Chapter 3 - Storage Unit 217We drove to the storage facility in silence.
I followed the girls in my old pickup truck.
The whole time, I kept thinking about the first night.
Three babies.
One diaper bag.
Three blankets.
And that gas receipt.
I'd kept that receipt for twenty-two years.
I didn't know why.
Maybe because it was the last thing my brother had ever written to me.
Or maybe some part of me had always believed there was something else hidden inside it.
Storage Unit 217 was at the end of a dark corridor.
June inserted the key.
The lock clicked.
The door rolled upward.
Dust drifted through the air.
At first, I saw nothing unusual.
Boxes.
Old furniture.
A wooden crib.
A broken mirror.
Then Ava moved toward the back wall.
"Dad."
She pointed.
There was a photograph taped to the concrete.
A picture of their mother.
She was smiling.
And standing beside her was my brother.
But that wasn't what made my blood freeze.
There was another man in the photograph.
A man I'd never seen before.
He stood behind them with his hand on their mother's shoulder.
Someone had drawn a black X across his face.
Claire lifted another box.
Inside were dozens of photographs.
Their mother at the hospital.
Their mother pregnant.
Their mother holding newborn babies.
My brother beside her.
Then one photograph made me stop.
It showed the three babies in a hospital nursery.
Underneath it was a handwritten date.
Three days before she died.
I stared.
"That's impossible."
June frowned.
"What?"
"The date."
I pointed.
"Your mother was already unconscious by then."
The girls looked at each other.
"How do you know?"
"Because your father told me."
Ava picked up another photograph.
"Look."
On the back was a sentence.
THE GIRLS WERE NEVER THE TARGET.
My stomach dropped.
Claire opened another box.
Inside were medical records.
Invoices.
A hospital bracelet.
A small envelope marked:
NOAH.
My hands shook as I picked it up.
"What is this?"
June whispered, "We don't know."
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet.
My name was written at the top.
The handwriting was unmistakably their mother's.
Noah,
If you are reading this, Martin has already left you the girls.
Martin.
My brother.
I read the next line.
Please don't give them back.
My heart hammered.
I kept reading.
He will tell you he abandoned them because he couldn't cope. That's not true.
I stopped.
The room seemed to spin.
Ava grabbed my arm.
"What does it say?"
I continued.
He knows someone is looking for the girls.
My eyes moved lower.
And Noah, whatever you do, never trust the man who says he signed my death certificate.
I looked at the girls.
"Who signed your mother's death certificate?"
None of us knew.
Then Claire pulled out the medical file.
She opened it.
Her fingers began trembling.
"Dad."
"What?"
She pointed at the signature page.
At the bottom was a physician's name.
Dr. Elias Mercer.
I stared at it.
I recognized the name.
Not from the hospital.
From somewhere else.
A newspaper article.
A photo.
A local businessman who had donated millions to the university.
A man I'd seen on television many times.
The university auditorium had been named after him.
And he had been sitting in the front row during graduation.
Watching us.
I felt a strange chill.
June slowly picked up her phone.
"I checked his name yesterday."
"Why?"
"Because of the letter."
"What did you find?"
She turned the screen toward me.
An article headline stared back at us.
LOCAL DOCTOR DIES PEACEFULLY AT 74.
I frowned.
"Dies?"
June nodded.
"He died six months ago."
I exhaled.
"Then that's not him."
June looked at me.
"It gets worse."
She zoomed in.
The article included an old photograph.
Dr. Elias Mercer.
I stared at the face.
Then I looked at the photograph from the storage unit.
The mysterious man whose face had been crossed out.
My blood ran cold.
They were the same man.
May you like
And at the bottom of the newspaper article was the sentence that changed everything.
Police have never determined where Dr. Mercer's missing personal records went.
