Chapter 12 - The ListI drove directly to my friend's house.
Lily and Noah were safe.
I hugged them until they complained.
Then I locked every door.
I called the police.
I called Robert.
I called Daniel.
Nobody had answers.
Finally, Mom called.
I almost didn't answer.
"Where are you?"
"Safe."
"Are the children with you?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Mom, Dad is alive."
Silence.
Then a broken whisper.
"I know."
I closed my eyes.
"You knew?"
"I found out three months ago."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because he told me not to."
"Why?"
"Because the person hunting him was also watching you."
I looked at my children.
"Then why did you treat me like that Friday?"
Mom started crying.
"I knew they were listening."
"What?"
"The sleeping bags."
I said nothing.
"Claire, Amanda and I had cameras in the house."
My stomach turned.
"They were watching?"
"Not us."
"Who?"
"Victor."
"Why didn't you get rid of them?"
"Because if we tried, he'd know."
"Mom, you humiliated me in front of my children."
"I know."
"You could have told me."
"I couldn't."
"You could have warned me."
"I thought you would leave."
"You wanted me to leave?"
"Yes."
I stared.
"Why?"
"Because I needed you away from the house before they arrived."
My anger shifted.
"You knew they were coming?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Victor."
"And Amanda?"
"She was trying to stop him."
I didn't know what to believe anymore.
Mom whispered:
"The list is in your father's study."
"My father's old house?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He told me you'd find it there."
I thought of the desk.
"The list wasn't in the desk."
"No."
"Where is it?"
"In the wall."
I froze.
"What wall?"
"The one behind his bookshelf."
I remembered it.
The bookshelf that never moved.
I suddenly realized something.
Dad had always kept one section slightly crooked.
I had assumed it was old.
Maybe it wasn't.
I called the current owner.
He agreed to let me search the room.
That night, I returned.
Behind the bookshelf was a narrow compartment.
Inside was a metal box.
The box contained a handwritten list.
Twenty-three names.
Every family member invited to Thanksgiving.
Some were marked.
Some weren't.
Three names had red circles.
Amanda.
Mom.
And one more.
I stared at the third name.
It belonged to someone I had never suspected.
Someone who had been helping me.
Someone whose phone number was in my contacts.
Someone I had called almost every day since leaving Mom's house.
Robert Hale.
My father's attorney.
My heart stopped.
Under his name were two words.
THE ORGANIZER.
Then I heard a floorboard creak behind me.
I turned.
No one.
But the wall clock had stopped.
At exactly 11:47.
A minute later, my phone buzzed.
Robert.
Don't trust your mother.
I stared at the message.
Then another arrived.
From Mom.
Don't trust Robert.
I looked at the list.
Three names.
May you like
Three different versions of the truth.
And somewhere between them was the person who had controlled my family for eight years.
