PART 4
The door opened another inch.
I couldn’t breathe.
Mike moved in front of Noah.
My hand tightened around my son’s.
Then the person stepped into the room.
“Dad?”
I froze.
It wasn’t a stranger.
It wasn’t Derek.
It wasn’t the man from across the street.
It was Noah’s mother.
She stood in the doorway, pale and breathless, holding a small handbag against her chest.
For several seconds, none of us spoke.
Then she looked at Noah.
Her expression changed.
“Oh my God.”
She rushed toward the bed.
I stepped between them.
“Stop.”
She stared at me.
“What?”
“You’re not taking him anywhere.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I came to see my son.”
“Where were you?”
“At home.”
“You said you were coming to the hospital.”
“I was.”
“You’ve been gone for hours.”
She looked at Mike.
Then at me.
“I was scared.”
“Of what?”
She didn’t answer.
I pulled out my phone.
“Were you scared because the police were investigating Derek?”
Her face went white.
“Where did you hear that?”
I stared at her.
“You already knew.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Mike quietly closed the hospital door.
My ex-wife looked at him.
“Why is he here?”
“Because he saved Noah.”
She looked away.
I noticed something in her hand.
A key.
Small.
Silver.
I recognized it immediately.
It was the key to our old storage unit.
The one I had closed after our divorce.
“Where did you get that?”
She froze.
“What?”
“The key.”
She slipped it into her pocket.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re holding it.”
Her eyes moved toward the window.
For the first time, I realized she wasn’t looking at me.
She was looking for an exit.
“Tell me what’s in the storage unit.”
“Nothing.”
“Then why do you have the key?”
She started crying.
“I was trying to protect you.”
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I couldn’t believe those words were coming from her.
“Protect me?”
“Yes.”
“From what?”
She looked at Noah.
Then at me.
“From the truth.”
The room went silent.
Mike stepped closer.
“What truth?”
She shook her head.
“I can’t say it here.”
“Then where?”
She looked at the hallway.
“Not here.”
My phone buzzed.
I looked down.
Unknown number.
One message.
SHE’S LYING.
I stared at the screen.
My ex-wife noticed my expression.
“What?”
I turned the phone toward her.
She read the message.
Her face changed instantly.
“You shouldn’t have opened that.”
“What does that mean?”
She stepped backward.
“Where is the other phone?”
I stared at her.
“What other phone?”
“The phone Derek had.”
“You know about it?”
She closed her eyes.
“I knew there was a phone.”
Mike crossed his arms.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“You knew about the phone, the clinic, the receipts, and the injuries?”
“I didn’t know about the injuries.”
“Noah says you knew.”
She flinched.
“He doesn’t understand.”
“He understands enough to be afraid.”
She covered her mouth.
Tears ran down her face.
Then she whispered:
“I never wanted this.”
“What did you want?”
“I wanted to leave.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
She looked at me.
“Because they wouldn’t let me.”
The words hung in the air.
“Who?”
She shook her head.
“I can’t.”
“Who?”
“I said I can’t!”
Her voice cracked.
Noah stirred in the bed.
She immediately lowered her voice.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at my son.
Then back at her.
“You’re going to tell me everything.”
She nodded.
“But not here.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re watching.”
Mike looked toward the window.
The man across the street was gone.
“Who?”
She whispered a name.
I almost didn’t hear it.
“Derek’s brother.”
I frowned.
“Derek doesn’t have a brother.”
She stared at me.
“Yes, he does.”
“No.”
“He told you he was an only child.”
My stomach tightened.
“What’s his name?”
She looked toward the door.
Then whispered:
“Evan.”
Mike’s phone rang.
He answered.
“Hello?”
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“The police found something in Derek’s car.”
“What?”
Mike put the phone on speaker.
An officer’s voice came through.
“We found a second set of keys.”
“What kind?”
“Storage-unit keys.”
My ex-wife began shaking.
The officer continued.
“There’s also a photograph attached to the key ring.”
Mike looked at her.
“What photograph?”
The officer paused.
“It’s a picture of your family.”
My ex-wife sat down.
I could barely hear myself speak.
“Which family?”
The officer answered:
“Your family.”
He gave me the description.
It was a photograph taken years ago.
Before Noah was born.
Before Derek.
Before everything changed.
I knew exactly which photograph it was.
It had been kept in my old storage unit.
I looked at my ex-wife.
“How did they get it?”
She whispered:
“Because they found the storage unit.”
I felt a cold sensation move through me.
“You said you were trying to protect me.”
“I was.”
“From them?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you come here?”
She looked at Noah.
“Because I knew they were coming for him.”
I turned toward my son.
“What do you mean?”
She stood.
“They don’t want Noah.”
I stared at her.
“Then what do they want?”
She looked directly at me.
“They want what Noah remembers.”
My mouth went dry.
“What does he remember?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
She looked at Noah.
“He saw something.”
“What?”
She didn’t answer.
I grabbed the edge of the chair.
“What did he see?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“The night of the clinic?”
She nodded.
“What happened?”
Her voice dropped.
“He saw someone hurt someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“But you know something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
She looked at the door.
“Someone was in the house that night.”
“Who?”
“Evan.”
Mike stepped forward.
“Why would Derek’s brother be in your house?”
“He wasn’t supposed to be.”
“What happened?”
She wiped her eyes.
“I came home early.”
“And?”
“I heard shouting.”
“From where?”
“The garage.”
I waited.
She continued.
“I opened the door.”
“And?”
“I saw Derek.”
“And Evan?”
She nodded.
“They were arguing.”
“About what?”
She looked at Noah.
“About money.”
I frowned.
“What money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why was Noah involved?”
“He wasn’t supposed to see them.”
“But he did.”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
She closed her eyes.
“I heard something fall.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then?”
“Evan saw Noah.”
My heart tightened.
“What did he do?”
“He walked toward him.”
“And Derek?”
“Derek stopped him.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how did Noah get hurt?”
She began crying again.
“I wasn’t there when it happened.”
“Where were you?”
“I ran.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“You left your son?”
“I was trying to get help.”
“From whom?”
She didn’t answer.
“Who did you call?”
Silence.
Then Mike said quietly:
“You called someone.”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
She whispered:
“Your father.”
I froze.
My father had been dead for three years.
Mike’s face went completely pale.
“You called Dad?”
She nodded.
“He was alive.”
Neither of us spoke.
My father had died three years ago.
We had buried him.
I had stood beside his coffin.
I had watched the grave being closed.
“You’re lying,” I said.
She shook her head violently.
“No.”
“You’re saying my dead father was involved?”
“I said I called him.”
“That’s impossible.”
She reached into her handbag.
Then pulled out a folded piece of paper.
She handed it to me.
I unfolded it.
It was a handwritten note.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My father’s handwriting.
My knees almost gave out.
There were only two sentences.
If they ever come for Noah, take him to the old house.
And beneath it:
Do not trust his mother.
I looked at my ex-wife.
She was crying.
“I found it after he died.”
“Where?”
“In the storage unit.”
Mike stared at the note.
“This isn’t possible.”
Then Noah suddenly spoke.
“Grandpa.”
Everyone froze.
I turned toward him.
“What did you say?”
Noah opened his eyes.
“Grandpa was there.”
My blood ran cold.
“When?”
He looked at his mother.
“Before.”
“Before what?”
Noah pointed toward the door.
“Before the man came.”
My ex-wife covered her mouth.
I knelt beside my son.
“Buddy, what man?”
He looked directly at me.
“The man Grandpa told me not to talk about.”
I felt my heart stop.
“What did Grandpa look like?”
Noah frowned.
“Like Grandpa.”
“But Grandpa is…”
I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Noah looked confused.
“He wasn’t dead.”
Mike grabbed the back of the chair.
“Where did you see him?”
Noah pointed toward the window.
“There.”
I slowly turned.
Across the street, the dark-jacketed man had returned.
But this time he wasn’t alone.
There were two men standing beside him.
One was Derek.
The other was someone I had never seen before.
Except I had.
I just hadn’t realized it.
Mike stepped toward the window.
“That’s impossible.”
“What?”
He pointed.
“The other man.”
I looked at him.
Mike’s face had gone completely white.
“You know him?”
Mike nodded.
“I’ve seen him before.”
“Where?”
Mike swallowed.
“At Dad’s funeral.”
I stared through the glass.
The stranger was looking directly at us.
Then he smiled.
My phone buzzed.
One message.
YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES.
Another arrived immediately.
BRING NOAH.
Then a third.
COME TO THE OLD HOUSE.
I looked at my ex-wife.
She was trembling.
“You know what this means.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“They know you found the note.”
The hospital lights flickered again.
Then every light in the hallway went dark.
A second later, the emergency alarm began screaming.
People rushed through the corridor.
Nurses shouted.
Doors opened.
The room plunged into confusion.
Mike grabbed Noah.
I reached for my ex-wife.
“Stay with me!”
But she was gone.
The chair where she had been sitting was empty.
The door was open.
I ran into the hallway.
“Where did she go?”
Mike shouted behind me.
“I don’t know!”
Then I saw her.
At the far end of the corridor.
She was walking quickly toward the emergency exit.
“Stop!”
She turned.
For one second, our eyes met.
She looked terrified.
Not guilty.
Terrified.
Then someone stepped behind her.
A man grabbed her arm.
She screamed.
“NO!”
I ran.
The man pulled her through the emergency door.
Mike followed.
I reached the door seconds later.
The stairwell was empty.
My ex-wife was gone.
So was the man.
But something lay on the floor.
A small silver key.
I picked it up.
There was a number engraved on it.
17.
Mike looked at it.
“Storage unit?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“What then?”
I remembered something.
My father had owned an old house outside town.
The house had seventeen rooms.
At least, that’s what he’d always told us.
But there was one room we were never allowed to enter.
Room seventeen.
I looked at Mike.
“The old house.”
He nodded.
Then Noah called from behind us.
“Dad?”
I turned.
He was standing in the hospital room doorway.
His little face was pale.
I rushed toward him.
“What is it?”
He pointed at the silver key.
“That opens Grandpa’s door.”
I stared at him.
“What door?”
“The door where he kept the bad pictures.”
I felt the blood leave my face.
“What pictures?”
Noah looked at me.
Then whispered:
“Pictures of you.”
My phone buzzed one final time.
I looked at the screen.
There was a photograph attached.
It showed my father standing beside Noah.
But my father had died three years before Noah was born.
And beneath the photograph was one sentence:
NOW YOU KNOW WHY YOUR FATHER HAD TO DIE…
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