Chapter 7 - My Mother Was Waiting in the AtticThe intruders came through the windows.
Two in front.
One in the back.
We ran upstairs.
There was nowhere to go.
Then Emily grabbed my arm.
“The attic.”
I stared at her.
“There's no attic access in the nursery.”
“Behind the closet.”
I opened it.
A narrow panel was hidden behind boxes.
We crawled inside.
I pulled the panel shut.
Darkness swallowed us.
Our son whimpered.
Emily covered his mouth gently.
Below us, doors slammed.
“Search the house!”
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Fast.
I could hear drawers opening.
Furniture moving.
Someone shouted:
“They're here!”
Another voice answered:
“Find the baby.”
My blood froze.
The baby.
Not me.
Not Emily.
Them.
They were looking for Ethan.
Then we heard Linda's voice.
“I told you he's not here.”
I almost shouted.
My mother.
Inside our house.
How?
A man replied:
“You had one job.”
Linda said:
“And I did it.”
“You failed.”
“Did I?”
A sharp sound.
Maybe a slap.
Emily gripped my wrist.
I couldn't see her face, but I could feel her shaking.
Then Linda shouted:
“You're not touching that child!”
The room below erupted.
Someone cursed.
A gunshot rang out.
Emily nearly screamed.
I held her tight.
Then footsteps moved toward the attic.
They were coming upstairs.
One step.
Two.
Three.
The attic door opened.
A beam of light entered.
I reached for the only thing I had.
A metal flashlight.
The light moved across the attic.
Stopped.
Then a voice said:
“Daniel.”
I knew the voice.
It wasn't one of the intruders.
It was Linda.
She stepped inside.
Blood was running from her forehead.
She closed the attic door behind her.
“You have to trust me.”
I almost laughed.
“You broke into my house.”
“I was trying to get here first.”
“Why?”
She looked at Ethan.
“Because they need him.”
“Who are they?”
She moved closer.
“Your father's organization.”
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“Tom said he wasn't.”
Linda's expression changed.
“You saw Tom?”
“He was shot.”
“He's alive?”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes.
“Then we're out of time.”
I grabbed her arm.
“Tell me everything.”
She looked at Emily.
Then at Ethan.
Then whispered:
“The man you thought was your father wasn't your father.”
I felt the world tilt.
“What?”
Linda swallowed.
“Your real father is alive.”
A loud crash came from downstairs.
She looked toward the attic door.
“They know where we are.”
Then she pulled a tiny key from around her neck.
And placed it in my hand.
“This opens the room beneath your father's old house.”
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“What room?”
“The room where they started Project Lullaby.”
