Chapter 8 - VISIONS OF THE PAST.txt
The psychological fallout began to take its toll over the following month.
Graham found himself unable to sleep in the master bedroom at Mercer House. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Juliette standing at the altar, her face transforming from serene beauty to cold, predatory malice. He saw the sharp metallic gleam of the tactical knife rolling across the dark hardwood floor.
He moved his bedding into the guest house near the pool. It was smaller, minimalist, and devoid of any memories or decorations she had touched.
Kane never left his side. The Doberman slept on a large dog bed right beside Graham’s frame, his head turned toward the door, ever vigilant. Whenever Graham woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in a cold sweat from vivid nightmares, Kane would immediately stand up, walk over, and rest his heavy chest against the edge of the mattress until Graham’s breathing stabilized.
One evening, Clara came over to the guest house carrying a hot casserole wrapped in aluminum foil.
"You can't keep hiding out here, Graham," she said gently, setting the food on the kitchen counter. "The company needs you. Mom needs you. You’ve lost fifteen pounds in four weeks."
"I'm working from home, Clara," Graham replied, staring out the window at the main house, which sat dark and vacant against the night sky. "The shipping manifests are being cleared. The quarterly reports are fine."
"That's not living, Graham. That’s just breathing," Clara walked up beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You need to talk to someone. A therapist. A counselor."
"I don't need a therapist to tell me I was an idiot, Clara!" Graham snapped, his voice sharp with frustration before he softened, sighing heavily. "I was blind. You warned me. Julian warned me. Kane warned me. I ignored all of you because I wanted so badly to believe I wasn't alone anymore."
"She was a professional con artist, Graham," Clara said softly. "She preyed on your grief after Dad died. That’s not your fault."
"It is my fault," Graham said, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper. "I put you in danger. I put Mom in danger. If Kane hadn't acted..." He trailed off, unable to voice the terrible possibilities that had kept him awake for thirty days straight.
Suddenly, Kane stood up from his bed, his ears pricking forward. He walked to the glass patio door leading out to the dark garden, letting out a low, barely audible growl.
Graham’s body locked up instantly. His heart began to hammer against his ribs. The intense hyper-vigilance that had taken over his life since the wedding flared up instantly.
"What is it, Kane?" Graham asked, moving quickly to the drawer near the counter and pulling out a heavy flashlight.
"Graham, it's probably just a raccoon or an opossum," Clara said nervously, her voice rising.
"Stay inside," Graham commanded, his voice returning to the iron tone he used in the boardroom.
He unlocked the patio door and stepped out into the humid night air, Kane slipping out silently beside him. The estate grounds were dark, the oak trees draped in heavy Spanish moss swaying gently in the warm ocean breeze.
Kane moved forward with silent, deliberate steps, his nose low to the manicured lawn. He stopped near the stone perimeter wall that separated Mercer House from the coastal road.
Graham raised the beam of the flashlight, shining it across the top of the brick wall.
There, wedged beneath a loose brick, was a small, plastic-wrapped object.
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Graham felt a surge of adrenaline spike through his veins. He approached slowly, keeping Kane at his side. He pulled out his handkerchief and carefully extracted the item.
It was a small, burner cell phone. And glued to the back of the plastic case was a single white satin pearl—identical to the ones that had ripped off Juliette’s gown at the altar.
