PART 5
The sound of breaking glass downstairs was followed by my mother’s scream.
Not the startled scream of someone dropping a plate.
Not the frightened gasp of an elderly woman who had heard something unexpected.
It was the scream of someone who had just seen a nightmare walk into her house.
I dropped the photograph.
“Mom!”
My father tried to stand.
His hands gripped the edge of the desk, but his knees nearly gave out.
Daniel caught him.
“Stay here,” Daniel ordered.
But I was already running.
I flew down the stairs two at a time.
“Mom!”
The living room was empty.
The front window was shattered.
Cold night air poured through the broken glass, scattering curtains across the floor.
My mother stood beside the fireplace, one hand pressed against her chest.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
She couldn’t answer.
“Mom, where is he?”
She pointed toward the back door.
I ran.
The door was swinging open.
Outside, a figure disappeared around the side of the house.
I didn’t think.
I ran after him.
“Stop!”
The figure turned for half a second.
A dark jacket.
Tall frame.
Then he disappeared behind the garage.
I kept running until Daniel grabbed my arm.
“Don’t!”
“That’s him!”
“We don’t know that!”
“He was here!”
Daniel pulled me behind the brick wall.
A second later, headlights appeared at the end of the driveway.
A black SUV accelerated away.
I stared after it.
Daniel pulled out his phone and called the police.
Within minutes, officers surrounded the property.
They searched the yard.
The garage.
The alley.
Nothing.
Whoever had come to my parents’ house had known exactly how long he needed.
And exactly when to leave.
When I returned inside, my mother was sitting on the sofa.
She was crying.
My father sat beside her.
For the first time in my life, my parents looked old.
Not simply older.
Defeated.
I sat across from them.
“What have you been hiding from me?”
Neither answered.
I looked at my father.
“You said the man in that photograph was supposed to have died twenty-seven years ago.”
He nodded.
“Who was he?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“His name was Michael.”
I waited.
“Michael who?”
My father finally spoke.
“Michael Vance.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“Who was he?”
My mother whispered:
“Your mother’s brother.”
I frowned.
“My uncle?”
“No.”
My father’s voice cracked.
“Your mother’s first husband.”
The room seemed to tilt.
I stared at him.
“What?”
My mother covered her face.
“Your mother was married before your father.”
I knew my mother had been married once before.
At least, I thought I knew.
She had always said her first husband died in an accident before she met my father.
I had never questioned it.
“Then why have I never seen this photograph?”
“Because Michael wasn’t supposed to exist anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
My father looked at Daniel.
Then at me.
“Twenty-seven years ago, Michael disappeared.”
“Disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t die?”
“We thought he did.”
“Why?”
My mother began crying again.
My father took a breath.
“Michael was involved in a financial scheme. He had stolen money from several people. He was being investigated. One night, his car went over a bridge.”
“And his body?”
“Never found.”
I stared at him.
“So everyone assumed he died.”
“Yes.”
“But the photograph…”
“Was taken three months ago.”
I stopped breathing.
“Three months ago?”
My father nodded.
“Your mother received it anonymously.”
I looked at my mother.
“From him?”
She nodded.
“Michael was alive.”
The room fell silent.
“And he has been watching us ever since.”
I remembered the man outside my house.
The camera.
The Civic.
The messages.
The photograph.
Everything suddenly connected.
“Why would he frame Lily?”
My mother looked at me.
“Because he wants something.”
“What?”
My father answered.
“Your mother’s inheritance.”
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the whole thing was becoming too impossible to understand.
