“From what?”
Sharon looked toward the hallway.
Then she said:
“From the people who are looking for Tobias.”
I felt a coldness spread through my body.
“People are still looking for him?”
She nodded.
“And they know about the storage unit?”
“I think so.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at her.
Then my phone buzzed.
A text message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
There was only one sentence.
YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE OPENED 214.
Underneath it was a photograph.
A photograph of the storage unit.
Taken that afternoon.
Taken from inside.
I looked at Sharon.
She saw the screen.
Her face changed.
“Tom,” she whispered.
“What?”
“That’s not possible.”
“Why?”
She pointed at the photograph.
“The bed.”
I looked again.
The bed was visible.
The blue bicycle was beside it.
The quilt was folded on the chair.
But there was something else.
Something I hadn’t noticed.
A small figure was standing in the far corner.
A boy.
Ten years old, maybe.
Thin.
Dark hair.
Wearing a gray sweatshirt.
And looking directly at the camera.
I zoomed in.
My hands began to shake.
The boy had one hand pressed against the wall.
And on his wrist was a hospital bracelet.
I looked at Sharon.
“Where is he?”
She was crying.
“I don’t know.”
Then my phone buzzed again.
Another message.
This time, there was no photograph.
Only five words.
ASK YOUR BROTHER ABOUT JUNE.
PART 4
I read the message three times.
ASK YOUR BROTHER ABOUT JUNE.
My first thought was that June was a person.
My second was that it was a date.
My third was that I already knew exactly what it meant.
June.
The month I had nearly died.
The month my wife had spent an afternoon at a storage unit while I was lying on a hospital table.
The month Gary had entered 214.
I looked at Sharon.
“What happened in June?”
She didn’t answer.
“Sharon.”
Her eyes remained fixed on my phone.
“Who sent that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you give somebody my number?”
“No.”
“Did Gary?”
“No.”
“Then how did they know I found the unit?”
She shook her head.
I put the phone on the counter.
“I’m going to ask Gary.”
Sharon stood suddenly.
“No.”
I turned toward her.
“You don’t get to say no anymore.”
“I am asking you to wait.”
“For what?”
“For me to explain everything.”
“You’ve had six years.”
She looked down.
“I know.”
“Thirty-eight years, Sharon.”
“I know.”
“You let me sit at that kitchen table every night and talk about my day while you were hiding a child from me.”
“I know.”
“You let Rachel believe her son was dead.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I know.”
“You kept our marriage intact by lying to me.”
She whispered, “I thought I was keeping our family alive.”
I shook my head.
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“No.”
She sat down again.
“I need to tell you what happened in June.”
“Tell me.”
She took a long breath.
“Not the June you think.”
I waited.
“Six years ago, Tobias disappeared.”
“From where?”
“From me.”
“What does that mean?”
“He was staying with me.”
I stared at her.
“You had him here?”
“No. Never here.”
“Where?”
“A house Gary owned.”
I closed my eyes.
My brother.
Again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Rachel didn’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
“Because she was ashamed.”
“Of what?”
Sharon looked at me.
“She was afraid you would hate her.”
“I would never hate my daughter.”
“I know that now.”
“What changed?”
“You almost died.”
I didn’t understand.
“When you had the heart attack,” she continued, “Rachel called me.”
I remembered that day.
I had been mowing the backyard.
One minute I was standing.
The next, I was on the grass.
Everything after that was fluorescent lights and nurses and my wife crying in the hallway.
“You told me Rachel was out of town,” I said.
“She was.”
“Where?”
“Trying to find Tobias.”
My mouth went dry.
“Where was she looking?”
Sharon looked away.
“Here.”
I stared at her.
“Here?”
“She had been told someone had seen him.”
“Who?”
“A man named Daniel.”
“Who is Daniel?”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I swear to you, Tom, I don’t know his real name.”
“Then how did you know him?”
“Because he contacted me.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
She rubbed her hands together.
“He said Tobias’s father wanted him back.”
I felt a cold pressure in my chest.
“And you believed him?”
“I had proof.”
“What proof?”
“A photograph.”
I looked at the phone.
“The same kind of photograph?”
“No.”
She reached into a kitchen drawer.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
From the back she removed a small envelope.
She placed it on the table.
I opened it.
Inside were three photographs.
The first showed a little boy sitting on a playground swing.
The second showed him sleeping in a car.
The third showed him standing beside a man whose face had been cut out of the photograph.
On the back of the first picture was a date.
June 11.
I looked at Sharon.
“This was the day I had my stents.”
She nodded.
“Who took these?”
“Daniel.”
“Why?”
“To prove Tobias was alive.”
I looked at the boy again.
He was younger in the photographs.
Maybe six.
Seven.
But there was something familiar about him.
The shape of his eyes.
The way he held his mouth.
I had never met him.
Yet somehow I knew him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of Daniel?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Of you.”
That hurt more than I expected.
“You were afraid of me?”
“I was afraid of what would happen if you knew everything.”
“I loved you.”
“I know.”
“You still do?”
She nodded.
“More than you know.”
“Then why?”
“Because I made a promise.”
“To whom?”
“Tobias.”
I frowned.
“A child?”
“He was seven when I made it.”
“What did you promise?”
“That I would never let his father find him.”
I stood.
“Where is Tobias now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where was he when you last saw him?”
“In the storage unit.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He was there.”
“Six years ago?”
“No.”
Her voice dropped.
“Last Thursday.”
The room went silent.
I looked at her.
“You’re telling me Tobias was inside 214 last Thursday?”
“Yes.”
“Then where is he now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were there?”
“No.”
“Who was?”
She didn’t answer.
“Gary?”
She nodded.
I stepped toward the door.
“I’m calling him.”
“Tom, wait.”
I turned.
Sharon was crying again.
“Don’t go to Gary’s house.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone is watching you, they’ll know where you’re going.”
“Who?”
She looked at the photograph of Tobias.
“The people who took him.”
My blood ran cold.
“You said he wasn’t missing.”
“He wasn’t.”
“Then what happened?”
Sharon whispered:
“He was taken from the unit.”
“When?”
“Last Thursday night.”
I remembered the first time I’d opened the door.
The bed.
The bicycle.
The quilt.
Everything had looked untouched.
But I remembered something else.
The lock.
There had been fresh scratches around it.
At the time I thought nothing of it.
Now I understood.
Someone had been inside.
Someone had taken a boy.
And the boy had been there shortly before me.
I picked up my keys.
“I need to know what happened.”
Sharon grabbed my arm.
“Tom.”
I looked at her hand.
She let go.
“Please.”
“I’m going.”
“Then take this.”
She handed me a small brass key.
“What is it?”
“Gary’s old house.”
I looked at it.
“You said not to go there.”
“I said don’t go alone.”
“Why?”
“Because there is something in the basement.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She swallowed.
“Tobias’s things.”
I drove to Gary’s house.
It was twenty minutes away.
The whole way there, I kept thinking about that photograph.
The boy in the corner.
Looking directly at the camera.
If that picture had been taken from inside the storage unit, then someone had been there after me.
And if the message had been sent to me that night, whoever took the photograph knew exactly what I had found.
I arrived at Gary’s house at 7:14.
His truck wasn’t there.
The front door was unlocked.
I stood on the porch for several seconds.
Then I went inside.
“Gary?”
No answer.
The house was dark.
I switched on the kitchen light.
A coffee cup sat on the counter.
Still half full.
I touched it.
Cold.
I called his phone.
It rang inside the house.
I followed the sound.
It was on the living room floor.
His phone was lying beside the couch.
That was when I knew something was wrong.
I called the police.
Then I searched the house.
Nothing.
No broken windows.
No signs of a struggle.
Except for one thing.
The basement door was open.
I remembered Sharon’s warning.
I went down.
The basement smelled damp.
There were boxes everywhere.
Christmas decorations.
Old tools.
Furniture.
Then I saw the wall.
One section was covered with photographs.
Dozens of them.
I walked closer.
Tobias.
Tobias at five.
Tobias at six.
Tobias at seven.
Tobias riding the blue bicycle.
Tobias sleeping.
Tobias eating.
Tobias sitting beside a woman.
I stopped.
I knew the woman.
Rachel.
My daughter.
She was holding a baby.
I took the photograph from the wall.
On the back was written:
June 18 — first time Rachel held him.
I sat down on the basement steps.
My daughter had been holding her son.
And I had never known.
I looked at another photograph.
Rachel was crying.
Gary stood beside her.
Sharon was behind them.
The three of them looked terrified.
I turned over another.
This one had a handwritten note.
He knows who his father is.
My heart began pounding.
I kept searching.
At the bottom of the wall was a photograph of a man.
This time his face had not been cut out.
I stared at it.
I knew him.
Not personally.
But I knew the face.
I had seen him once.
At my daughter’s college graduation.
He had stood near the parking lot.
A man Rachel had told me was “just a friend.”
His name was Daniel Mercer.
I remembered because I had shaken his hand.
I remembered his cold eyes.
And I remembered Rachel telling me afterward:
“Dad, if you ever see him again, don’t talk to him.”
I had forgotten that until now.
I pulled out my phone.
I searched the name.
Nothing useful.
Then I found an old newspaper clipping pinned beneath the photographs.
The headline read:
LOCAL CONTRACTOR QUESTIONED IN DISAPPEARANCE OF CHILD
I read the article.
Daniel Mercer had been questioned six years earlier after a child named Tobias Miller disappeared.
But the police had never charged him.
The article said there wasn’t enough evidence.
I felt sick.
Six years.
Six years of hiding.
Six years of fear.
Six years of my wife and brother protecting a child.
And now Gary was missing.
I heard something upstairs.
A floorboard creaked.
I froze.
Then another.
Someone was walking through the kitchen.
I turned off my phone screen.
The footsteps stopped.
I heard a man’s voice.
“Tom?”
I knew that voice.
Daniel.
I stood slowly.
He appeared at the top of the basement stairs.
Older than I remembered.
But unmistakable.
He smiled.
“You finally found the truth.”
I backed away.
“Where’s my brother?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
“Where’s Tobias?”
His smile disappeared.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done.”
“I know exactly what I’ve done.”
“No.”
He stepped down one stair.
“You opened a door that was supposed to stay closed.”
“Where is my brother?”
“Alive.”
I felt a tiny bit of relief.
“Where?”
Daniel looked behind him.
“Not for long if you keep asking questions.”
I reached for my phone.
Daniel raised his hand.
“Don’t.”
I stopped.
“You’ve got a choice.”
“What choice?”
“You can walk away.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You kidnapped my grandson.”
“He isn’t your grandson.”
“He is my daughter’s son.”
“He is my blood.”
“Then why did you leave him?”
Daniel’s face hardened.
“I didn’t.”
“Then who did?”
He stepped closer.
“Ask Rachel.”
I shook my head.
“She didn’t know.”
Daniel smiled.
“You really believe that?”
I didn’t answer.
He reached into his coat.
I thought he was pulling a weapon.
Instead, he pulled out a photograph.
He held it toward me.
It showed Rachel.
She was standing beside a car.
Beside her was Tobias.
And beside Tobias was another child.
A little girl.
Maybe five years old.
I looked at Daniel.
“Who is she?”
He said nothing.
I took the photograph.
On the back were four words.
SHE IS YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER TOO.
I looked up.
Daniel was gone.
I ran upstairs.
The front door was wide open.
His car was already disappearing down the road.
I stood in the doorway, holding the photograph.
Then my phone rang.
It was Rachel.
I answered.
“Rachel?”
Her voice was shaking.
“Dad, where are you?”
“At Uncle Gary’s.”
She began crying.
“Get out of there.”
“Why?”
“Because I just found out where Tobias is.”
“Where?”
A long silence.
Then she whispered:
“He’s not the only child they’ve been hiding.”
My eyes dropped to the photograph.
The little girl stared back at me.
Rachel said:
“Dad, you need to listen carefully.”
“I am.”
“Because the little girl in that picture…”
Her voice broke.
“…is your granddaughter.”
I closed my eyes.
“Who is her mother?”
Rachel took a shaky breath.
“Me.”
I couldn’t speak.
Then she said the words that changed everything.
“And Dad…”
“Yes?”
“Tobias isn’t missing.”
“What?”
“He came looking for me.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
“Where is he?”
Rachel whispered:
“He’s at the house.”
“What house?”
“Our house.”
I stared toward the road.
“My house?”
“No.”
She began sobbing.
“The yellow house across from yours.”
I went completely still.
The yellow house.
The one I had never paid attention to.
The one that had been empty for years.
The one with the curtains always closed.
Rachel whispered:
“Dad, don’t go there alone.”
Then the line went dead.
And from across the street, behind the yellow house’s upstairs curtain, I saw a small hand slowly pull the fabric aside.
A boy was standing there.
And even from that distance, I knew him.
It was Tobias.
He was looking directly at me.
And beside him stood a little girl.
The girl from the photograph.
She raised one finger to her lips.
Then she pointed behind me.
I turned.
Gary was standing in the middle of my driveway.
His face was bruised.
His shirt was torn.
And he was holding something in his hand.
A blood-stained blue bicycle bell.
He looked at me and shouted:
“GET INSIDE, TOM!”
Then every light in the yellow house went out.
PART 5
Every light in the yellow house went out.