Chapter 3 - The House Without a NumberWe found the emergency door open.
No one was there.
But muddy footprints crossed the hallway.
Adult-sized.
Fresh.
Heading toward the back parking lot.
Bennett drew his weapon.
"Nobody leaves."
Too late.
The man was already gone.
Or maybe he wanted us to think that.
I ordered officers to search the building.
Nothing.
No intruder.
No cameras disabled.
No fingerprints that made immediate sense.
Only one thing was missing.
Ryan Carter.
The interrogation room was empty.
His handcuffs lay on the floor.
I stared at them.
"There were two officers outside this door."
Bennett looked pale.
"I know."
"Then how did he leave?"
Nobody answered.
Evan was still in the interview room.
I went back to him.
He had curled himself into the corner.
"Did Ryan come in here?"
He shook his head.
"Then who took him?"
His eyes widened.
"They're going to come back."
"Who?"
"The people my dad was running from."
"Who are they?"
"I don't know their names."
"Then tell me what you know."
Evan stared at the floor.
"They wear black."
That wasn't enough.
"What do they want?"
"The key."
I held it up.
"Why?"
"Because Dad said it opens the place where everything started."
The old Miller house.
We drove there with three patrol cars.
The address led us to a narrow road outside town.
The property had supposedly been destroyed in a fire years ago.
But when we arrived, the house wasn't burned down.
It stood behind a line of dead trees.
Two stories.
Dark windows.
No number on the mailbox.
No lights.
No signs anyone lived there.
I stepped out of the car.
My childhood memories came rushing back.
The porch.
The cracked stone steps.
The old oak tree.
Daniel and I used to race through that yard.
Then the memories stopped.
Because this was not how I remembered it.
There had been a fire.
I remembered the smoke.
The sirens.
My mother screaming Daniel's name.
Yet the house stood untouched.
Bennett looked at me.
"You okay?"
"No."
We approached the front door.
It was unlocked.
Inside, the air smelled old.
Dust covered every surface.
Except one.
A hallway mirror.
Someone had recently wiped away the dust.
On the glass, written with a finger, was one word.
JACK.
My stomach twisted.
We searched the first floor.
Nothing.
Then Evan spoke.
"Downstairs."
"There isn't a basement," I said.
He shook his head.
"Yes, there is."
He walked toward the kitchen.
Tapped the floor.
"Here."
Bennett and I exchanged looks.
We lifted the rug.
Underneath was a square wooden hatch.
My hands went cold.
There was no visible handle.
Just a brass keyhole.
The key in my pocket felt suddenly heavy.
I inserted it.
Turned.
A hidden mechanism clicked.
The floor opened.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
Bennett raised his flashlight.
We went down.
The basement was larger than the house above it.
Much larger.
Concrete walls.
Steel doors.
Old electrical wires.
And photographs.
Hundreds of them.
Pinned across the walls.
People.
Families.
Children.
Men.
Women.
Some photographs were decades old.
Others were recent.
I stepped closer to one.
My heart stopped.
It was me.
Taken three months earlier.
Outside the police station.
Another showed me entering my apartment.
Another showed me at my mother's grave.
Someone had been watching me for months.
I looked at Evan.
He was staring at a wall at the far end of the room.
"That's where Dad was."
We moved toward it.
There were scratches on the concrete.
A metal cot.
Chains.
Bloodstains.
My jaw clenched.
Daniel had been held here.
For how long?
A sound came from behind the wall.
Three taps.
Then silence.
Three taps again.
I froze.
"Did you hear that?"
Evan nodded.
I touched the wall.
Another three knocks came from the other side.
Bennett whispered, "There's a room behind it."
We searched for a door.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the brass keyhole.
Not on a door.
On the wall.
I inserted the key.
Turned.
A hidden panel slid open.
Behind it was a small room.
Empty.
Except for a wooden chair.
And a single cassette recorder.
I pressed play.
Static.
Then a voice.
My brother's voice.
"If Jack finds this, he's already in danger."
I couldn't breathe.
Daniel continued.
"Do not trust the police."
The recording crackled.
"Especially the person who tells you I am dead."
The tape stopped.
Bennett stared at me.
I stared back.
Then the recorder clicked on again.
Daniel whispered:
"Jack, I'm sorry."
A pause.
Then:
"The man you're looking for is not Ryan Carter."
May you like
The lights in the basement suddenly went out.
And from somewhere in the darkness came the sound of a door locking.
