Chapter 3: The Photograph in the Nursery
“Look upstairs.””
Those two words wouldn't leave my mind.
Detective Bennett was questioning Vanessa when I showed her the message.
She studied the photograph of Danielle.
“Do you recognize this room?””
“No.””
“Does your wife know where you live now?””
“She disappeared before we moved into this house.””
Detective Bennett looked up.
“Then how could she know someone is watching your daughter here?””
I stared at the photograph.
“Because whoever took it knows where she is.””
The detective handed my phone back.
“Mr. Reed, I need you to stay with your daughter while my officers secure the property.””
I nodded.
But I couldn't sit still.
Harold was holding Ava's hand near the staircase.
“Marcus,” he said quietly, “take a breath. I'll stay with her.””
I thanked him and hurried upstairs.
Our house had four bedrooms.
Mine.
Ava's.
The guest room.
And the bedroom Vanessa had decorated for our future together.
I checked each one.
Closets.
Bathrooms.
Storage spaces.
Nothing.
Then I reached Ava's nursery.
It had remained almost unchanged since Danielle disappeared.
White furniture.
Pink curtains.
A wooden rocking chair.
A framed photograph of Danielle holding newborn Ava.
I had kept everything because throwing it away felt like admitting my wife would never return.
I stepped inside.
The room smelled faintly of lavender.
Something was wrong.
The curtains were moving.
All the windows were closed.
I approached the window.
Behind the curtains, I noticed a small black object attached to the wooden frame.
A camera.
My stomach dropped.
I pulled it free.
A tiny red light blinked.
Someone had been recording my daughter's bedroom.
I searched the remaining walls.
Behind a stuffed animal on the shelf, I found another device.
Then another beneath the crib.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
There are three cameras. The fourth one is hidden where Vanessa sleeps.
I looked toward the bedroom across the hall.
Vanessa's room.
I walked inside.
Her perfume still lingered on the pillows.
The wardrobe was full of wedding clothes.
A white dress hung inside a garment bag.
I pulled open the bedside drawer.
Inside were passports.
Five of them.
I recognized Vanessa's photograph on one.
But the name was different.
*Rebecca Collins.*
The next passport had another name.
*Lauren Mitchell.*
The third was issued under the name *Emily Carter*.
All three had Vanessa's face.
I photographed the documents and sent them to Detective Bennett.
Then I noticed a small envelope tucked beneath the passports.
My name was written across it.
Marcus — Read This Before You Marry Her.
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Danielle stood beside a woman I had never seen before.
The woman was holding a baby.
On the back, someone had written:
One mother disappeared. Another one took her place.
I heard footsteps behind me.
“Marcus?””
I turned.
Detective Bennett stood in the doorway.
She looked at the passports.
Then at the photograph.
“Where did you find those?””
“In Vanessa's drawer.””
She picked up one passport.
Her expression changed.
“That's impossible.””
“What?””
She opened her own phone and compared the photograph with something on the screen.
Then she showed me.
It was a photograph from an old missing-person investigation.
A woman named Rebecca Collins had disappeared from Charleston three years earlier.
The photograph looked exactly like Vanessa.
“Detective,” I whispered, “who is she?””
Bennett closed the passport.
“We don't know yet. But she may be connected to several missing women.””
My legs felt weak.
Several?
“How many?””
Before she could answer, Harold shouted from downstairs.
“Marcus! Come down here!””
We rushed out of the bedroom.
Ava was standing beside the living room sofa.
She was holding something in her small hands.
A folded piece of paper.
“Daddy, I found Mommy's picture.””
I crouched.
“Where did you find it, sweetheart?””
“In my toy box. Under the rabbit.””
I unfolded the paper.
It was a photograph of Danielle sitting in the underground room.
Her wrists were tied.
Her face was bruised.
But her eyes were open.
On the back, written in Danielle's handwriting, were the words:
If Ava remembers the lullaby, she can find me.
I looked at my daughter.
“Sweetheart, what lullaby?””
Ava began humming.
Three notes.
A pause.
Three more notes.
I recognized it immediately.
Danielle used to sing that melody every night when Ava was a baby.
It was a song her grandmother had taught her.
But there was something else.
Ava wasn't humming it randomly.
She was looking toward the hallway.
“Mommy said the song tells me where the door is.””
Detective Bennett knelt beside her.
“Did Mommy tell you that?””
Ava nodded.
“Not with her mouth.””
The detective glanced at me.
“What does she mean?””
Ava pointed toward the staircase.
“She sings it through the wall.””
A cold sensation crawled up my spine.
I remembered the strange noises Ava had described.
The crying.
The knocking.
The singing.
It hadn't been imagination.
Someone had been communicating with her.
I turned toward the hallway.
At the end stood a large framed family portrait taken six months earlier.
Vanessa, me, and Ava.
I had never liked the picture.
Vanessa insisted we take it.
She had even chosen the frame.
Now I noticed something unusual.
The frame was slightly tilted.
I removed it from the wall.
Behind it was a narrow rectangular opening.
Inside the opening sat a small metal speaker.
A wire disappeared into the wall.
Detective Bennett pulled out her flashlight.
“There's a cavity behind this wall.””
She tapped the plaster.
Hollow.
Then she examined the baseboard.
A small brass button was concealed beneath the wood.
She pressed it.
A section of the wall shifted.
Behind it was a narrow compartment containing a microphone, a recording device, and a stack of handwritten notes.
I picked up the top sheet.
It was dated three weeks earlier.
Child continues responding to the mother's voice. Memory retention improving. Wedding must proceed before she tells Marcus about the lower room.
My mouth went dry.
The next page contained a list of instructions.
Keep father distracted.
Continue nighttime sedation.
Prevent child from approaching pool.
Do not allow contact with biological mother.
I looked at Detective Bennett.
“Sedation?””
She photographed the page.
“We'll have the bottles tested immediately.””
Then I noticed a name written at the bottom.
Not Vanessa.
Not Rebecca.
A different name.
*Dr. Evelyn Shaw.*
I knew that name.
Everyone in Savannah's private medical community knew it.
Dr. Evelyn Shaw had delivered Ava four years ago.
She had also signed Danielle's final hospital discharge papers.
I stared at the handwriting.
“Detective, this doctor was involved in my wife's disappearance.””
Bennett picked up the page.
“Do you know where she is now?””
I shook my head.
“She runs a private clinic downtown.””
The detective immediately called for another unit.
Then my phone rang.
This time, the caller ID showed a name.
Danielle Reed.
I answered so quickly that I nearly dropped it.
“Danielle!””
Her breathing was uneven.
“Marcus, did you find the photograph?””
“Yes. We're looking for you.””
“Listen to me. You have to get Ava away from that house.””
“Where are you?””
“There's no time.””
“Danielle, tell me where you are!””
She began crying.
“I heard them talking. They're moving me tonight.””
“Who?””
A pause.
Then she whispered:
“Dr. Shaw. Vanessa. And someone you trust.””
My blood ran cold.
“Who do I trust?””
Danielle's voice dropped to almost nothing.
“Marcus, the person who helped them hide me is standing in your house right now.””
I turned toward Detective Bennett.
She was staring at me.
Then she slowly reached for her radio.
Before I could say anything, the front door opened.
Harold walked inside.
He was carrying Ava's pink backpack.
“Marcus,” he said, smiling strangely, “I think you and I need to have a little conversation.””
Danielle screamed through the phone.
May you like
“NO! NOT HIM!””
And then the lights went out.
