Chapter 4 - No one spoke during the drive.Rain hammered the windshield.
The road became narrower as they left the city.
Detective Harris drove.
Daniel sat beside him.
Claire sat in the back, staring at the photograph.
The little girl could not have been older than eight.
Her face was partially hidden by Emily's shoulder.
But there was something familiar about her.
Claire finally spoke.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“Your wife didn't tell me who the girl was.”
“Did she tell you anything?”
“No.”
Claire looked down at the photograph.
“She only said one thing.”
“What?”
“Do not let them find the child.”
Daniel gripped the dashboard.
“Who is they?”
“I don't know.”
Harris glanced at them through the mirror.
“We'll know soon.”
The farmhouse appeared between the trees.
Its windows were boarded.
The roof was collapsing.
A rusted gate hung open.
Daniel stared at the property.
“I haven't been here in twelve years.”
“Why did your father own it?” Harris asked.
“He used it for storage.”
“Storage of what?”
Daniel shook his head.
“My father had businesses I knew nothing about.”
They entered.
The air smelled of dust and damp wood.
Claire walked slowly through the hallway.
“This place feels wrong.”
Daniel stopped.
He looked toward a staircase.
“When I was fifteen, my father used to lock that door.”
He pointed.
“There.”
At the end of the hall stood a steel door.
Harris tried the handle.
Locked.
Daniel stepped closer.
Claire touched his arm.
“Wait.”
She crouched.
Something was carved into the floor.
Three letters.
E.W.
Daniel stared.
Emily's initials.
Claire pulled out the brass key from her pocket.
Daniel looked at her.
“You had it.”
Claire nodded.
“Emily gave this to me.”
She inserted the key into the lock.
Click.
The door opened.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
Harris drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
They moved down.
At the bottom was a concrete room.
Rows of metal cabinets covered the walls.
Folders.
Hard drives.
Photographs.
And dozens of sealed envelopes.
Daniel walked toward the nearest cabinet.
A label read:
WHITMORE FAMILY MEDICAL FILES.
He opened the drawer.
Inside were records dating back twenty years.
Harris pulled one folder.
“Emily.”
He opened it.
Daniel stared.
The file contained hospital records for his wife.
Except the dates were wrong.
“Emily was admitted here?”
“No,” Daniel said.
“She was twelve.”
“That wasn't possible.”
Claire took the file.
“She was treated for poisoning.”
Daniel stared.
“What?”
Claire flipped the page.
“Unknown substance. Severe neurological suppression. Temporary unconsciousness.”
“Who treated her?”
Claire looked at the doctor's signature.
Her face changed.
“Dr. Adrian Shaw.”
Daniel's stomach tightened.
The same doctor currently treating Emily.
Harris looked around.
“So the doctor who treated her as a child is now treating her again.”
Daniel pulled open another drawer.
More files.
Emily.
Daniel.
Their parents.
Their finances.
Their medical histories.
Everything.
Someone had been monitoring the family for decades.
Then Claire found a folder labeled:
SUBJECT 17.
She opened it.
Inside were photographs of the same little girl from the funeral picture.
Claire stared.
“She's not Emily's daughter.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Then who is she?”
Claire turned the page.
A birth certificate.
Mother: unknown.
Father: Adrian Shaw.
Daniel's face went blank.
“The doctor?”
Claire nodded.
“But there's more.”
She showed him the next page.
The little girl's name.
Lena Shaw.
Age eight.
Status:
DECEASED.
Date of death:
Two years earlier.
Daniel whispered, “She's alive.”
The room seemed to get colder.
Harris took the file.
“Why would someone fake her death?”
A sound came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
They all froze.
Harris raised his gun.
Another step.
Then another.
Someone was walking across the farmhouse floor.
Daniel whispered:
“There's no way anyone should know we're here.”
Claire looked at the open file.
Then at the stairs.
A shadow appeared beneath the doorway.
Harris raised his weapon.
“Police. Stay where you are.”
No answer.
The shadow moved.
Then a man stepped into view.
He was older.
Gray hair.
Thin face.
Daniel stopped breathing.
He knew that face.
He had seen it on photographs taken twelve years ago.
His father's face.
The dead man's face.
The stranger smiled.
“You finally opened the door.”
Daniel whispered:
“You're dead.”
The man smiled wider.
“That's what I paid everyone to believe.”
Then he looked at Claire.
“And you're the maid who broke the coffin.”
May you like
His smile vanished.
“You weren't supposed to survive tonight.”
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