Chapter Forty Seven:
The flickering light of the fireplace cast long, dancing shadows against the log walls, but the warmth of the hearth couldn't touch the ice that had settled in Isaac's chest. He stood in the doorway of the small bedroom, his hand still outstretched toward Stephanie, his fingers trembling.
"What do you mean, 'do you know me'?" Isaac asked, his voice cracking with a rising panic. "It's me, Isaac. Your dad. I'm right here, baby girl."
Stephanie looked at him with a terrifying neutrality. Her eyes, which used to sparkle with a sharp, youthful wit, were now as flat and unreadable as polished stones. "I don't know anyone by the name Isaac," she replied softly. She looked back at her own hands as if they were alien appendages.
Michael stepped forward, his heavy hand landing on Isaac's shoulder. He could feel the tremors running through the younger man's frame. "Isaac," Michael muttered, his voice low and firm. "Can I speak to you alone? Now."
