Part 3 — The Encounter in the Shadow of the Past
The sound of the knocking echoed through the silent house like a death knell. Elias stood paralyzed in the hallway, the glowing phone screen in one hand, the front door handle in the other. Outside in the snowstorm, his son waited.
“Dad? I know you're awake. The living room light is on,” Julian's voice called through the thick wood. His voice didn't sound angry, but strangely controlled—frighteningly calm.
Elias took a deep breath through his nose. If he didn't open the door now, Julian would grow suspicious. He had to act as though nothing was wrong. Slipping the phone into his pocket, he wiped cold sweat from his forehead and turned the key in the lock.
The door swung open, and a gust of wind blew a swirl of snow into the house. Julian stepped inside, shook the white flakes from his coat, and looked at his father. His eyes—the exact same dark eyes as Elias's—were sunken in deep shadows.
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Julian said. He extended his hand, but it wasn't a warm gesture; it was a formal, almost distant greeting.
Elias gripped the hand briefly. His son's fingers were ice-cold. “Julian... what are you doing here? In this weather? You should have called.”
“My battery died on the way,” Julian replied smoothly, unbuttoning his coat and hanging it on the rack. Elias scrutinized his every move. The brass key he thought he had seen through the peephole was nowhere to be seen. Had Julian slipped it into his jacket pocket?
“I was in the area. A business meeting in town,” Julian continued, walking uninvited down the hallway toward the living room. “And I thought I'd drop by. After all, it's the anniversary of Mother's death. Eight years already.”
Elias followed him slowly. His heart beat so loudly he feared Julian could hear it. As they entered the living room, Julian's gaze fell instantly upon the oak table.
There it lay. The grey box.
Elias held his breath. He had completely forgotten to hide the package! It sat right in the middle of the bare tabletop, dark and mysterious under the warm glow of the floor lamp.
Julian stopped dead in his tracks. His posture stiffened. His eyes narrowed to slits as he locked his gaze onto the object. For a split second, his face lost its calm composure, and a flash of pure, unadulterated surprise—or was it greed?—flickered across his features.
“What is that?” Julian asked hesitatingly, never taking his eyes off the box.
“A... present. An old package,” Elias lied, his voice trembling slightly. He stepped quickly toward the table and placed a protective hand over the grey container. “Nothing important. Just old junk from the basement.”
Julian stepped closer. Every stride felt menacing. “Old junk? Father, that material looks like high-density carbon composite stone. Boxes like that are used for Swiss private vaults. Where did you get it?”
“I told you it's none of your business, Julian!” Elias snapped, sharper than he intended.
A long, uncomfortable silence stretched across the room. The ticking of the wall clock seemed to grow louder with every beat. Julian stared at his father, and for the first time in years, Elias felt a profound detachment from his own flesh and blood. Standing before him was no longer a child seeking comfort, but a grown man harboring his own dark secrets.
“You met her, didn't you?” Julian whispered suddenly.
Elias froze. “Who?”
“The woman. The woman from the bus stop. Elena.” Julian took another step closer, his eyes gleaming dangerously. “She was here. She gave you that box. Admit it, Dad!”
“Who is Elena? What do you know about her?” Elias demanded desperately. “What does any of this have to do with your mother?”
Julian laughed—a dry, humorless laugh. “Mother wasn't the saint you always took her for, Father. She lied to us all. Every single day of our lives! And this box... it holds what Mother wanted to hide from the whole world. Give it to me. I know how to open it.”
Julian reached into his pocket—not the coat he had hung up, but his suit jacket. When he pulled his hand out, the matte brass of the three-sided key caught the lamplight.
“Give me the box, Dad. Now. It's for your own safety.”
Elias looked from the key to his son's face. The warning from the text message flashed in his mind once more: He is not looking for you. He is looking for the key in the box.
But wait—Julian already had the key! Why did the message say he was looking for the key?
In that moment, the horrifying truth struck Elias with icy clarity: the brass key in Julian's hand was not meant for the grey box at all. It was for something else. And Julian needed the box because inside it lay the lock that matched his key—or vice versa!
“No,” Elias said quietly but firmly. He took a step back, pressing the grey box tightly against his chest. “You're not touching this box until you tell me exactly what happened to Anna that night.”
Julian's face darkened instantly. The sympathetic son was completely gone. “You're as stubborn as ever, old man. You have no idea what kind of danger you're putting yourself in.”
He made a sudden move toward Elias. Driven by a surge of adrenaline, Elias shoved a heavy oak chair between himself and his son. Julian tripped over the chair legs.
Elias seized the moment. He turned, sprinted out of the living room into the hallway, and yanked open the front door. The blizzard greeted him like an icy whip. He ran out into the pitch-black night, the grey box tucked securely under his arm, as Julian's furious shout echoed behind him through the winter air:
“You can't run from me, Father! The truth will destroy you anyway!”
Elias ran for his life through the deep snow of the deserted street. His lungs burned, his slippers soaked through within seconds. He needed to find cover. But as he reached the corner of the main road 500 meters away and ducked behind a tall hedge, two bright headlights crawled slowly through the snow.
A black SUV pulled up right next to him. The passenger door swung open.
Inside sat Elena. The mysterious woman.
“Get in, Elias!” she yelled over the howling wind. “Quick! If Julian catches you, it's over!”
Elias hesitated for a fraction of a second, looked back into the darkness where he saw Julian's figure sprinting through the snow, and jumped into the vehicle. The door slammed shut, the engine roared, and the car accelerated into the snowy night.
However, when Elias glanced toward the driver's side to see who was behind the wheel, he froze in sheer terror.
The man driving had a deep scar running above his left eyebrow. It was the exact same face Elias had seen eight years ago in police photos of the ominous oncoming vehicle—the man who was supposedly killed in his wife's crash.
