Chapter 2 - THREE KNOCKS
I carried Perrin downstairs while calling the police.
He refused to let go of me.
Every few seconds he looked behind us.
“She'll come back.”
“Who?”
“Rhea.”
“Why?”
“Because she knows where Mom is.”
I stopped walking.
“Perrin, look at me.”
His wet eyes met mine.
“Tell me everything.”
He shook his head.
“She said Daddy would never believe me.”
My stomach twisted.
“What else did she say?”
“That Mom was bad.”
My jaw clenched.
“Your mother was never bad.”
Perrin stared at me.
“She said Mom wanted to take you away.”
I suddenly remembered something.
Six years ago, Elise had called me from the airport.
She had been crying.
I remembered her exact words.
“Evan, something is wrong.”
Then the call had ended.
Hours later, police told me her car had gone over a bridge.
They found the vehicle.
They found blood.
They never found her body.
I had convinced myself that was enough.
But now I wondered.
Had it ever been enough?
The police arrived.
Rhea was gone.
Officers searched the house but found no sign of her.
Then Perrin pulled my sleeve.
“Dad.”
“What?”
He pointed toward the library.
“There.”
We followed him.
He walked straight to a bookshelf.
He touched the third shelf.
“Mom showed me this.”
I pulled the books aside.
Nothing.
Then Perrin pressed one small finger against the wood.
A click sounded.
The bookshelf shifted.
Behind it was a narrow passage.
My hands went cold.
One officer raised his flashlight.
The passage descended beneath the house.
At the bottom was a steel door.
There were scratches on it.
From the inside.
I opened it.
The room beyond was empty.
Except for a wooden chair.
A blanket.
A glass of water.
And a photograph.
I picked it up.
It showed Elise.
Alive.
Standing in a room I had never seen.
On the back was written one sentence.
IF EVAN FINDS THIS, RHEA ALREADY KNOWS.
Perrin began crying.
“Dad…”
“What?”
“She said we couldn't let Rhea find Mom.”
I turned toward the officers.
“Search every inch of this property.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
I heard breathing.
Then a woman's voice.
Weak.
Terrified.
“Evan?”
I dropped the photograph.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it in my dreams for six years.
“Elise?”
A pause.
Then she whispered:
“Don't trust the police.”
May you like
The call ended.
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