Chapter 2 - The Boy in the PhotographI didn't sleep.

Not that night.

Not the next.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Maria bleeding across my grandmother's shattered mirror.

But the message about Noah was worse.

Whoever sent it knew exactly what to threaten.

The problem was that I didn't know where the boy was.

Maria had told me he was staying with a neighbor.

I asked the hospital to keep her location confidential.

Then, at six in the morning, I drove to the house she had described.

It was a small blue bungalow tucked behind an apartment complex in Pasadena.

An elderly woman opened the door.

She recognized Maria's name immediately.

But when I asked about Noah, her expression changed.

"He isn't here."

"Where is he?"

She hesitated.

Then she closed the door.

I knocked again.

"Mrs. Alvarez, I'm Maria's employer. She's in the hospital."

The chain slid aside.

She opened the door halfway.

"Maria told me never to let anyone take him."

"Who?"

"Anyone."

"Did Vanessa come here?"

The old woman's eyes widened.

She didn't answer.

That was enough.

"When?"

"Last night."

My stomach dropped.

"What happened?"

"She said she was Maria's sister."

"She's not."

"I know that now."

"Where's Noah?"

Mrs. Alvarez looked down.

"He ran."

"When?"

"Before midnight."

"Did he take anything?"

She nodded.

"A backpack."

"Anything else?"

"A photograph."

I leaned forward.

"What photograph?"

She disappeared into the house.

When she returned, she held a torn strip of paper.

It was part of an old photograph.

I took it.

My hands went cold.

The picture showed three people.

Andrew.

Maria.

And a little boy.

Noah.

But that wasn't what made me stop.

Behind them was a cabin.

And standing beside the cabin was a fourth person.

A woman.

Her face had been torn away.

Only her hand remained visible.

On her wrist was a distinctive silver bracelet.

I had seen that bracelet before.

On Vanessa.

I looked at Mrs. Alvarez.

"Where did you get this?"

"The boy left it."

"Did he say anything?"

She shook her head.

"He said one thing."

"What?"

"He said, 'My father told me never to trust a woman wearing silver.'"

I stared at the photograph.

"Where would he get that idea?"

"I don't know."

I stepped outside.

My phone rang.

Vanessa.

I let it ring.

Then a voicemail arrived.

Her voice was soft.

Almost affectionate.

"Alex, you're frightening yourself over nothing. Maria is unstable. She has been lying to people for years."

I deleted it.

Another message appeared.

You have the photograph.

I stopped walking.

Nobody knew I had it.

Another message.

Take it to Room 217.

I looked at the brass key in my pocket.

Room 217.

The motel.

I drove there immediately.

The building was almost empty.

Room 217 was on the second floor.

The lock opened with the brass key.

Inside was darkness.

The curtains were drawn.

The room smelled of cigarettes and cold coffee.

There was a bed.

A table.

A television.

And a metal case.

I opened it.

Inside were files.

Bank transfers.

Passport copies.

Photographs.

A birth certificate.

Andrew's name appeared on several documents.

Then I saw another name.

Vanessa Cole.

My fiancée.

My future wife.

I pulled out a photograph.

Andrew was standing outside a restaurant.

Vanessa stood beside him.

They were laughing.

The date was six years ago.

Three weeks before the boating accident.

My hands started shaking.

Andrew and Vanessa had known each other before I met her.

That was not impossible.

But then I found a second photograph.

Then a third.

Then a fourth.

Vanessa entering the same hotel.

Andrew leaving the same hotel.

A photograph of Vanessa holding Andrew's hand.

And finally, a handwritten note.

The brother knows nothing. Keep it that way.

My blood went cold.

A floorboard creaked behind me.

I spun around.

Nobody.

Then the television switched on.

Static filled the room.

The screen flickered.

A video began playing.

Andrew appeared.

Older.

Thinner.

Alive.

He looked directly into the camera.

"If you're watching this, Alex, Maria has failed to protect Noah."

I froze.

Andrew continued.

"Don't trust Vanessa."

The screen went black.

Then a gunshot exploded somewhere outside the room.

I dropped to the floor.

A bullet shattered the window.

I crawled behind the bed.

Another shot.

Then footsteps thundered down the corridor.

I waited.

Silence.

When I finally stood, something lay on the floor beneath the window.

A spent bullet.

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