Chapter 5 - The Room Behind the LibraryThe door had been hidden for years. The person who opened it first had left something behind.
We found the hidden door just after midnight.
The library smelled of old paper and cedar.
I remembered Augusta sitting there every Sunday morning.
She had always told us that books were safest because they could not lie about what had happened.
Now I understood what she meant.
Juny described the doorway.
"Behind the bookcase," she had said.
I moved the shelves one by one.
Nothing.
Then I found a narrow brass plate hidden behind the molding.
I pressed it.
The bookcase shifted.
A dark gap appeared.
My father swore.
My mother took a step back.
Davina whispered:
"No."
I turned toward her.
"You knew."
She said nothing.
Behind the bookcase was a narrow staircase.
At the bottom stood a red-painted door.
My heart pounded.
Holt remained upstairs.
My father followed me.
"This needs to stop."
"No."
"Your grandmother was sick."
"She wasn't confused."
"She was paranoid."
"Then why does this door exist?"
He had no answer.
I unlocked it.
The room smelled like dust.
A desk.
A filing cabinet.
A wall of photographs.
And one large steel safe.
On the desk was a handwritten note.
If Juny finds this room before she turns twenty-one, the family has failed the test.
I stared at the words.
Miss Castellano arrived a few minutes later.
She looked at the note.
Then closed her eyes.
"Augusta knew."
"Knew what?"
"That someone would come looking."
"Who?"
She pointed at the wall.
There were photographs.
My mother.
My father.
Davina.
Holt.
And me.
Taken over years.
Some showed ordinary family events.
Others were different.
My mother whispering to my father outside a clinic.
Davina meeting a man in a parking lot.
My father carrying a briefcase into a bank.
Then I saw a photograph of Juny.
Age seven.
Standing beside Augusta.
On the back was written:
She remembers the night.
I looked at Miss Castellano.
"What night?"
Before she answered, the lights went out.
The room plunged into darkness.
Someone upstairs screamed.
Holt.
Then the sound of breaking glass.
I grabbed my phone.
"Everyone stay here!"
My father reached for the door.
"No."
A shadow crossed the hallway.
We heard footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
Then a voice from upstairs.
"Where is the key?"
My blood froze.
I knew that voice.
Not because I heard it often.
Because I had heard it once.
At Augusta's funeral.
A man had stood across the cemetery.
He had looked at Juny.
Then disappeared.
I never learned his name.
Now he was inside the lake house.
Miss Castellano whispered:
"Don't move."
The footsteps came closer.
Then stopped outside the hidden door.
The handle turned.
My father stepped between us and the entrance.
The door opened.
A man stood there wearing Augusta's blue coat.
He was older than my father.
His face was scarred along one cheek.
And he was holding a small pistol.
"Where is the girl?"
My heart stopped.
"The girl?"
"Juny."
He smiled.
"Augusta promised me she would protect her."
I stared.
"Who are you?"
He looked at my father.
"Ask him."
My father went pale.
The man's eyes hardened.
"He knows why Augusta gave the house to Juny."
My father whispered:
"You're dead."
May you like
The man's smile disappeared.
"That was the point."
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