Chapter 6: The Man in the Black Gloves
The note felt heavier than paper in my hand.
I stared at my name written across it in dark ink.
The police officer stood beside me, watching my face.
“Don't open it here,” he repeated.
“Why?””
“Because whoever left it may have known we were coming.””
I looked toward the road.
Snow had begun falling harder.
The ambulance lights painted the trees red and white.
Emily stood behind me, wrapped in a blanket, her eyes fixed on the evidence bag.
“Daniel,” she whispered, “what if Sam wrote that?””
I looked at her.
“Then he's still alive.””
The officer didn't answer.
That silence told me enough.
I stepped into the police cruiser with him.
Emily climbed into the back of the ambulance, refusing to let the paramedics take her anywhere without me.
Inside the cruiser, the officer put on gloves.
“Open it.””
I unfolded the note.
Four lines.
Nothing else.
*YOU WERE RIGHT TO COME HOME.*
*YOU WERE WRONG TO TRUST YOUR MOTHER.*
*THE MAN IN THE BLACK GLOVES STILL HAS THE KEY.*
Then the final line:
*CHECK YOUR FATHER'S WATCH.*
I read it twice.
My father's watch.
I hadn't seen it in years.
I remembered where it was.
My mother kept it in the upstairs study after his death.
At least, she claimed she did.
I looked at the officer.
“Someone knew my father had a watch.””
“What watch?””
“An old silver one. He wore it every day.””
“Why would that matter?””
“I don't know.””
I folded the note.
The officer stopped me.
“We need that for evidence.””
I handed it back.
“What happens now?””
“You and your wife go somewhere secure.””
“I need to find my father’s watch.””
He stared at me.
“That's not your priority.””
“It might be.””
“Daniel, your wife was assaulted, your house was deliberately set on fire, your mother and sister fled the scene, there's evidence of financial fraud, and a witness may have been abducted.””
“I know.””
“And you're telling me an old watch is the next thing we should chase?””
“Yes.””
He rubbed his forehead.
“Why?””
“Because my father left me a message I didn't understand.””
The officer's expression changed.
“What message?””
I remembered something he'd said years ago.
Not on the recording.
Not in a document.
In person.
Three days before he died, my father had called me into the garage.
He had been holding the same silver watch.
I'd forgotten about the conversation until now.
He'd placed the watch in my hand and said:
*“One day, Danny, you'll need to know what time it stopped.””*
I'd laughed.
I thought he'd been talking about the broken second hand.
Now I knew better.
I looked at the officer.
“The watch wasn't just a watch.””
“Where is it?””
“My mother's house.””
He gave me a tired look.
“The house that is currently on fire?””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“There are two houses.””
He sat up.
“What?””
“My parents owned a second property.””
“Where?””
“Outside town.””
“Does your mother know you're going there?””
I almost smiled.
“She knew everything else.””
The officer made a call.
Within minutes, another unit was assigned to meet us.
Emily finally got out of the ambulance.
“I heard enough.””
I turned.
The paramedic followed her.
“She should stay under observation.””
Emily shook her head.
“I won't go without him.””
I walked over.
“You need to let them check you.””
“They already did.””
“They said your wrist may be fractured.””
“Then it can wait.””
“No.””
She looked into my eyes.
“You came home from war and found me in the snow. I'm not leaving your side now.””
My throat tightened.
I touched her cheek.
“You shouldn't have to prove anything to me.””
“I know.””
“I believe you.””
Her eyes filled.
“I needed to hear that.””
The officer cleared his throat.
“We need to move.””
The second patrol car escorted us toward the old Hart property.
The trip took less than thirty minutes.
I spent every mile staring out the window.
Snow covered the highway.
Streetlights passed like slow flashes.
Emily sat beside me.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Then she asked, “Do you remember that night?””
“What night?””
“Your father's death.””
I swallowed.
“Pieces.””
“What do you remember?””
“A red scarf.””
She nodded.
“What else?””
“A man.””
Her face tightened.
“Your mother?””
“No.””
“A stranger?””
“Yes.””
“What did he look like?””
I closed my eyes.
“Tall. Broad shoulders. Black gloves.””
Emily went silent.
Then she whispered, “I've seen him.””
My eyes opened.
“When?””
“Last month.””
I turned toward her.
“Where?””
“Outside the grocery store.””
“What happened?””
“He stood across the street.””
“Did he approach you?””
“No.””
“Then how do you know it was him?””
Emily looked down.
“Because he was wearing the same black gloves.””
The police cruiser filled with silence.
The officer in the passenger seat turned around.
“Why didn't you report that?””
“I thought I was imagining things.””
“Did he follow you?””
“I don't know.””
I took her hand.
“You should have told me.””
“I tried.””
That sentence again.
The same painful truth.
I squeezed her fingers.
“I'm listening now.””
We reached the old property just before midnight.
The house was dark.
Untouched.
Snow had buried the driveway.
The second patrol car stopped at the gate.
The officer drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me.””
We approached the front door.
It was unlocked.
That was the first thing that felt wrong.
My father never left doors unlocked.
I pushed it open.
Dust.
Cold air.
The smell of old wood.
Everything looked exactly as it had eleven years earlier.
The faded sofa.
The stone fireplace.
The grandfather clock.
The brass lamp my mother hated.
And on the wall above the fireplace—
a photograph of my father.
I walked toward it.
Emily stopped me.
“Daniel.””
“What?””
She pointed.
The photograph had been moved.
There was a rectangle of clean paint behind it.
Something had been hidden there.
I lifted the frame.
A small metal key was taped to the wall.
My heart started pounding.
The same key shape I remembered seeing in my father's hand.
The officer stepped closer.
“Don't touch it.””
I looked at him.
“It's already been touched.””
He examined the wall.
“Recently.””
The tape was fresh.
I stared at the key.
“The note said the man in the black gloves still has the key.””
I pointed.
“He doesn't.””
The officer looked at me.
“You sure?””
I nodded.
“Then why leave it here?””
I didn't know.
Until I saw the blood.
A tiny drop.
Fresh.
On the wooden floor beneath the photograph.
Emily saw it too.
“Someone was here.””
The officer raised his weapon.
“Everybody back.””
We moved toward the hallway.
The house was silent.
Then came a sound from upstairs.
Three slow knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Nobody spoke.
The officer whispered into his radio.
I stared at the ceiling.
“That's impossible.””
“What?””
“My father used to do that.””
“What?””
“Three knocks.””
The officer looked at me.
“When he wanted us to come upstairs.””
Another three knocks.
Emily grabbed my arm.
“Don't go.””
“I have to.””
“No.””
“This is what they wanted me to find.””
“Or what they want you to think.””
She was right.
That thought stopped me.
The officer checked the upstairs hallway.
Clear.
He moved first.
I followed.
Every floorboard creaked.
At the end of the hall was my father's study.
The door stood open.
Inside, a desk sat beneath the window.
And on the desk was a small wooden box.
My father's handwriting was burned into the lid.
*FOR DANIEL.*
I approached slowly.
The officer examined the room.
“No obvious threat.””
I opened the box.
Inside was the silver watch.
My father's watch.
The second hand had stopped at exactly 11:17.
I stared at it.
Emily whispered, “What time did he die?””
“11:17.””
The officer looked at me.
“That's what the death certificate says.””
I turned the watch over.
There was an inscription on the back.
I'd never noticed it.
*TRUST THE ONE WHO REMEMBERS THE NIGHT.*
Beneath it was a tiny latch.
I opened it.
A folded photograph slipped out.
I caught it.
The picture showed my father standing in the garage.
Beside him was Samuel Reed.
And beside Samuel—
a teenage version of me.
I froze.
May you like
Because that photograph had been taken the night my father supposedly died.
And I was wearing the black gloves.
