Chapter 4 - The Message
Michael Was Watching Us From Somewhere
I stared at the message until the letters blurred.
Mom saw my face.
“What is it?”
I handed her the phone.
She read it.
Her knees nearly gave out.
Detective Reed came back through the door.
“What's wrong?”
Mom showed him.
He looked at me.
“When did you receive this?”
“Just now.”
He took a photograph of the screen.
“Don't answer it.”
“I wasn't going to.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
Outside, officers searched the parking lot.
No vehicle.
No suspect.
The facility manager checked every camera.
One camera had gone offline three minutes before the lights flickered.
Another had been intentionally turned away from the entrance.
Michael had prepared the facility.
He had prepared the hidden room.
And apparently he had prepared for the possibility that we would find it.
But the worst part wasn't that he was somewhere nearby.
It was that he knew my name.
He knew I was there.
And he knew exactly what we'd opened.
By 7:00 p.m., the storage facility had become a crime scene.
The police took the laptops, the documents, the photographs, the recordings, and nearly every electronic device.
Mom sat in an office with Noah beside her.
He was asleep against her shoulder.
I stood outside.
Daniel came over.
“You okay?”
I laughed once.
It came out wrong.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
I looked at him.
“Why didn't you tell someone about Michael before?”
Daniel stared at his hands.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Michael?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
Daniel took a breath.
“My daughter had an accident last year.”
I waited.
“Nothing serious. Broken arm.”
He looked toward the parking lot.
“Michael visited her at the hospital.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you know him then?”
“No.”
Daniel looked at me.
“He brought flowers.”
That sounded almost normal.
Until he continued.
“There was a card.”
“What did it say?”
Daniel swallowed.
KEEP YOUR FAMILY SAFE.
My skin went cold.
“You thought that was a threat?”
“I didn't know.”
He shook his head.
“Then the next week, someone broke into my truck.”
“What did they take?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Daniel shook his head.
“They moved things around. The glove compartment was open. The seats were pushed back.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was in the glove compartment?”
“A photograph of my daughter.”
He looked at me.
“That was the only thing missing.”
I felt sick.
Michael wasn't controlling only our family.
He had been collecting people.
Studying them.
Watching them.
The police finally allowed us to leave.
Before we did, Detective Reed spoke privately with Mom.
“Sarah, we need to discuss emergency protection.”
Mom nodded.
“From Michael?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“We don't know.”
That answer terrified me more than anything else.
Michael had disappeared.
No arrest.
No phone.
No vehicle.
No explanation.
We went to my aunt's house that night.
It was almost midnight when my mother’s phone rang.
She answered.
Nobody spoke.
Mom looked at the screen.
Then the line disconnected.
“Who was it?”
She shook her head.
“Unknown.”
Thirty seconds later, there was a knock at the door.
Everyone froze.
My aunt whispered,
“Who is it?”
A voice came from outside.
“It's me.”
Male.
Calm.
Familiar.
Michael.
My mother covered her mouth.
I grabbed Noah and pulled him behind me.
Detective Reed wasn't at the house.
We had left it under police supervision, but the officers assigned to us were parked down the street.
My aunt moved toward the door.
“Don't open it.”
Michael spoke again.
“Sarah.”
Mom started crying.
“You don't understand.”
Michael said my name.
“Emily.”
My heart stopped.
“You don't want to make this worse.”
My aunt called 911.
Michael knocked once more.
Then silence.
We heard footsteps.
Then an engine.
The officers arrived within minutes.
They searched the street.
Nothing.
But one officer found something beside the driveway.
A white envelope.
No stamp.
No fingerprints.
Written in black marker:
ELENA IS ALIVE.
My mother nearly fainted.
Detective Reed came shortly afterward.
He read the envelope.
Then he looked at me.
“Emily, I need you to tell me everything Michael has ever said about Elena.”
I tried.
Nothing.
Then I remembered.
One sentence.
A sentence Michael had said almost casually months ago.
“Elena always comes back.”
I told Reed.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“He said Elena always comes back.”
“When?”
“Last Christmas.”
“Why?”
“I asked why he never kept pictures from his first marriage.”
“What did he say?”
“He said…”
I swallowed.
“He said, ‘Because dead things don't stay buried when they're angry.’”
Reed stared at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
My mother whispered,
“Why didn't you tell me that before?”
“I didn't think it meant anything.”
Neither did we.
Not then.
Now every sentence Michael had ever spoken seemed to have another meaning underneath it.
The next morning, Detective Reed showed us a photograph.
A woman standing outside an apartment building.
Brown hair.
Thin.
Older than the woman in Michael's wedding photograph.
Alive.
“Is this Elena?”
Mom stared at the picture.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
My heart pounded.
“Where is she?”
The detective looked at us.
“She contacted us two hours ago.”
“What did she say?”
“She wants to meet.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“Where?”
“A public place.”
Mom looked terrified.
“Why?”
Reed hesitated.
“Because she says she knows what Michael really wanted.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
He looked directly at me.
“She says Noah was never the target.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then who was?”
May you like
Detective Reed answered softly.
“You.”
