Chapter 3 - SIX DAYS IN THE DARK
Celia did not sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the padlock click again.
The sound had been small.
Almost polite.
That was what frightened her most.
Doreen had not screamed when she imprisoned her.
She had not lost control.
She had calmly stepped outside, pulled the swollen wooden door closed, and locked it as though she were securing a garden tool.
Six days earlier, Celia had gone to the Mercer house because she wanted an explanation.
She had not planned a confrontation.
She had planned to show Doreen the photocopy and ask a simple question.
Why was Abram’s signature on a property transfer he had never signed?
Celia had discovered the document by accident.
A courier had delivered an envelope to their house while Abram was away inspecting a construction project.
The envelope was addressed to Abram.
Celia normally would have left it on his desk.
But someone had already sliced the envelope open.
Then someone had resealed it with clear tape.
That bothered her.
She removed the papers.
The first document was a notice regarding a transfer of thirty-two acres of Mercer land.
The second was a preliminary sale agreement.
The third carried Abram’s signature.
Celia had been married to Abram for five years.
She had watched him sign mortgage documents.
Birthday cards.
Checks.
Contracts.
Her prenatal forms.
The signature on that page looked almost perfect.
Almost.
The final curve of the M was wrong.
Celia photographed everything.
Then she drove to Doreen’s house.
Doreen was pruning roses when Celia arrived.
She looked up.
“You should not be driving this late in your pregnancy.”
It was four in the afternoon.
Celia ignored the comment.
“I need to ask you about something.”
Doreen wiped her gardening shears with a cloth.
“Of course.”
Inside the kitchen, Celia placed the photocopy on the table.
Doreen looked at it for less than two seconds.
Then she smiled.
“Where did you get this?”
“It came to our house.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Celia felt the first chill.
“Abram didn’t sign it.”
Doreen poured herself water.
“He did.”
“No.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“I know my husband’s signature.”
Doreen took a sip.
“How fortunate for Abram that he married a handwriting expert.”
Celia kept her voice even.
“I called the county clerk.”
That stopped Doreen.
Celia saw it.
Only for a second.
But she saw it.
“What did you tell them?”
“I asked whether the deed had been recorded.”
Doreen set down the glass.
“You had no right.”
“I’m his wife.”
“You are his wife.”
Doreen emphasized the word as though marriage were a temporary employment contract.
“You are not a Mercer trustee.”
“What trustee?”
Doreen’s expression changed.
Celia realized she had said too much.
“What trustee, Doreen?”
Doreen walked around the table.
“You’re tired.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You’re emotional.”
“I’m not emotional.”
“You’re seven months pregnant.”
“Thirty-one weeks.”
“That hardly makes a difference.”
“It makes a difference to me.”
Doreen reached for the paper.
Celia moved it away.
Doreen’s eyes narrowed.
“Give me that.”
“No.”
“Celia.”
“No.”
Doreen stared at her.
Then the front door opened.
Celia heard footsteps.
A man entered the hallway.
Doreen immediately changed.
Her face softened.
Her voice lowered.
“I told you not to come here.”
The man remained out of Celia’s view.
Celia turned.
Doreen grabbed her wrist.
Celia gasped.
“Let go.”
The man said something from the hallway.
“What is she doing here?”
Celia tried to see him.
Doreen pushed her toward the back door.
“You’re leaving.”
“Who is that?”
“No one.”
“Doreen.”
Celia pulled free.
The man stepped backward before Celia could see his face.
She heard a door close.
Doreen grabbed her handbag.
Celia tried to take it back.
“What are you doing?”
“You are leaving.”
“Give me my bag.”
“You need to calm down.”
“I am calm.”
Doreen removed Celia’s phone.
Celia stared at her.
“Give that back.”
Doreen put the phone into her pocket.
Then she smiled.
It was the same smile Doreen used at Christmas photographs.
Perfectly composed.
Completely empty.
“You’ve always had difficulty understanding boundaries.”
Celia stepped backward.
“I’m calling Abram.”
“With what?”
Celia turned toward the door.
Doreen grabbed her arm.
Celia jerked free.
She stumbled into the kitchen island.
Pain shot through her hip.
The baby moved sharply.
Celia placed a hand against her stomach.
Doreen watched.
For one second, Celia thought the sight might shock her into stopping.
It did not.
Doreen opened the back door.
“Come outside.”
“No.”
“Your phone is in the shed.”
Celia stared at her.
“What?”
“You want it?”
Doreen walked outside.
Celia should have stayed in the kitchen.
She knew that now.
But at the time, she thought Doreen wanted privacy from the unknown man.
She followed.
The rain had not started yet.
The backyard smelled like cut grass.
Doreen stopped beside the shed.
“Your phone is inside.”
Celia did not move.
“Why?”
“Because I put it there.”
“Bring it to me.”
Doreen laughed softly.
“Afraid of a garden shed?”
Celia looked toward the house.
The kitchen door was still open.
She stepped inside the shed.
“Where is it?”
Doreen stood behind her.
“Top shelf.”
Celia looked upward.
There was no phone.
She turned.
Doreen sprayed something into her face.
Celia screamed.
The world blurred.
Her knees failed.
The last thing she remembered was Doreen catching one of her arms.
When Celia woke, the shed was dark.
Her head throbbed.
Her tongue felt too large for her mouth.
She tried to stand.
Her legs folded underneath her.
She crawled toward the door.
Locked.
She screamed until her throat burned.
No one answered.
At first, Celia believed Doreen would return within an hour.
Maybe two.
Maybe Doreen only wanted time to destroy the papers.
By nightfall, Celia understood.
Doreen intended to keep her there.
There were two bottles of water beside the back wall.
Three protein bars had been placed on an overturned crate.
Not enough.
Just enough to prove preparation.
On the second day, Doreen opened the door.
Celia had rushed toward her.
Doreen raised a wooden garden pole.
“Stay back.”
“Let me out.”
“Not yet.”
“Abram will come looking for me.”
“He already has.”
Celia froze.
Doreen held up Celia’s phone.
“I told him you needed space.”
“You’re insane.”
Doreen’s face hardened.
“Be careful.”
“My husband will never believe you.”
“He already does.”
Doreen showed her the screen.
A message had been sent from Celia’s phone.
I need a few days alone.
Please don’t come after me.
Celia stared at it.
“You sent that.”
Doreen shrugged.
“Abram responded.”
The reply appeared beneath it.
I love you.
Please tell me you’re safe.
Celia began crying.
Doreen watched without expression.
“You see how easy it is?”
“Please.”
“Where is the copy?”
Celia looked up.
“What?”
“The photographs.”
Celia realized.
Doreen did not know she had uploaded the images automatically.
Celia had an encrypted cloud folder Abram did not even know existed.
She used it for freelance design work.
“I deleted them.”
Doreen studied her.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
Doreen stepped inside.
Celia backed away.
Doreen searched her dress pockets.
Nothing.
Then she looked around the shed.
“What else did you touch?”
“Nothing.”
Doreen’s eyes moved toward the chained cabinet.
Celia followed her gaze.
That was the first time Celia noticed it.
Doreen noticed her noticing.
The older woman’s expression changed.
“Stay away from that.”
Then she left.
On the third day, Celia heard voices.
Doreen.
And a man.
They stood just outside the shed.
Celia crawled toward the wall.
The wood was thin enough to hear pieces.
“You were supposed to destroy everything.”
The man sounded furious.
Doreen answered.
“I destroyed what mattered.”
“You said that seven years ago.”
“This is different.”
“Her husband is asking questions.”
“My son asks whatever questions I allow him to ask.”
The man laughed bitterly.
“You’re losing control.”
Doreen’s voice became low.
“I never lose control.”
“What about Elias?”
Silence.
Then Doreen answered.
“Elias became sentimental.”
“And what happened to him?”
“You know exactly what happened.”
Celia covered her mouth.
The man spoke again.
“If Felix ever sees those records—”
“He won’t.”
“And Abram?”
“He still believes his father died where I told him he died.”
The conversation moved away.
Celia sat in the darkness.
Her entire body shook.
That afternoon, she searched the shed.
She found a loose screw beneath the shelving.
She used it to loosen the back panel of an old radio.
Inside was a small digital recorder.
Its battery was almost dead.
Celia pressed record.
Then she slid it beneath a gap near the chained cabinet.
She did not know whether Doreen would return.
She only knew she needed something.
Evidence.
A voice.
Proof that she had not imagined this.
On the fourth day, Doreen brought water.
Celia asked about the baby.
Doreen stared at her stomach.
“If you had stayed out of family business, you would be sleeping comfortably at home.”
Celia felt sick.
“You’re punishing my child.”
“I’m protecting mine.”
“Abram is thirty-eight.”
“He will always be my son.”
“He’ll hate you.”
Doreen smiled.
“He has forgiven me for everything I have ever done.”
“You’ve never done this.”
Doreen’s smile disappeared.
“You have no idea what I’ve done.”
Then she closed the door.
On the fifth day, Celia began scratching the wood.
She used the loose screw.
She carved near the bottom edge until her fingers bled.
She pushed part of her dress beneath the door.
She prayed someone would see it.
On the sixth morning, she heard Abram’s voice in the yard.
She thought she was hallucinating.
Then Doreen shouted.
“Don’t open that door!”
Celia began scratching.
Weakly.
Desperately.
And finally, someone heard her.
Now she lay in the hospital with Abram beside her.
She had finished telling him everything.
Abram had not interrupted once.
When Celia stopped speaking, the room was silent except for the fetal monitor.
Abram looked down at their joined hands.
“My mother planned it.”
Celia nodded.
“She had water ready.”
“She had food.”
“Yes.”
“She knew how long she wanted to keep you there.”
“I think she planned to move me.”
Abram looked up sharply.
“What?”
“On the fifth night, I heard her talking on the phone.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘Tomorrow night is too late.’”
Celia swallowed.
“Then she said, ‘Get the car ready.’”
Abram stood.
His face had gone pale.
“Where was she going to take you?”
“I don’t know.”
Abram walked toward the door.
Celia called his name.
He stopped.
“Don’t go after her.”
“I need answers.”
“No.”
Celia’s voice trembled.
“You need evidence.”
Abram turned.
“She has spent her whole life making people angry enough to look guilty.”
Celia looked directly at him.
“That slap in the yard?”
Abram said nothing.
“She’ll use it.”
“I know.”
“That is how she wins.”
Abram slowly returned to the chair.
Celia tightened her fingers around his.
“We don’t beat her by becoming what she says we are.”
Abram looked at his wife.
“What do we do?”
Celia glanced toward the hallway.
“We find the man who was outside the shed.”
At that exact moment, Abram’s phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Hello?”
No one spoke.
Abram looked at the screen.
The call remained connected.
Then a man whispered.
“You opened Elias’s box.”
Abram stood.
“Who is this?”
“You should have listened to your mother.”
“Who are you?”
The man exhaled slowly.
Then he said something that made Abram’s blood freeze.
“Ask Felix where your father really died.”
The call ended.
Abram turned toward the window.
Celia watched him.
“What did he say?”
Abram looked toward the hallway where his brother was waiting.
May you like
For the first time in his life, Abram wondered whether Felix had been lying too.
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