Chapter 4 - The Basement
The House Had a Secret Underneath It
We ran.
Rowan pushed us through the study's side door and into the hallway.
Ivy's breathing was uneven.
“Where's the basement?” Rowan asked.
I pointed.
“Laundry room.”
We moved fast.
The door to the basement was unlocked.
The stairs descended into darkness.
Rowan stopped.
“Why would your mother tell you you're looking in the wrong room?”
“I don't know.”
He switched on his flashlight.
We went down.
The basement looked ordinary.
Washer.
Dryer.
Storage bins.
Old holiday decorations.
Then Ivy said, “Wait.”
She pointed to the wall.
A line ran vertically through the paint.
Too straight.
Too deliberate.
Rowan touched it.
“Hidden door.”
He searched the edges.
Nothing.
I walked toward an old cabinet.
Dad had built it himself.
I opened the bottom drawer.
A folded piece of paper fell out.
It had a hand-drawn symbol.
A circle.
Three lines.
And a number.
Rowan went still.
“What?”
He took the paper.
“That symbol.”
“What is it?”
“A marker from the investigation.”
“For what?”
“Safe locations.”
My heart sank.
“This house was a safe location?”
“No.”
He stared at the wall.
“The basement was.”
He found a recessed metal latch.
The hidden door clicked open.
A narrow room sat behind it.
Inside were filing cabinets.
Hard drives.
Photographs.
Passports.
Dozens of them.
Different names.
Different faces.
But the same people appeared over and over.
My mother.
My father.
Me.
Ivy.
I picked up a photograph.
It showed me at school.
Another showed Ivy leaving soccer practice.
Another showed Dad entering his office.
Rowan opened a file.
His face changed.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Mine.
Except the name wasn't Lyra Adrian.
It was another name.
The date was mine.
The hospital was the same.
But the mother listed on it wasn't my mother.
I couldn't breathe.
“This is fake.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Your original record may have been altered.”
“Why?”
Rowan looked through another folder.
“Because someone wanted you to disappear.”
I laughed nervously.
“This is insane.”
Then I found something worse.
A photograph of Ivy.
Taken before she was born.
A hospital room.
Mom sitting in a chair.
Dad standing beside a newborn baby.
But there was another woman in the photograph.
Crying.
Someone had crossed out her face with a black marker.
Ivy saw it.
“Who is that?”
Nobody answered.
Then the basement lights turned on.
We spun around.
My mother stood at the top of the stairs.
She wasn't holding a weapon.
She didn't need one.
Her expression was calm.
Almost tired.
“Lyra,” she said.
I stepped backward.
“You lied to us.”
Mom's face fell.
“Your father lied to you first.”
“Where is Dad?”
She didn't answer.
“Where is he?”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Then tell me.”
She came down one step.
Rowan raised his weapon.
“Stop.”
Mom looked at him.
“You were always going to get here eventually, Rowan.”
He stiffened.
“You know me.”
“I know much more than that.”
She took another step.
“You have no idea who Adrian was.”
“Where is he?” Rowan demanded.
Mom looked at me.
And for the first time that night, I saw fear in her eyes.
“He isn't missing.”
My heartbeat stopped.
“What?”
“He's waiting for you.”
“Where?”
Mom whispered,
“Under the house.”
The basement floor shuddered.
Then we heard something beneath us.
May you like
Three slow knocks.
From under the concrete.
