Chapter 2 - THE SOUND OF ABSENCE
The iron gates of the Ostrander estate had not been greased since the autumn of 2019. They opened with a long, metallic shriek that sounded like an animal caught in a fence.
The sedan crunched up the gravel drive, tires flattening six years of dead bittersweet vines and fallen maple leaves.
The house rose against the twilight sky like an old ship run aground.
It was built of Rhode Island granite, gray and square, with three tall chimneys and a mansard roof that had begun to lose its slate shingles. The windows were blank, smeared with salt spray from the ocean below and coated with the fine, greasy film of urban coal dust blown across the bay.
Nathan stepped out of the car first.
The sea air hit him—cold, heavy with rotting kelp and cold iron.
Warrick joined him, pulling his coat tighter across his chest.
“It’s quiet,” Warrick said.
“Too quiet,” Nathan replied.
“No. I mean there are no birds.”
Nathan looked up. The oaks bordering the lawn were bare, yet not a single crow or sparrow sat in their branches. The estate felt insulated from the rest of the world by an invisible pressure.
He reached into the back seat and opened a travel crate.
A pair of yellow eyes looked up at him from the shadows.
A massive, slate-black mastiff stepped out onto the gravel. His coat was thick and wet with sea mist, his ribs powerful beneath his skin, his head broad and square. He did not shake the rain from his fur. He simply stood beside Nathan’s boots, his breathing deep and steady.
His name was Nero.
He had belonged to Nathan’s father, trained to sit beside a desk where men argued over dock permits and protection money. He had never growled at a stranger in his life. He had never barked at an intruder, never chased a cat, never made a sound above a low, rhythmic sigh when he settled his heavy head against the floorboards.
“He knows,” Warrick muttered, watching the dog’s nostrils flare as he tasted the wind coming off the cliff.
“He knows nothing except that the car ride is over,” Nathan said.
“Dogs know stone, Nathan. They know when blood has soaked into lime.”
Nathan did not answer. He took the heavy iron ring of keys from his pocket—the ones delivered by the probate court two hours after the auction—and walked up the broad granite steps of the veranda.
The front door was solid oak, four inches thick, fitted with a brass handle that had turned the color of old copper.
It turned without resistance.
The interior smelled of ancient dust, cedar oil, and a sharp, metallic tang that did not belong in a house that had been empty for six years.
Nathan stepped inside.
The foyer was two stories high, dominated by a curved mahogany staircase that rose into darkness. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, its pendants thick with gray webs that caught the amber beam of Nathan’s flashlight.
Nero moved past him.
The dog’s claws clicked sharply against the parquet floor—clack, clack, clack—as he walked toward the rear of the main hall, his nose low to the floorboards.
Warrick followed with a heavy-duty lantern, casting long, wavering shadows against the paneled walls.
“The registry said the second floor was sealed by the fire department,” Warrick said, shining his light up the stairs. “They didn't want looters wandering into the burnt wing.”
“The fire was in the guesthouse,” Nathan corrected, his voice flat. “The main house was untouched. At least, that’s what the report claimed.”
“Reports are written by men who want to go home for dinner before the six o’clock news,” Warrick said.
Nero stopped near the base of the grand staircase.
He did not growl.
He did not bare his teeth.
He simply stood facing the paneled wall beneath the landing, his ears flattened against his skull, and let out a single, thin whine—the sound a dog makes when it smells something trapped behind a wall.
Nathan walked over to him.
The paneling was black walnut, carved with heavy Victorian scrolls. It matched every other wall in the hallway.
He reached out and pressed his palm against the wood.
May you like
It did not feel cold like the surrounding stone.
It felt warm.
