Chapter 9: Blood and Water
The lighthouse stood sentinel on Montauk's rocky peninsula, its white tower stark against gathering storm clouds. Isabella killed the engine of her "borrowed" company car, surveying the isolated property with wary eyes. No other vehicles were visible, but a thin plume of smoke rose from the keeper's cottage adjacent to the tower.
Claire's microchip had revealed Marina Petrova's identity—Edward Sterling's former research assistant who'd disappeared a decade ago, reportedly drowned in a boating accident alongside Evelyn. The same "accident" Evelyn had supposedly died in.
Isabella checked the gun Evelyn had given her—loaded, safety off. Ready for whatever awaited her inside.
The cottage door creaked open at her knock. A woman with silver-streaked hair and watchful eyes appraised Isabella from the threshold.
"You're late," Marina said, her accent faintly Russian. "I expected you yesterday."
"Traffic," Isabella replied dryly, keeping the gun concealed but ready.
Marina's mouth quirked in what might have been a smile. "You have her spirit." She stepped aside, allowing Isabella entry. "Claire said you would come."
The cottage interior was sparse but comfortable—worn furniture, scientific journals stacked on every surface, and a sophisticated security system that seemed at odds with the rustic setting. No sign of Thomas.
"Where's the baby?" Isabella demanded.
"Safe." Marina gestured for Isabella to follow her to a back room. There, a makeshift laboratory had been assembled, centered around a medical bassinet where Thomas slept peacefully. Monitoring equipment beeped softly, measuring vital signs that scrolled across computer screens.
"You're continuing Edward's work," Isabella accused, raising the gun.
Marina regarded the weapon with mild interest. "I'm undoing it. The child has been genetically altered—modifications to enhance intelligence, physical resilience, and immune response. But there are... complications."
"What complications?"
"Accelerated development coupled with psychological instability." Marina pulled up a file on her computer. "The Sterling men have always been brilliant, but prone to psychopathy. Edward believed he could isolate and remove those traits through genetic engineering."
"And did he?" Isabella asked, approaching the bassinet cautiously.
"No." Marina's expression darkened. "He amplified them. Alexander's recent behavior is evidence of that. The modifications become more pronounced under stress."
Thomas stirred in his sleep,tiny fingers curling around the blanket. Despite the clinical surroundings, he looked perfectly normal—a beautiful, innocent baby with Alexander's dark hair and Claire's delicate features.
"I can reverse some of the modifications," Marina continued, "but it requires specialized equipment. Equipment I had to leave behind when we fled Blackwood."
"We?"
"Claire and I." Marina sighed heavily. "We've been working together for years since she first discovered what Edward was doing. Her 'relationship' with Alexander was meant to be purely investigative, but..."
"She fell in love with him," Isabella finished.
"Love," Marina scoffed. "Another chemical reaction Edward tried to engineer out of the Sterling genome. Yet it persists, generation after generation."
A security monitor beeped, showing a vehicle approaching on the coastal road—a black SUV with tinted windows.
"Is that Alexander?" Isabella asked.
Marina checked another monitor, her expression grim. "Worse. Lucas Reeves. And he's not alone."
The monitor showed Lucas exiting the vehicle, followed by Alexander—wild-eyed and disheveled, nothing like the controlled CEO Isabella knew.
"He's in the middle of an episode," Marina explained, quickly gathering supplies. "The genetic modifications Edward made to his children manifest as extreme behavioral changes under acute stress."
"He wouldn't hurt Thomas," Isabella insisted.
"The Alexander, you know, wouldn't." Marina pressed a sedative injector into Isabella's hand. "But that man out there? He's not Alexander anymore. He's what Edward made him to be."
Isabella's hand tightened around the gun. "What about Claire? Where is she?"
"En route. But she won't make it in time." Marina activated a security protocol on her computer. Steel shutters began descending over the windows. "Take Thomas through the tunnel beneath the lighthouse. Claire will find you at the rendezvous point."
"And leave you here? They'll kill you."
"Child," Marina said with grim humor, "I've been dead for ten years. Go."
The front door splintered inward before Isabella could argue further. She scooped Thomas from the bassinet, the infant surprisingly heavy in her arms, and slipped through a concealed door Marina indicated.
The tunnel was damp and narrow, with rough-hewn stone steps leading downward beneath the lighthouse. Behind her, she heard Marina confronting the intruders, her accented voice sharp with command. Then, a single gunshot, followed by silence.
Isabella increased her pace, and Thomas clutched tightly to her chest. The tunnel opened onto a small cove where a motorboat was tethered, bobbing gently on the incoming tide.
As she emerged from the tunnel, a figure stepped from behind the rocks—Alexander, his features contorted with rage.
"Give me my son," he growled, advancing on her.
Isabella backed away, one arm cradling
Thomas protectively while the other raised the gun. "Alexander, listen to me. You're not well. Edward did something to you—to all of you."
"Give him to me!" Alexander's voice cracked with something primal, his hands flexing at his sides. The wind whipped his dark hair, his usually immaculate suit torn and stained. "He's mine. My legacy."
The boat was only steps away, but Isabella knew she'd never make it. She adjusted her grip on the gun, finger hovering near the trigger. "I don't want to hurt you."
Alexander lunged.
Isabella sidestepped, but his hand caught her wrist, twisting until the gun clattered onto the rocks. Pain shot up her arm, but she held tight to Thomas, who had begun to wail. Alexander's other hand closed around her throat, slamming her back against the cliff face.
"You betrayed me," he snarled, his breath hot against her face. "Just like Claire. Just like Evelyn. Everyone lies."
Black spots danced at the edges of Isabella's vision as his grip tightened. She could feel Thomas squirming between them, his cries growing more frantic. With her free hand, she fumbled for the sedative injector Marina had given her.
Alexander's eyes—wild, unfocused—locked onto hers. "Why?" he demanded, his voice breaking. "Why did you do it?"
Isabella didn't answer. With the last of her strength, she jammed the injector into his neck and pressed the plunger.
Alexander's grip slackened. Confusion flickered across his face before his knees buckled. He collapsed onto the rocks, his body twitching as the sedative took hold. His hand reached weakly for Thomas one last time before his eyes rolled back and he stilled.
Isabella gasped for air, clutching Thomas tightly as she stumbled toward the boat. Her hands shook as she untied the mooring line and climbed aboard, starting the engine with a roar.
As the boat pulled away from shore, she saw Lucas emerge from the tunnel, his silver ring glinting in the fading light. He watched her go, making no move to stop her. Then, with deliberate slowness, he raised his hand in a mock salute before turning back into the darkness.
The storm broke as Isabella guided the boat through choppy waters, Thomas now quiet in her arms. Rain lashed at her face, mixing with the tears she hadn't realized she was shedding.
Somewhere out there, Claire was waiting. And beyond that?
Isabella had no idea. But for the first time since this nightmare began, she was in control of her own destiny.
The lighthouse faded into the storm behind her, its beacon still shining—a warning to all who drew near the rocks beneath the surface.