Chapter 2: The Dead Man
“Dad?””
The word came out before I could stop it.
Claire made a broken sound behind me.
The man stepped forward.
Older.
Thinner.
A gray beard covered most of his jaw, and a scar crossed his right eyebrow.
But those eyes—
I knew those eyes.
Thomas Walker.
My father.
The man whose coffin I had watched disappear into the ground when I was twelve.
“You’re dead,” I whispered.
He gave me a tired look.
“That’s what your mother wanted you to believe.””
My legs felt weak.
I remembered the funeral.
Rain hammering against black umbrellas.
My mother gripping my shoulder.
The sealed coffin.
She told me Dad had died in a construction accident three states away.
I cried for weeks.
Now he was standing inside my bedroom wall.
I lunged toward him.
“Stay away from my daughters.””
His eyes flicked toward Emma.
“Daughters?””
That single word landed like a punch.
Claire suddenly stood.
“Thomas, stop.””
I turned on her.
“You know him?””
Claire said nothing.
“You KNOW my father?””
“Ryan—”
“How long?””
She looked at the floor.
“Eight years.””
My chest tightened.
We had been married seven.
I stepped away from her.
“You knew my supposedly dead father before we got married?””
“It isn't what you think.””
“I don't even know what to think!””
Emma began whimpering.
Lily slipped past me.
“Emma?””
She crawled into the opening.
“Lily!””
Before I could stop her, she wrapped her arms around the terrified girl.
“It’s okay,” Lily whispered.
“My daddy doesn't yell at kids.””
That nearly broke me.
I crouched.
“Emma, sweetheart, can you come out?””
She looked toward Thomas.
He nodded.
Slowly, Emma crawled forward.
I lifted her carefully.
She weighed almost nothing.
Her arms immediately locked around my neck.
“Daddy.””
Claire turned away.
I felt anger rising so fast it scared me.
“Why does she call me that?””
Thomas answered.
“Because somebody taught her to.””
“Who?””
He looked at Claire.
I followed his gaze.
Claire shook her head.
“No.””
“Claire.””
“I didn't do this.””
“Then tell me who did.””
Thomas stepped completely into the closet.
That was when I noticed he wasn't simply holding one photograph.
There were several.
He placed them on the carpet.
The first showed my parents standing outside our house decades earlier.
The second showed my mother holding me as a baby.
The third made my stomach twist.
It showed Claire.
She looked younger.
She was standing beside my mother.
The date written on the bottom was from nine years ago.
Two years before Claire supposedly met me.
“You knew my mother too?””
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.””
My ears rang.
“Our first date. The coffee shop. You said we'd never met.””
“We hadn't.””
“Don't play games with me!””
“We hadn't met, Ryan.””
Thomas tapped the photograph.
“But she knew exactly who you were.””
I stared at Claire.
She whispered, “Your mother introduced us.””
The room seemed to tilt.
My mother had died six years ago.
Until that moment, she had been the one person in my childhood I still trusted completely.
“What did she want?””
Claire wiped her cheeks.
“She wanted me close to you.””
“Why?””
Thomas answered.
“To make sure you never found this passage.””
Silence.
I looked at the hole.
The passage continued beyond where Emma had been hiding.
“How long has that been there?””
“Since before you were born,” Thomas said.
I laughed once, without humor.
“I bought this house five years ago.””
“No.””
Thomas's expression hardened.
“You inherited it.””
“What?””
“Your mother arranged the sale through a trust. You were always meant to come back here.””
My childhood home had been in Ohio.
This house was outside Pittsburgh.
At least, that was what I believed.
Thomas pulled another photograph from his coat.
This one showed the house from the rear.
Different siding.
Different porch.
But the windows—
I recognized them.
My childhood home.
Renovated beyond recognition.
“No.””
“You spent the first six years of your life here,” Thomas said.
I looked toward Claire.
“Tell me he's lying.””
She couldn't.
Emma shifted against me.
Something fell from the pocket of her sweatshirt.
A tiny silver necklace landed on the carpet.
I picked it up.
There was a circular pendant.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of me.
Not recent.
I looked about twenty-four.
I remembered exactly when that picture had been taken.
College graduation.
“Where did she get this?””
Emma pointed toward the passage.
“Mommy.””
Claire stiffened.
I stared at Emma.
“Where is your mommy?””
The little girl pointed into the darkness.
“Sleeping.””
Thomas closed his eyes.
Claire whispered, “Emma, don't.””
But Emma continued.
“Mommy said Daddy would come.””
My heart hammered.
“Who is your mother?””
Emma looked at me with those familiar eyes.
“Sarah.””
The name hit me harder than anything else had.
Claire started crying again.
Thomas lowered his head.
I couldn't breathe.
Sarah Mitchell.
My college girlfriend.
The woman I had planned to marry.
The woman who vanished eleven years ago without saying goodbye.
I had spent months searching for her.
Her parents told me she had moved overseas.
Eventually, I stopped looking.
“Sarah is here?””
Emma nodded.
“In the downstairs room.””
I looked at Thomas.
“What downstairs room?””
He didn't answer.
I stepped toward him.
“What downstairs room?””
Thomas pointed into the passage.
“There are stairs at the end.””
“Take me to her.””
“Ryan—”
“NOW.””
Thomas stared at me for several seconds.
Then he turned.
I handed Emma to Claire.
Emma immediately screamed.
“No! Daddy!””
“I’m coming back.””
I looked at Lily.
“Stay with Mommy.””
Then I followed my dead father into the wall.
The passage narrowed after twenty feet.
At the end was a staircase descending beneath the house.
Thomas stopped at a steel door.
“Before I open this,” he said, “you need to understand something.””
“What?””
“Sarah didn't disappear eleven years ago.””
My mouth went dry.
Thomas unlocked the door.
“She was taken.””
The door creaked open.
May you like
And from somewhere inside the dark room, a woman whispered my name.
“Ryan?””
