Chapter 3: The Secret in the Storage Room
Darkness changes people.
A crowded diner full of strangers becomes something else when the lights disappear.
Every sound becomes louder.
Every breath becomes suspicious.
Someone knocked over a chair.
A glass shattered.
Then came the voice again.
“Looking for this?””
My entire body went still.
Because the voice had not come from outside.
It had come from inside.
“Everybody stay where you are,” I shouted.
Nobody listened.
People panicked.
Someone ran toward the front door.
Someone else yelled for their family.
Rick grabbed a flashlight from under the register.
“Emma,” he whispered, “the back door.””
I looked toward the kitchen.
Maya was already looking there.
Her face was frozen.
She knew.
Someone was in the diner.
The stranger outside had been a distraction.
“Everyone move away from the kitchen,” I said.
A man near the counter shouted, “Who are you people? What is happening?””
I ignored him.
My eyes stayed on Maya.
She was signing quickly.
I caught only pieces.
“Storage room.””
“Notebook.””
“Hidden.””
I pointed.
“The back room?””
She nodded.
Rick looked at me.
“You’re not seriously going in there.””
“She knows something is inside.””
“And whoever did this might be inside too.””
He was right.
But leaving Maya terrified in the middle of the room felt worse.
I grabbed a heavy flashlight from beneath the counter.
“Stay behind me.””
Rick followed anyway.
“Absolutely not,” he said.
“If something happens, I’m not explaining to the police that I watched you walk into a dark kitchen alone.””
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
Almost.
We moved slowly.
The kitchen was silent.
Too silent.
The smell of coffee and bacon had been replaced by something colder—the smell of rain coming through the open back door.
It was unlocked.
My stomach tightened.
“Someone came in here,” Rick whispered.
I nodded.
Then we heard a noise.
A drawer opening.
Someone was inside the storage room.
Rick raised the flashlight.
“Who’s there?””
No answer.
He stepped forward.
I followed.
The storage room door was half open.
Inside were shelves of supplies, old boxes, and cleaning equipment.
No person.
But something was lying on the floor.
A small notebook.
Maya pushed past us.
She ran toward it.
“Maya, wait!””
She stopped.
Her hands hovered over the notebook.
She looked terrified to touch it.
I crouched beside her.
“What is it?””
She pointed at the cover.
There was a name written on it.
Not hers.
Not the woman from the blue car.
Another name.
A name I recognized.
I picked it up.
My hands started shaking.
Because the name belonged to someone who had disappeared three years earlier.
Someone everyone in town thought was dead.
“Emma?”” Rick said.
I looked at him.
“This isn’t possible.””
“What?””
I opened the notebook.
Inside were pages of dates, locations, and photographs.
Photographs of people.
Missing people.
Maya watched my face.
She knew I understood.
The woman from the blue car hadn’t just been attacked.
She had been collecting proof.
Proof against someone.
A sound came from behind us.
A slow clap.
Once.
Twice.
We turned.
The man from outside stood in the kitchen doorway.
The lights flickered back on.
He smiled.
“You really should have left the child alone.””
Rick stepped forward.
“You’re not taking her anywhere.””
The man tilted his head.
“You don’t understand what she has.””
Maya moved behind me.
I held the notebook tightly.
“You mean what she saw.””
His smile disappeared.
“No.””
He looked directly at Maya.
“She saw what she wasn’t supposed to see.””
The police sirens sounded in the distance.
The man glanced toward the back exit.
For the first time, he looked nervous.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He showed me the screen.
A single photo.
My photo.
Taken while I was standing in the storage room.
My blood went cold.
He had been watching us.
But then I noticed something else.
A message on his screen.
A message from someone else.
*Do not let Emma read page seven.*
I looked down at the notebook.
Page seven was already open.
And written there was my name.
May you like
Underneath it were five words that made me forget how to breathe:
*She knows the real story.*
