Chapter 5 – The Ferry to Blackwood

The study was deathly quiet as I stared at the ferry ticket.

“Blackwood Island,” Julian muttered, staring at the embossed letters. “There hasn’t been a running ferry to Blackwood in fifteen years. The island is completely abandoned. It used to house the old St. Jude’s Sanatorium.”

My blood turned to ice. “The psychiatric hospital? Where your mother was committed?”

Julian nodded, his expression turning to stone. “It was shut down a decade ago after a fire. The property has been rotting ever since.”

“But this ticket is dated for tomorrow,” I pointed out, my hands trembling. “Who put this in a safe that hasn’t been opened in ten years?”

“Someone who knows the code,” Julian said softly. “Someone who was in this room recently.”

I looked around the study, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable. I pulled Leo closer to my side.

“We can’t go,” I said firmly. “It’s a trap. Marcus wants you out of the house so he can finalize his hostile takeover.”

“If we stay here, Marcus will simply have us arrested for trespassing,” Julian replied, moving quickly behind his desk. He opened a lower drawer and pulled out a heavy, black lockbox. He unlocked it and removed a sleek, matte-black handgun, tucking it smoothly into the waistband of his trousers.

I gasped. “Julian, what are you doing?”

“I am done playing by the rules of men who murder their partners,” Julian said, his eyes burning with a fierce, protective light. He looked at me, and then at Leo. “I am not going to let Marcus Croft hurt you, Clara. If there is a chance someone is alive on that island who knows the truth, I am finding them.”

“I’m coming with you,” I said instantly.

Julian shook his head. “No. It’s too dangerous. I’ll have my private driver take you and Leo to a safe house—”

“I am not a fragile socialite, Julian,” I interrupted, stepping directly into his personal space. I looked up into his dark eyes, refusing to back down. “My father died because of this secret. My mother worked herself into an early grave because of this secret. I am not hiding in a safe house while you finish my fight.”

Julian stared down at me. For a second, the ruthless billionaire faded, and a man who was deeply, profoundly captivated took his place.

He slowly reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His touch was incredibly gentle.

“You are terrifying,” Julian whispered, a small, genuine smile touching his lips.

“I’m a mother,” I corrected. “We’re the same thing.”

Julian let out a soft laugh. “Alright. We go together.”

Two hours later, we were standing on the desolate, fog-covered docks of Lake Michigan.

The sun hadn’t risen yet. The air was bitterly cold, biting through the heavy wool coat Julian had draped over my shoulders. Leo was asleep in my arms, wrapped in a thick blanket.

Waiting at the end of the wooden pier wasn’t a commercial ferry.

It was a small, rusted private charter boat, its engine idling low in the dark water.

Standing on the deck was an old man in a heavy fisherman’s sweater, smoking a pipe. He looked at Julian, then at me, and nodded once.

We boarded the boat in silence.

The journey took an hour. The fog was so thick it felt like we were sailing through clouds. Julian sat beside me on the wooden bench, his arm wrapped firmly around my shoulders, keeping me and Leo warm against the freezing wind.

When the jagged, dark cliffs of Blackwood Island finally loomed out of the mist, my stomach plummeted.

Sitting on top of the cliffs, looking like a rotting gothic castle, was the ruined husk of St. Jude’s Sanatorium. Half the roof was collapsed from the fire years ago.

The boat bumped against the ruined wooden docks.

“I wait exactly one hour,” the old captain rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. “If you aren’t back, I leave.”

Julian nodded, helping me step off the boat with Leo.

We walked up the steep, overgrown stone path toward the hospital. The silence of the island was oppressive, broken only by the sound of dead leaves crunching beneath our boots.

We reached the massive iron front doors of the asylum. They were chained shut, but the chain had been recently cut with bolt cutters.

Julian pushed the heavy doors open. They creaked loudly, echoing into the dark, ruined lobby.

We stepped inside. The air smelled of ash and damp rot.

“Hello?” Julian called out, his voice echoing down the endless, dark corridors.

Nothing.

I set Leo down gently, holding his hand tightly. “Stay right beside me, baby.”

Julian pulled out his flashlight, sweeping the beam across the lobby.

It caught something resting on the rusted front reception desk.

I walked toward it, my heart hammering.

It was a single, fresh white rose.

Beneath it was a piece of paper.

I picked it up. It was the missing half of the torn photograph from the safe.

It showed the person who had been standing next to my mother all those years ago.

I stared at the face in the picture, completely paralyzed by shock.

“Julian,” I whispered, the paper shaking in my hand.

Julian stepped up beside me, shining the light on the photo.

The man standing next to my mother, with his arm wrapped lovingly around her shoulder, wasn’t Arthur Sterling.

It was Marcus Croft.

Before either of us could process the horrifying revelation, a cold, familiar voice echoed from the dark hallway to our left.

“I told you they would come here, Father.”

Eleanor stepped out of the shadows. But she wasn’t wearing her emerald gown anymore. She was wearing dark clothes, and she was holding a leveled shotgun pointing directly at Julian’s chest.