Chapter 3 - Eleven Months EarlierNobody slept that night.
Not me.
Not my sister.
Not Detective Cole.
The house had become a crime scene, but it still looked painfully ordinary.
Family photos.
A half-finished puzzle.
Emma’s plastic tea set.
A pink blanket folded over the couch.
The terror was hidden inside the walls.
Cole stayed until almost dawn.
Before leaving, he gave me one instruction.
“Don't go anywhere alone.”
“That seems excessive.”
“Not anymore.”
He hesitated.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“Don't tell Emma about Lily.”
“Why?”
“She may remember something.”
I stared at him.
“Something from before we moved here?”
“Children remember places in strange ways.”
After he left, I sat at the kitchen table.
The folder kept playing in my mind.
EMMA
Seventeen videos.
Eight months.
Before Vanessa.
Before I knew anyone was watching.
At seven in the morning, my sister brought Emma downstairs.
Emma looked at me.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you find the camera?”
“Yes.”
“Did you make it go away?”
I nodded.
She hugged me.
I held her tightly.
Then she whispered into my shirt.
“He doesn't like it when the light is on.”
I pulled back.
“What man?”
She shook her head.
“The man.”
“Emma, tell me what you remember.”
Her eyes became distant.
“He came before Mommy.”
“When?”
“Nighttime.”
“What did he do?”
“He stood outside.”
“Outside where?”
“My window.”
She pointed upstairs.
“I thought he was a tree.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you see his face?”
“No.”
“Did he talk to you?”
She nodded.
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Do you know where your daddy hides the little box?’”
I looked at my sister.
“What little box?”
Emma shrugged.
“I don't know.”
I remembered something.
A box.
I had one.
An old metal lockbox from my late wife's belongings.
I kept it in the basement.
Nobody knew about it.
Nobody except me.
And Vanessa.
I stood so quickly my chair scraped the floor.
My sister grabbed Emma.
“Where are you going?”
“The basement.”
Cole had told me not to go alone.
But some things are too frightening to ignore.
I took the lockbox out.
The key still worked.
Inside were old photographs.
A wedding ring.
A hospital bracelet.
And a sealed envelope from my late wife, Claire.
I had never opened it.
Not because I didn't care.
Because I couldn't.
Claire died two years earlier.
The envelope had been found among her things after the accident.
I had assumed it was personal.
I cut it open.
Inside was one handwritten page.
Daniel,
If you're reading this, I couldn't tell you in person.
There are people watching certain families.
I found something I shouldn't have.
If anything happens to me, don't trust anyone who asks about Emma.
My hands went numb.
I kept reading.
The last line said:
The house is not safe.
I almost dropped the letter.
The date was ten months before Claire died.
That made no sense.
I called Detective Cole.
He arrived in twenty minutes.
I gave him the letter.
He read it twice.
“Did Claire ever tell you about this?”
“No.”
“Did anyone else know?”
“Vanessa knew about the lockbox.”
Cole looked up.
“Only her?”
“As far as I know.”
He asked where Claire had worked.
I told him.
A private family counseling center.
Cole immediately called an officer.
“Pull every complaint involving the center.”
“Why?”
He pointed at the letter.
“Because this doesn't sound like paranoia.”
Two hours later, the officer returned.
There had been fourteen complaints over three years.
All from parents.
All involving surveillance.
Missing recordings.
Strange photographs.
And one recurring name.
Martin Crowe.
I stared at Cole.
“But he died.”
“Yes.”
“Then who is using his name?”
Cole was silent.
His phone rang.
He answered.
“What?”
A pause.
Then his face changed.
“Where?”
He hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Someone broke into the Harris family’s storage unit.”
“Lily’s family?”
“Yes.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“That makes no sense.”
“They didn't take anything.”
He looked at me.
“They left something.”
A photograph.
Of Emma.
Taken yesterday.
Cole drove me to the storage facility.
Police tape stretched across the door.
Inside were boxes of Lily’s clothes, school books, toys, and family photos.
On the floor sat one envelope.
My name was written on it.
DANIEL MERCER
I stared at it.
“I've never seen this.”
Cole opened it carefully.
Inside was a USB drive.
And a photograph.
Claire.
My late wife.
Standing beside a woman I didn't recognize.
The photograph had been taken eleven months ago.
The woman was Vanessa.
My blood ran cold.
“That can't be possible.”
Vanessa hadn't met me then.
Cole looked at the date.
Then at the photograph.
He said nothing.
I grabbed the photo.
May you like
There was writing on the back.
SHE KNEW ABOUT THE CAMERA.
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