Chapter 3: Claire Died on Tuesday
“She’s been dead since Tuesday.”
Lily’s words didn't make sense.
They couldn't.
I stared at my daughter.
“What did you just say?”
Her little fingers tightened around mine.
“Mommy died on Tuesday.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because my mind refused to accept it.
“Lily, Mommy is upstairs.”
She shook her head.
“That isn't Mommy.”
The police officer beside me slowly raised his weapon toward the staircase.
“Sir, stay behind me.”
I didn't move.
My eyes remained fixed on the darkness above.
“Claire?”
No answer.
Then footsteps.
One.
Two.
Three.
Someone was coming down.
The officer shouted.
“Police! Stop where you are!”
The footsteps stopped.
A woman's silhouette appeared at the top of the stairs.
My breath caught.
Claire.
It looked exactly like her.
Same long brown hair.
Same white sweater.
Same wedding ring.
Same face.
For one terrible second, relief flooded through me.
“Claire…”
I stepped forward.
The officer grabbed my arm.
“Don't.”
She smiled.
That was when I knew.
Something was wrong.
Claire always smiled with one side of her mouth slightly higher than the other.
This woman smiled perfectly.
Too perfectly.
“Daniel,” she said softly.
Her voice was flawless.
“I'm so glad you're home.”
Lily screamed.
“THAT'S NOT MOMMY!”
The woman's smile disappeared.
The officer pointed his weapon.
“Stay where you are.”
She tilted her head.
“Why are you pointing that at me?”
I stared at her.
“Where is my wife?”
She blinked.
“I’m your wife.”
“No.”
The word came out before I could stop it.
She smiled again.
“Daniel, you're confused.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“My wife has a small scar beneath her left eyebrow.”
The woman didn't react.
I continued.
“She got it when she was twelve. She fell off her bicycle.”
Silence.
“Show me.”
Her hand slowly moved toward her face.
She touched the skin beneath her eyebrow.
There was no scar.
My stomach turned.
The officer noticed it too.
“Who are you?”
The woman didn't answer.
Instead, she looked directly at Lily.
“You shouldn't have told him.”
Lily buried her face against my leg.
The officer shouted again.
“Hands where I can see them!”
The woman raised her hands.
Then she laughed.
Not Claire's laugh.
Something deeper.
Something wrong.
“You still don't understand, Daniel.”
“Understand what?”
“You were never supposed to come home.”
The lights went out.
Everything became black.
Lily screamed.
I grabbed her.
“Stay with me!”
A gunshot exploded through the hallway.
Then another.
Someone shouted.
I heard furniture crash.
Footsteps.
A struggle.
Then silence.
The emergency lights from outside flickered through the windows.
I could barely see.
“Officer?”
No answer.
“Officer!”
Something touched my shoulder.
I spun around.
The officer was lying on the floor.
Unconscious.
Blood trickled from his forehead.
The other officer was gone.
The woman was gone too.
I grabbed Lily and ran toward the front door.
It was locked again.
“Come on!”
I pulled.
Nothing.
Lily began sobbing.
“Daddy, she knows we're here.”
“I know.”
“She knows.”
“I know!”
I regretted shouting immediately.
Lily flinched.
I dropped to my knees.
“I'm sorry.”
She hugged me.
“I know you're scared.”
I looked toward the hallway.
The storage room door was still open.
The red liquid continued spreading across the floor.
I suddenly remembered Tommy.
I had left him on the couch.
I ran back.
He was gone.
My heart stopped.
“Tommy?”
The couch was empty.
The blue blanket lay on the floor.
I picked it up.
“No.”
I searched the living room.
“Tommy!”
Nothing.
Then I heard a baby crying.
From the storage room.
I turned.
Lily grabbed my shirt.
“Daddy, don't go in there.”
“Tommy is inside.”
“That's what she wants.”
I looked at my daughter.
“How do you know?”
“Because Mommy told me.”
“Tell me everything.”
Lily hesitated.
“She said the room wasn't storage.”
“What is it?”
“A safe place.”
“For who?”
Lily looked at the open doorway.
“For Tommy.”
I stared at the room.
“Why would Tommy need a safe place?”
“Because someone was trying to take him.”
“Who?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
The crying continued.
I stepped inside.
The room smelled like bleach.
There were no boxes.
No old furniture.
No junk.
Instead, there was medical equipment.
A small crib.
Several monitors.
Cables.
Bottles.
Medication.
And dozens of photographs covering the walls.
I walked closer.
The first photograph showed Claire holding Tommy.
The second showed Lily.
The third showed me.
But the photographs became stranger.
There were pictures of our family from years before I had even met Claire.
My father.
My mother.
My brother Michael.
Claire.
All standing together.
I froze.
“Why would Claire know Michael?”
I pulled one photograph from the wall.
On the back was a date.
October 14, 2015.
And underneath:
THE FIRST FAMILY.
I stared at the words.
Lily whispered behind me.
“Daddy?”
“What?”
“That's the picture Mommy told me never to touch.”
I looked at it again.
There was something hidden behind the photograph.
A small envelope.
I pulled it free.
My name was written on the front.
DANIEL REED.
My hands trembled.
I opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
I read the first sentence.
And everything inside me went cold.
If you're reading this, Claire failed to keep you away.
I kept reading.
Daniel, you need to understand that the man you believe is your brother did not disappear six years ago.
My breathing stopped.
Michael was taken.
I looked at Lily.
She was staring at me.
“Taken by who?”
I read the next line.
By your father.
I dropped the paper.
My father had been dead for four years.
That was impossible.
I picked it up again.
The next paragraph was worse.
Your father discovered what Claire and Michael had done. He gave them one choice.
Disappear, or tell Daniel the truth.
My hands shook.
“What truth?”
Then I saw a second sheet.
It contained only one sentence.
Tommy is not your son.
I couldn't breathe.
“No.”
I read it again.
Tommy is not your son.
Lily looked at me.
“Daddy?”
I folded the paper.
“Where did Mommy get these?”
“She said someone gave them to her.”
“Who?”
Lily looked toward the doorway.
Then she whispered:
“Uncle Michael.”
My heart slammed.
“Michael is alive?”
She nodded.
“I saw him.”
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
The room suddenly felt freezing.
“Where?”
Lily pointed at the crib.
“He came through the door.”
“What did he look like?”
She thought for a moment.
“He looked like you.”
I stared at her.
Then I heard something behind me.
A man's voice.
“That's because he is.”
I turned.
A man stood in the doorway.
Older.
Bearded.
Pale.
Wearing my old gray jacket.
The same jacket from the photograph.
I couldn't speak.
He looked at me.
His eyes filled with tears.
“Daniel.”
I took a step backward.
“Michael?”
He nodded.
Lily ran toward him.
“Uncle!”
He caught her.
I stared at them.
“How are you alive?”
Michael looked over his shoulder.
“You don't have much time.”
“Where is my wife?”
His expression changed.
“Claire is dead.”
My chest tightened.
“Who killed her?”
Michael looked at Tommy's empty crib.
Then back at me.
“Your wife wasn't killed.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“She sacrificed herself.”
“For what?”
Michael stepped closer.
“To keep them from finding Tommy.”
“Who are they?”
He looked at the door.
“They're already here.”
A car engine roared outside.
Then another.
Headlights flooded through the windows.
Michael grabbed my arm.
“Take Lily.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
“What about Tommy?”
Michael's face turned pale.
“They already have him.”
I froze.
“What?”
He whispered:
“Tommy was never the target.”
A loud crash came from upstairs.
Michael looked toward the ceiling.
“They came for you.”
Then he shoved the envelope into my hand.
“Read the last page.”
I opened it.
There was only one sentence.
Daniel, if Michael comes back, do not trust him.
I looked up.
Michael was staring at me.
He saw the paper.
His face went white.
“Where did you get that?”
“Claire left it.”
Michael slowly backed away.
“Then she knew.”
“Knew what?”
He didn't answer.
Outside, several car doors slammed.
Men were approaching the house.
Michael looked at me.
And for the first time, I saw fear in my brother's eyes.
“Daniel…”
“What?”
“Claire wasn't warning you about me.”
He pointed toward the ceiling.
“She was warning you about the person who raised you.”
I stared at him.
“My father?”
Michael shook his head.
“No.”
Then he whispered:
“Your mother.”
May you like
My blood turned to ice.
Because my mother had been dead for nineteen years.
