Chapter 10 - Lucy Knew More Than a Nine-Year-Old ShouldThe little girl with $2.17 had walked into the diner carrying a secret worth millions.
The gun was shaking in Lucy's hands.
I froze.
“Lucy.”
She looked terrified.
“I don't want to shoot you.”
“Put it down.”
“I can't.”
Michael moved.
“Don't.”
The gun pointed toward him.
Michael stopped.
“Lucy, listen to me.”
“You lied.”
“I know.”
“You told my mom nobody could find us.”
“I was wrong.”
She looked at me.
“You're my father.”
The words were barely audible.
I nodded.
“I am.”
“Mom said I shouldn't believe you.”
“Your mom was trying to keep you safe.”
“Rebecca said you're different.”
I looked at my wife.
“You told her?”
Rebecca nodded.
“I had to.”
Lucy lowered the gun.
I took one step.
Then another.
She dropped it.
I caught her before she fell.
She was trembling.
“I heard them talking.”
“Who?”
“Uncle Michael.”
Michael closed his eyes.
“What did you hear?”
“He said Evan was still alive.”
Rebecca stepped forward.
Lucy nodded.
“He's under Saint Agnes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Mom took me there once.”
Michael looked at me.
“Why would Hannah do that?”
Lucy answered instead.
“She wanted me to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“My brother.”
Nobody moved.
“What brother?” I asked.
Lucy looked confused.
“Evan.”
I stared.
“You've met him?”
“When I was little.”
“You remember him?”
“He used to sing to me.”
Rebecca covered her mouth.
“How old were you?”
“Three.”
My blood ran cold.
She remembered.
Three years old.
The same age as Rebecca's supposed death.
The same period hidden inside my father's records.
“What happened to him?”
Lucy swallowed.
“He gave Mom a key.”
“What key?”
She reached into her coat.
A small brass key.
She handed it to me.
“There was a room under the church.”
I stared at it.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You didn't ask.”
That little sentence hurt.
We left immediately.
At Saint Agnes, the underground entrance was beneath an old chapel.
The key opened a rusted iron gate.
We descended.
The walls were covered with children's drawings.
Hundreds.
Names.
Dates.
Some crossed out.
Some marked with red circles.
At the end of the tunnel was a locked room.
Inside was a bed.
A desk.
Stacks of medical files.
And an old television.
The screen suddenly turned on.
A man appeared.
Seventeen years old.
Green eyes.
My eyes.
Evan.
“Daniel.”
I stepped closer.
“This is a recording.”
Evan looked directly into the camera.
“If you're watching this, it means Rebecca found you.”
I looked at her.
Evan continued.
“My name is Evan Mercer.”
He paused.
“And I'm not your son.”
The room went silent.
A second video appeared.
It showed Thomas Mercer.
My father.
Alive.
Standing beside a newborn baby.
Then he looked directly at the camera.
“The boy is Daniel's biological son.”
I stared.
“Then why did Evan say he's not?”
Rebecca's face had gone white.
The recording continued.
“Because the boy you know as Evan Mercer is actually Michael's son.”
I turned slowly toward my brother.
Michael was crying.
For the first time in my life, I saw fear in his face.
May you like
Not fear of death.
Fear of the truth.
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