We sprinted through the manicured gardens, the crunching of gravel underfoot a frantic counterpoint to the pounding of my heart. The screams, a woman's voice laced with terror, grew louder with each frantic step. We rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a sight that froze the blood in my veins.
A struggle unfolded on the veranda, bathed in the harsh glow of an emergency light. Two figures grappled in the shadows, their silhouettes twisted and unrecognizable. One, undeniably large and imposing, bore a chilling resemblance to Enrico. The other, smaller and clad in a flowing white nightgown, thrashed wildly, her cries echoing our own growing fear.
Before I could react, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I whipped around, expecting a hail of gunfire from Rosario guards, but instead was met by Isabella's wide, horrified eyes.
"Aunt Clara!" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.
There was no time for questions. The woman on the veranda was clearly losing the fight. With a primal roar, I surged forward, adrenaline coursing through my veins. Isabella, however, clung to my arm, her face a mask of terror.
"No, Kyle! It's a trap!"
But my anger, fueled by years of simmering hatred and the sight of an innocent woman being attacked, drowned out her warning. I shoved her behind me, my hand instinctively reaching for the hunting knife strapped to my thigh.
Just as I launched myself into the fray, a blinding light sliced through the darkness. A dozen figures materialized, seemingly out of nowhere, surrounding the scene on the veranda. They were clad in black uniforms, their faces obscured by military-grade helmets. Their presence sent a jolt of fear through me, a different kind of fear than the simmering rage I'd lived with for years. These were professionals, and I was a trespasser caught in a game far bigger than I could have imagined.
"What is the meaning of this?" boomed a voice from behind the uniformed figures. It was Enrico, his face contorted in a mask of fury. His gaze swept over the scene, landing on me with the force of a physical blow. His eyes widened in recognition, a flicker of something akin to shock crossing his face for a brief moment.
Before he could react further, however, one of the black-clad figures stepped forward. He held a tablet in his hand, the screen displaying a grainy photo.
"Mr. Rosario," he said, his voice emotionless, "we believe we may have found the source of the recent… incidents at your estate."
The man's gaze shifted towards me, his cold eyes pinning me in place. My stomach lurched. He pointed a gloved finger at the photo on the tablet.
"And this young man," he continued, his voice amplified by a speaker system hidden within his helmet, "appears to be intimately acquainted with your granddaughter."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd that had gathered – household staff, security guards, faces I didn't recognize, all gawking at the unfolding scene. Isabella, her face a canvas of conflicting emotions, clung to the doorway, a silent observer in this bizarre theater.
Enrico's eyes narrowed. He looked at me, then at Isabella, then back at me. In that moment, I knew my carefully crafted cover story of being a lost cat rescuer was as dead as the embers of vengeance in my heart.
"Isabella," Enrico growled, his voice laced with a dangerous undercurrent, "who is this… acquaintance of yours?"
All eyes turned to Isabella. Her lips trembled, her usually bright eyes clouded with fear. Then, to my surprise, she met my gaze head-on, a flicker of defiance replacing the terror.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and spoke, her voice surprisingly steady.
"He's my classmate, Grandfather," she declared, her words ringing out in the tense silence. "Kyle Rosales."
A tense silence stretched between us, thick enough to choke on. Enrico's gaze flickered between me and Isabella, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. A vein throbbed in his temple, betraying the barely contained fury beneath his composed exterior.
"Classmate, you say?" he finally rasped, his voice dripping with suspicion. "An unlikely coincidence, wouldn't you agree, considering the recent...troubles plaguing my estate?"
He cast a pointed glance at the two figures still grappling on the veranda. The woman, Aunt Clara, had managed to gain some semblance of control, but her struggle was far from over. The large figure, who undoubtedly was one of Enrico's enforcers, now seemed more focused on fending off the black-clad soldiers than subduing her.
"It is a coincidence, Grandfather," Isabella countered, her voice surprisingly firm despite the tremor in her hands. "Kyle just happened to be visiting when...well, when this happened."
Her explanation hung in the air, flimsy at best. Enrico wasn't easily fooled, and I knew it.
Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the night. The commotion on the veranda ceased as everyone turned towards the source of the sound. One of the black-clad soldiers stood over the fallen enforcer, a smoking pistol held in his gloved hand. The woman, Aunt Clara, stumbled back, collapsing onto a nearby chair, her white nightgown stained with grime and what appeared to be blood.
The leader of the black-clad figures, the one who had addressed Enrico earlier, stepped forward. "Mr. Rosario," he said, his voice monotone, "we believe this incident is connected to the previous ones. We recommend you cooperate with our investigation."
Enrico's face contorted in a furious snarl. "Who are you people? You trespass on my property, manhandle my staff, and now you dare to make demands?"
"We are operatives from the National Bureau of Paranormal Investigation," the leader replied, his voice devoid of emotion. "We have been authorized to investigate the recent disturbances at your estate."
"Paranormal?" Enrico scoffed. "There's nothing paranormal about this! This is a private matter and I demand you leave at once."
The tension in the air crackled. It was clear a stand-off was brewing, with Enrico's pride clashing against the authority of the N.B.P.I. My own predicament faded slightly as a bigger picture started to come into focus. Paranormal investigation?
As the argument escalated between Enrico and the N.B.P.I. leader, I stole a glance at Isabella. Her face, pale under the harsh light, held a flicker of something I couldn't decipher. Was it fear, or perhaps a hint of…relief?
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the night, tearing through the tense atmosphere. It wasn't Aunt Clara's voice, but a new one, laced with raw terror. All eyes, including Enrico's and the N.B.P.I. leader's, snapped towards the source of the scream – the imposing dark mansion that loomed behind the veranda.
The scream was followed by a deafening crash, the sound of shattering glass echoing across the manicured gardens. A cold dread filled my stomach. The real horror, it seemed, had just begun.