Chapter 4 - The Man in the DarkQuinn switched on a flashlight.
The room was empty.
My father wasn't there.
Nathan stood beside the bathroom door.
My mother was pressed against the wall.
The only other sound was rain striking the window.
“Did you hear it?” I asked.
Quinn nodded.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
He checked the room.
Closet.
Bathroom.
Under the bed.
Nothing.
Then Nathan pointed at the television.
“The screen.”
The television was on.
Static crawled across it.
Then a video appeared.
Black and white.
Grainy.
A bedroom.
My bedroom.
Years ago.
I was twelve.
I was sitting on the floor beside my piano.
Nathan was playing with toy soldiers.
My mother entered.
She carried the old piano bench.
She opened it.
Inside was a black ledger.
She looked around.
Then she hid it.
The video stopped.
Nobody moved.
“That camera was in my room,” I said.
Quinn stared at the screen.
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“For how long?”
“I don't know.”
The television suddenly displayed another clip.
My father entered the room.
He stared directly at the camera.
Not at me.
At the camera.
He walked toward it.
Then smiled.
The screen went black.
A single sentence appeared.
HE HAS BEEN WATCHING YOU FOR YEARS.
Nathan stepped back.
“This isn't real.”
“It is,” Quinn said.
My mother covered her face.
I looked at her.
“You knew.”
She shook her head.
“I knew there were cameras.”
“You never told us.”
“Your father said they were for security.”
“Inside our bedrooms?”
“I was afraid.”
I stared at her.
“Afraid of him?”
She nodded.
Then Quinn's phone rang.
He answered.
“Park.”
He listened.
His face became expressionless.
Then he said, “Send me the file.”
The call ended.
“What happened?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“Your father just filed a police report.”
“Against us?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“Kidnapping.”
Nathan almost laughed.
“Kidnapping who?”
Quinn looked at my mother.
“Him.”
My mother stood.
“What?”
“He says we abducted you.”
I stared at him.
“I'm an adult.”
“I know.”
“Then why would he say that?”
Quinn's phone buzzed.
A file arrived.
He opened it.
There was a photograph.
My father sitting in our living room.
His face was bruised.
His shirt torn.
Below the image was a statement accusing Quinn of assault.
Nathan stared.
“He did that himself.”
Quinn looked at me.
“Most likely.”
“Can he really get away with this?”
“He doesn't need to get away with it.”
“What?”
“He only needs to make the first story believable.”
I understood.
He was building a narrative.
He would call me unstable.
He would call Quinn dangerous.
He would call my mother confused.
Nathan unreliable.
Then he'd bury the truth under paperwork.
My father had spent his whole life understanding systems.
And he knew how to weaponize them.
Quinn stood.
“We need the ledger.”
“The piano bench.”
He nodded.
“We go back.”
My mother grabbed my wrist.
“No.”
“Mom.”
“He will be there.”
“I know.”
“He wants you to go back.”
“Then why?”
“Because the bench isn't where I left it.”
She reached into her bag.
She pulled out a photograph.
It showed my childhood bedroom.
The piano.
The bench.
And the wall behind it.
I stared.
There was a small square in the wall.
A hidden compartment.
“What is that?”
She whispered.
“Your grandfather's second hiding place.”
Quinn studied the photo.
“That's not in the room anymore.”
“What?”
“The wall was renovated.”
My mother shook her head.
“No.”
Quinn looked again.
Then he noticed something.
A shadow beneath the piano.
A metal plate.
He pointed.
“What's that?”
My mother didn't know.
Nathan did.
“I've seen it.”
“When?”
“When Dad moved the piano.”
He swallowed.
“There was a cable connected to it.”
Quinn's eyes narrowed.
“Then we're not looking for a ledger.”
“What are we looking for?”
He looked at me.
“A server.”
My blood ran cold.
“A server containing what?”
Quinn answered slowly.
“Everything your father believed was hidden.”
We returned to the Mercer house at 3:12 a.m.
The gates were open.
The front door was unlocked.
Every light inside was on.
Too bright.
Too quiet.
Then the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed.
Three times.
My mother stopped breathing.
The clock hands moved.
For the first time in twelve years.
May you like
They pointed to 3:17.
And from somewhere beneath the house came a deep mechanical hum.
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