn first.
Victor noticed.
Did not mind.
Then she hugged him.
“Oliver?”
“Safe.”
“Good.”
Catherine laughed from the floor.
“Safe with who?”
Victor froze.
Cole checked his radio.
No answer from the hospital detail.
Victor’s heart stopped.
Then the radio crackled.
“All secure. Infant safe.”
Victor exhaled so hard his knees weakened.
Catherine looked disappointed.
That satisfied him more than it should have.
At the station, Catherine refused counsel.
She wanted to speak.
Victor declined.
She insisted on Evelyn.
Evelyn declined too.
Catherine finally requested Serena.
Serena accepted.
No one understood why.
The meeting was recorded.
Catherine looked at her biological daughter.
“Come home.”
Serena laughed.
“You tried to frame me for attempted murder.”
“You did attempt murder.”
“Not Oliver.”
Catherine smiled.
“Details.”
Serena stared.
“You never loved me.”
Catherine’s expression changed.
“I created you.”
“That is not the same.”
Victor watched through the glass.
Serena continued.
“You loved the idea that blood made me yours.”
Catherine said nothing.
“That is why you hate Victor.”
“I do not hate him.”
“You hate that he mattered to Dad.”
Catherine’s jaw tightened.
Serena smiled sadly.
“There it is.”
For the first time Victor saw Serena not as villain or sister.
As a child who had spent decades competing for love with someone Catherine never considered legitimate.
Again:
Explanation.
Not excuse.
Then Serena asked:
“Did you kill Edward?”
Victor froze.
Catherine smiled.
“No.”
“Did you order it?”
“No.”
Edward had died from a stroke fifteen years earlier.
Maybe one death in the family was natural.
Victor almost laughed at the relief.
Serena continued.
“Did you kill Elena Marquez?”
Victor stopped breathing.
Catherine looked at the camera.
No answer.
Serena leaned forward.
“Victor’s mother.”
Catherine said quietly:
“She was becoming inconvenient.”
Victor felt cold.
Cole whispered, “That is not a denial.”
Serena asked:
“Did you have her car tampered with?”
Catherine smiled.
“You always were smarter than Victor.”
That was enough.
Police reopened Elena’s death.
Old mechanic records.
Payment.
Blackwood shell company.
Catherine had arranged the crash.
Victor left the room.
He could not hear more.
Evelyn found him outside.
He was shaking.
“She killed my mother.”
“Yes.”
“I never knew her.”
“I know.”
“She still took her.”
“Yes.”
Victor looked at Evelyn.
“Do you understand why I am angry with you?”
She cried.
“Yes.”
“You kept yourself from me while alive.”
“I know.”
“I thought death had taken you.”
“I know.”
“I need you to understand those are different.”
“I do.”
Victor nodded.
That was enough for tonight.
Then Maria approached.
Her face was pale.
“What?”
She held Catherine’s recovered phone.
One unsent draft message.
To Dr. Reed.
Victor read:
IF I AM ARRESTED, BEGIN PHASE TWO.
EVELYN MUST NOT REACH THE DNA ARCHIVE.
Victor looked at Evelyn.
“What is the DNA archive?”
Evelyn went still.
Another secret.
Of course.
She whispered:
“The place where they kept every Blackwood embryo sample.”
Victor stared.
“Every what?”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“The family has been storing genetic material for decades.”
Catherine had wanted Oliver.
But Oliver might not be the only child created from Blackwood blood.
Not even close.
Maria had a bruise on her wrist from the chapel restraints.
Victor noticed at breakfast.
“You should photograph that.”
She looked at him.
“For evidence?”
“Yes.”
She smiled faintly.
“You’re learning.”
“Stop sounding surprised.”
Maria photographed it.
Then paused.
“For years I thought evidence was what powerful people owned.”
Victor looked at her.
“And now?”
“Evidence is what lets someone with less power survive another person’s story.”
Victor thought about the nursery camera.
A deleted video.
An audio file.
A bruise.
A bottle.
Truth often looked small before someone preserved it.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
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At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
At the chapel, Maria left one length of cut rope with police evidence. She kept no souvenir. Victor understood. Survivors did not owe history a museum piece from every terrible night.
