Chapter 9: My Husband's Buried Secret
Mark sat on the garage floor with the photograph resting in his hands.
I had been married to him for eleven years.
I'd seen him lose business deals, bury his father, and stand beside our son during emergency room visits.
I'd never seen him cry like that.
"Sarah," he whispered.
"There's something I've never told you.""
I stood several feet away.
"Start talking.""
He looked toward Detective Harris.
"Can we speak privately?""
The detective shook his head.
"Not if it concerns an active investigation involving a child.""
Mark nodded.
Then he took a deep breath.
"My sister Rebecca was seven when she was sent to a private residential school.""
I frowned.
"Why?""
"Our parents were told she had behavioral problems.""
"What kind?""
"She was quiet. She had nightmares. She sometimes refused to speak to adults.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"That sounds familiar.""
He nodded.
"She was placed in a program recommended by a doctor who worked with private schools.""
"Was that Dr. Price?""
"Yes.""
I sat down on a storage box.
"What happened to Rebecca?""
Mark stared at the photograph.
"She was there for eleven months.""
"Eleven months?""
"Our parents were told she needed specialized care. They were allowed to visit twice a month, but the visits were supervised.""
"Why?""
"They said Rebecca became emotionally unstable whenever she saw them.""
I covered my mouth.
"That's what they told Noah about us.""
Mark nodded.
"Exactly.""
He continued.
"Eventually, my parents were told Rebecca had improved. They were advised to bring her home.""
"Did they?""
"She was supposed to come home on a Friday. But on Thursday night, my father received a phone call.""
Mark's voice cracked.
"The facility said Rebecca had been transferred to another center because she had become violent.""
"Where?""
"They wouldn't tell him.""
I stared at him.
"Your parents didn't know where their daughter was?""
"They spent years searching.""
"Did they find her?""
Mark shook his head.
"My mother died believing Rebecca had run away.""
I felt tears gather in my eyes.
"And you knew Dr. Price was connected?""
"I recognized her name last month. I found an old photograph in my father's belongings.""
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because I thought she had nothing to do with Noah.""
I stared at him.
"She came into our house, Mark.""
"I know.""
"She held our son.""
"I know.""
"She watched him sleep.""
He lowered his head.
"I know.""
I wanted to scream.
But the thought of Noah upstairs at the hospital stopped me.
Detective Harris pulled a chair closer.
"Mr. Mitchell, do you have any records from your sister's case?""
Mark nodded.
"My father kept a box.""
"Where?""
"In our storage unit.""
"Can we access it?""
"Yes.""
Detective Harris called another officer and arranged for the records to be collected.
Then Mark reached into his jacket.
He removed a small photograph.
It showed a girl with shoulder-length brown hair, standing in front of a birthday cake.
She was smiling.
On the back was written:
*Rebecca's eighth birthday. Before everything changed.*
I touched the photograph.
"She looks so happy.""
Mark nodded.
"She loved horses. She wanted to become a veterinarian.""
"How old would she be now?""
"Thirty-one.""
I looked up.
"She's still missing?""
"Yes.""
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
It was Detective Harris's colleague.
He had been investigating the transfer records.
"Detective, we found something.""
Harris switched to speaker.
"What is it?""
"We traced the organization listed in the old school documents. Bright Futures was registered under a different name twenty years ago.""
"Which name?""
"Rebecca House.""
Mark stood so quickly that the storage box fell over.
"What?""
The officer continued.
"The original director was Dr. Eleanor Price. The organization changed names after several complaints were filed.""
Detective Harris looked at Mark.
"Was Rebecca ever connected to a place called Rebecca House?""
Mark nodded slowly.
"That's where she was sent.""
The garage seemed to shrink around us.
The officer continued.
"There's another detail. We found an archived transfer document from the year Rebecca disappeared.""
"Read it.""
"Rebecca Mitchell. Age eight. Transfer authorized by Dr. Eleanor Price.""
Mark grabbed the phone.
"Where was she transferred?""
There was a pause.
Then the officer answered.
"Northfield Youth Development Center.""
I looked at Mark.
The same facility where Caleb had been held.
The same place connected to Noah's school.
Mark leaned against the wall.
"Oh, God.""
Detective Harris asked the officer to send the records immediately.
Then Mark's phone vibrated.
An email had arrived.
No sender name.
Only a subject line.
*YOUR SISTER IS ALIVE.*
He opened it.
There was one photograph.
A woman stood beside a window in a small room.
She had brown hair, tired eyes, and a thin scar running along her left cheek.
She was holding a handwritten sign.
*MARK, IF YOU SEE THIS, PLEASE FIND ME.*
Mark dropped the phone.
"Rebecca...""
I picked it up.
At the bottom of the photograph was a timestamp.
Taken that morning.
Then another message appeared.
*SHE DOESN'T KNOW YOU'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR HER.*
A third message followed.
*DR. PRICE KNOWS EVERYTHING.*
Detective Harris immediately called the number attached to the email.
It was disconnected.
Mark sank into a chair.
"My sister is alive.""
I put my hand on his shoulder.
"We'll find her.""
He looked at me.
"Sarah, if Rebecca is alive, then she knows what happened to those children.""
Detective Harris nodded.
"And she may be our strongest witness.""
Just then, another notification appeared on the phone.
A video file.
No subject.
No explanation.
Mark pressed play.
The image was dark and shaky.
A woman sat in front of a camera.
Her face was partially hidden.
But when she spoke, Mark covered his mouth.
"Mark, if you're watching this, don't trust the school records.""
She leaned closer.
"They never intended to help us.""
Her voice trembled.
"They were testing something. Something they called the family separation protocol.""
I felt cold.
Rebecca continued.
"They chose children whose parents were busy, successful, or easy to intimidate. They created false behavior reports, separated us from our families, and then—"
The video suddenly froze.
A loud bang sounded in the background.
Rebecca turned toward the door.
Someone shouted her name.
She looked back at the camera.
"Mark, there's something else. Your son was never chosen because of his behavior.""
My husband leaned toward the screen.
Rebecca whispered:
"He's connected to the original case.""
Then the video ended.
A final message appeared.
*THE ORIGINAL CASE FILE IS IN YOUR FATHER'S OLD SAFE.*
Detective Harris looked at Mark.
"Where is that safe?""
Mark's face went completely pale.
"In my father's house.""
May you like
He swallowed.
"There's something inside it I've been afraid to open for twenty years.""
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