CHAPTER 2 — THE MAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
The photograph trembled between my fingers.
I looked at Isabella.
Then at Beatriz.
Then back at the photograph.
My daughter was standing in the garden three months earlier, wearing the same pink dress she had worn today.
But she wasn't alone.
The man beside her had one hand resting on her shoulder.
His face was partially hidden by the shadow of a tree.
Yet there was something about him that felt familiar.
Not his face.
His posture.
The way he stood.
The expensive watch on his left wrist.
I had seen that watch before.
Beatriz suddenly whispered,
“Daniel, give me the photograph.”
“No.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked toward the cellar door.
The man inside had gone completely silent.
I held up the photograph.
“Who is he?”
Beatriz said nothing.
I stepped closer.
“Who is he?”
“He doesn't matter.”
“He's standing next to my daughter.”
“He was helping me.”
“With what?”
She swallowed.
“Something you wouldn't understand.”
My anger surged.
“Try me.”
She looked at me with tears forming in her eyes.
For a moment, I thought she might finally tell me everything.
Instead, she said something that made my stomach drop.
“He was supposed to make sure Isabella stayed quiet.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Beatriz immediately covered her mouth.
She realized what she'd just admitted.
I moved toward her.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
“You said he was supposed to keep Isabella quiet.”
“I was angry.”
“You don't say something like that by accident.”
She stepped backward.
I grabbed her arm.
“Tell me what you've been doing to my daughter.”
“Let me go!”
“Tell me!”
The cellar door suddenly rattled.
Both of us turned.
The man inside shouted,
“Beatriz!”
She froze.
His voice came again.
“You need to leave.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
Then I heard something that made the hair on my arms rise.
A child's voice.
“Dad?”
Isabella.
I spun around.
She was standing at the top of the garden steps.
Her face was pale.
“Dad, what's happening?”
I immediately ran to her.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
She grabbed my shirt.
“I heard shouting.”
I pulled her close.
“It's okay.”
Her eyes moved toward the cellar.
Then she saw the photograph in my hand.
Her expression changed.
She stopped breathing for a second.
“You saw him.”
I crouched.
“Isabella, do you know this man?”
She nodded.
“Who is he?”
She whispered,
“He comes at night.”
Beatriz suddenly shouted,
“Don't listen to her!”
Isabella flinched.
I turned sharply.
“Don't you ever raise your voice at her again.”
Beatriz went silent.
I looked at Isabella.
“How often does he come?”
“Sometimes.”
“Every night?”
“No.”
“What does he want?”
She looked down.
“He asks me questions.”
“What questions?”
“About you.”
My heart stopped.
“What kind of questions?”
She whispered,
“Where you keep your money.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He asked about your office.”
My mind began racing.
“Did he ask about passwords?”
She nodded.
“About the safe?”
Another nod.
“About your bank?”
She nodded again.
I looked at Beatriz.
She was crying now.
Not from guilt.
From fear.
I could see it clearly.
“What have you done?” I asked.
She whispered,
“I didn't have a choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
“Not when they threaten your family.”
I stared at her.
“Who are they?”
She shook her head.
“I can't.”
“Who?”
“I can't tell you.”
The cellar door rattled again.
Then the man inside spoke.
“Daniel.”
I froze.
He knew my name.
His voice was calm.
Almost amused.
“You should really listen to your wife.”
I stepped toward the door.
“How do you know me?”
Silence.
Then:
“Because I've been watching you for a very long time.”
I felt Isabella's fingers tighten around mine.
I whispered,
“Stay behind me.”
The man continued.
“You think your wife is the villain.”
Beatriz closed her eyes.
“But she isn't.”
I looked at Beatriz.
“What does that mean?”
The man laughed softly.
“She was trying to protect your daughter.”
I stared at the cellar.
“From whom?”
A long silence followed.
Then he said:
“From you.”
My blood ran cold.
Isabella suddenly screamed.
“No!”
She grabbed my arm.
“He's lying!”
I turned toward her.
“What did he mean?”
She was crying.
“Dad, please.”
“What did he mean?”
“I don't know.”
The cellar door opened slightly.
A hand appeared through the gap.
It held another photograph.
The man pushed it onto the stone floor.
Then the door slammed shut again.
I walked toward it.
Beatriz screamed,
“Don't!”
But I picked up the photograph.
My heart nearly stopped.
This picture was older.
Much older.
It showed me standing outside a hospital.
Beside me was a woman I hadn't seen in years.
My first wife.
Isabella's biological mother.
She had died shortly after Isabella was born.
Or at least that's what I had always believed.
I stared at the photograph.
On the back were three words.
SHE NEVER DIED.
I couldn't breathe.
Beatriz whispered behind me,
“Daniel…”
I slowly turned.
“What did you just say?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
I walked toward her.
“My first wife is dead.”
Beatriz didn't answer.
“Isn't she?”
Still nothing.
“Beatriz!”
She finally broke.
“She was supposed to be.”
The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
“What does that mean?”
Beatriz wiped her tears.
“She survived.”
I stared at her.
“For six years?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Beatriz looked toward the cellar.
“I don't know.”
“Why did you tell me she died?”
“Because she wanted you to believe it.”
“Who?”
“Your first wife.”
My mind couldn't process it.
“Why?”
Beatriz whispered,
“Because she knew what you were capable of.”
I stepped backward.
“What I'm capable of?”
“She was afraid you'd take Isabella away from her.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
She reached into her robe pocket.
Then pulled out a small folded piece of paper.
“I found this six years ago.”
She handed it to me.
I opened it.
There was only one sentence.
IF DANIEL EVER LEARNS THAT I SURVIVED, ISABELLA WILL BE IN DANGER.
I looked up.
“Where did you get this?”
Beatriz's voice cracked.
“She sent it to me.”
“When?”
“The night she disappeared.”
I stared at the cellar.
“Then who is the man inside?”
Beatriz whispered,
“Her brother.”
I froze.
“Her brother?”
“He believes you killed her.”
My blood turned cold.
“I never killed anyone.”
“I know.”
“Then why is he here?”
Beatriz looked at Isabella.
And said something I'll never forget.
“Because he thinks Isabella knows where her mother is.”
Isabella suddenly screamed.
“I don't!”
Everyone went silent.
I turned toward my daughter.
“What do you mean?”
She was shaking violently.
I knelt beside her.
“Sweetheart, what don't you know?”
She looked at me with tears streaming down her face.
Then she whispered:
“I know where Mommy is.”
My entire body went numb.
“Your mother?”
Isabella nodded.
“She came to see me.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
Beatriz covered her mouth.
I stared at my daughter.
“Where?”
Isabella pointed toward the cellar.
“She was in there.”
The cellar door suddenly burst open.
The mysterious man stepped into the moonlight.
And when I finally saw his face...
I recognized him.
He was the man I had buried six years ago.
May you like
My own brother.
And he was holding a gun.
