Taken Away (Vanishing #5)
Prologue
Blackwood Estate & Winery
Mabel Blackwood
The early-June storm rolled across the Blue Ridge shortly after midnight, swallowing Blackwood Estate Vineyards in rain, thunder, and mountain fog.
Inside, warm light pooled against stone walls and dark wood floors.
Mabel Blackwood stood alone in the kitchen, a mug of chamomile tea warming her hands.
At sixty-nine, she was still beautiful. Silver threaded through her blonde hair now, but age had refined her rather than diminished her.
Old photographs throughout the house still stopped people in their tracks—capturing her laughing into the wind, riding horseback, or standing proudly beside the barrels during the estate’s first harvest. A low growl rolled through the kitchen.
Mabel looked down.
Moose stood rigid near the mudroom door, his massive white body tense. The Great Pyrenees stared into the dark hallway beyond the kitchen, ears forward, chest rumbling.
“What is it?” she asked.
Beyond the windows, the vineyard had vanished beneath the storm. Wind moved through the vines with a whisper that brushed against the old house.
Moose crossed to the mudroom door and scratched once.
Mabel sighed.
“You picked a fine night for this.”
She set down her tea and crossed the kitchen, silk whispering against her ankles. The moment she opened the door, cool mountain air rushed in.
Moose stepped onto the porch.
Then stopped.
His ears flattened.
Instead of looking toward the vineyard, he stared up.
Toward the second-floor bedroom windows.
A low growl vibrated deep in his chest.
Lightning flashed, throwing the estate into a brief silver glare before night took it again.
“Go on,” Mabel murmured.
She expected headlights to cut up the drive. Bennett sometimes came late after working the lower blocks, usually with Moose acting as if the man had personally hung the moon.
But tonight, the driveway stayed dark.
Moose hesitated before lumbering down the porch steps into the yard.
Mabel locked the mudroom door behind him.
The deadbolt clicked into place.
She crossed back to the island and picked up the paperback beside the fruit bowl. The cover featured a broad-shouldered man in an unbuttoned flannel shirt standing behind a redhead at a lake at sunset.
Mabel snorted.
“Lord help me. Mary Lou’s going to pretend this one scandalized her.”
Thunder rolled across the mountains.
Flipping the book over, she shook her head at the shirtless cowboy on the back.
“As if she and June aren't the ones voting for them.”
A heavy thud sounded outside. Rain lashed the windows.“Storm’s got everybody worked up tonight,” she murmured.
She switched off the kitchen lights and headed upstairs.
The house creaked around her as she climbed. Shadows stretched beneath the wall sconces.
Halfway up, she paused.
Listened.
Nothing.
Only the grandfather clock downstairs ticking out the seconds in the quiet house.
Mabel continued upstairs.
Her bedroom overlooked the vineyards, though tonight the windows reflected only her room and the occasional flash of lightning.
She slipped beneath the blankets and opened her book.
She read the same paragraph three times without absorbing a word.
Downstairs, Moose barked again.
Harder now.
Then came a violent impact against the mudroom door.
Mabel sat upright.
“Moose?”
No answer.
Then—
A sound.
Soft.
Close.
Not downstairs.
Inside the house.
Mabel turned toward the bedroom door.
Another faint noise followed.
A scrape.
She set the book aside and pushed back the blankets.
“Ridiculous,” she whispered.
Old houses made noise. Storms made noise. And June’s obsession with true crime had half of western North Carolina imagining killers behind every door.
Mabel crossed the room barefoot and opened the bedroom door.
The upstairs hallway stretched empty beneath dim amber light. No movement. No voices. Only polished floors and distant thunder.
She checked the guest room.
Empty.
The upstairs sitting room.
Empty.
Mabel exhaled.
“You’re losing your mind.”
Downstairs, Moose barked again.
Desperate this time.
Mabel returned to bed, leaving the bedroom door cracked. She reached for the bedside lamp—
—and froze.
The small nightlight near the bathroom cast a faint amber glow across the bedroom.
Just enough light.
The closet door stood open.
She was certain she’d closed it.
At first, there was only darkness inside.
Then the darkness shifted.
A figure stepped from the shadows.
Black clothes. Black gloves.
A mask.
Mabel’s breath caught.
No.
No no no—
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
The intruder took another step toward the bed.
Downstairs, Moose exploded against the door hard enough to shake the house. Barking. Scratching. Throwing his massive body against the wood.
The figure moved farther into the light.
Mabel's pulse thundered in her ears.
She took one shaky step backward until the backs of her knees hit the mattress.
“No…”
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
“Oh God.”
Pain shot down her left arm.
Her pulse turned violent and uneven.
The intruder froze.
Mabel could not move.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.
The room tilted.
Her vision narrowed.
Moose slammed against the door again, wood and metal groaning under his weight.
For one desperate second, hope surged through her.
Come on, Moose.
Please.
The figure glanced toward the bedroom door.
Then back at her.
Mabel reached blindly for the lamp, the phone, anything—
“Why couldn’t you leave it alone?”
Something inside Mabel settled.
A strange calm.
A certainty.
A faint smile touched her mouth.
“You’re too late,” she whispered.
“She’s already coming.”
The pillow came down over her face.
Heavy velvet pressed against her skin. The scent of lavender detergent filled her nose.
She screamed.
The sound died against the fabric.
The world narrowed to heat and darkness.
Above her, she heard breathing.
Ragged.
Panicked.
The pressure deepened.
Her lungs screamed.
No air.
Her right hand clawed weakly, but her left arm hung useless, burning. Her heart no longer pounded. It skidded inside her chest, erratic and wrong.
Downstairs, Moose hurled himself against the back door, again and again, the heavy rhythm rattling through the house.
“Please…”
The pillow did not move.
Her fingers weakened.
The room slipped away inch by inch.
The last thing Mabel heard was Moose trying to break the door down to get back to her.
Then everything stopped.