Chapter 8: The Girl in the Walls
The crying stopped the instant I heard it.
Not faded.
Not grew quieter.
Stopped.
The kind of silence that follows a scream.
I stood in the dark with Emma pressed against my chest, one arm wrapped around her while my other hand gripped the cassette tape.
“Daddy,” she whispered, “where did that baby go?””
“I don't know.””
My father's voice came from somewhere near the desk.
“Don't move.””
Richard snapped, “You said she was alive.””
“She is.””
“Then where is she?””
“I don't know where they took her.””
“You're lying!””
A light flickered on.
Only one.
A small red bulb above the safe.
The room glowed dimly.
I could see my father standing beside the wall where the hidden doorway had been.
His hand was pressed against the wood.
Richard was staring at him with murder in his eyes.
“You knew,” Richard said.
My father shook his head.
“I knew she survived.””
“You told me she was dead.””
“Because everyone needed to believe she was dead.””
“You let me bury an empty coffin!””
My father's face twisted.
“I was trying to keep you alive.””
Richard stepped forward.
“You don't get to call that protection.””
I interrupted them.
“Enough.””
Both men looked at me.
“We have Emma.””
I tightened my arm around my daughter.
“And whoever is in these walls wants us distracted.””
My father looked at me sharply.
“You're right.””
I pointed toward the sound.
“The crying came from somewhere.””
He nodded.
“The old estate was built over a service tunnel.””
“How many entrances?””
“Three.””
“Then one of them leads wherever that child is.””
Richard looked toward the floor.
“There used to be a fourth.””
My father turned.
“No.””
“Yes.””
“Edward sealed it.””
Richard shook his head.
“My father told me about it.””
“Where?””
Richard pointed beneath the desk.
I moved it aside.
Underneath was a brass grate covered by old carpet.
Marcus wasn't with us.
The guards were still on the other side of the sealed room.
We were alone.
I crouched.
There was a narrow keyhole in the grate.
I reached into my pocket.
The second key.
It fit.
I turned it.
The grate opened with a groan.
Cold air rose from below.
Emma buried her face against my shoulder.
My father looked into the darkness.
“They're underneath us.””
Richard whispered, “Then let's get her.””
We climbed down.
The tunnel was barely wide enough for two people.
Old pipes ran along the ceiling.
Water dripped somewhere in the distance.
Every step echoed.
Emma held my collar with both hands.
“Daddy?””
“I'm right here.””
“Are we going to find the little girl?””
I looked at my father.
He nodded.
“We will.””
The tunnel split ahead.
Richard pointed left.
“The old nursery.””
My father immediately said, “No.””
Richard turned.
“Why?””
“Because that's where the first records were kept.””
“And?””
“And nobody goes there.””
“That's exactly why we go there.””
We turned left.
A few yards later, I saw something scratched into the wall.
Three letters.
*E.B.C.*
My grandfather's initials again.
Beneath them was another marking.
A child's drawing.
A house.
Four stick figures.
One of them had been crossed out.
Emma stared at it.
“What's that?””
I didn't answer.
My father did.
“It was drawn by Evelyn.””
Richard stopped walking.
“How do you know?””
“Because I saw it when she was little.””
Richard's breathing changed.
He touched the drawing with his fingertips.
“She did that.””
My father nodded.
“She always drew houses.””
Richard wiped his face.
“You knew she was alive all these years.””
“I knew enough to hope.””
Richard turned on him.
“Hope?””
His voice echoed down the tunnel.
“You let me grieve for twenty-two years.””
My father stepped closer.
“I watched people die because they knew the truth.””
“And that was supposed to make me feel better?””
“No.””
“Then what was the point?””
My father looked at me.
“The point was keeping the last witness alive.””
I frowned.
“What witness?””
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked faster.
We reached a rusted metal door.
A faded sign hung above it.
*NURSERY*
Richard reached for the handle.
Locked.
I looked at the key ring hanging from the door.
One key was missing.
My father noticed.
“They changed the lock.””
“Recently?””
He touched the metal.
“Yes.””
“Then someone has been here.””
Richard stepped backward.
“Maybe they're still here.””
I looked through the small glass window.
Dark.
Empty.
Then something moved.
A shadow.
I grabbed the handle.
“Move.””
Richard and my father stepped aside.
I kicked the door.
Once.
Nothing.
Again.
The lock broke.
The door flew inward.
The room smelled like dust, bleach, and old paper.
A small mattress sat against the wall.
There were children's drawings everywhere.
Dozens.
I stepped inside.
One drawing was pinned to a corkboard.
It showed a little girl holding hands with an older woman.
Above them was written:
*MOMMY AND ME.*
Richard walked toward it.
His knees nearly gave out.
“That's her.””
I looked at the drawing.
“You recognize it?””
“She made those flowers.””
He touched the page.
“She always drew them beside the sun.””
My father walked to a metal cabinet.
He opened it.
Inside were medical files.
Photographs.
School records.
I stepped closer.
One folder had a name across the front.
*EVELYN BELL*
Richard took it.
His hands shook as he opened it.
The first page was a hospital admission.
The date was twenty-two years earlier.
The child's age:
*6 years, 2 months.*
Richard whispered, “She was six.””
My father said nothing.
Another page showed a discharge record.
No cause of death.
No burial information.
Just one notation.
*TRANSFERRED.*
Richard stared at it.
“Where?””
My father looked away.
“Your grandfather arranged it.””
“To where?””
“To a private rehabilitation facility in Colorado.””
I looked at him.
“Why?””
“She had witnessed something.””
“What?””
“Your grandfather's murder.””
Richard froze.
“She saw who killed him.””
The silence returned.
Richard slowly sat down.
“My sister saw it?””
“Yes.””
“And you hid her?””
“She was six years old.””
“From who?””
My father pointed toward the files.
“Everyone who wanted her dead.””
I picked up another document.
It was a photograph of a man leaving a hospital.
The face was blurred.
But the jacket was familiar.
Dark.
Corporate.
I flipped it over.
A handwritten note said:
*Victor Hale.*
My CFO.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“No.””
Richard looked at me.
“What?””
I held up the photograph.
“He's been in this since the beginning.””
My father's expression changed.
“We need to leave.””
“No.””
I turned toward him.
“I need answers.””
My father pointed to the cassette.
“The tape will give them to you.””
“Where's a player?””
Richard looked around.
There was an old cassette deck sitting on a shelf.
I inserted the tape.
Nothing happened.
I pressed play.
Static.
Then my grandfather's voice.
Old.
Tired.
But unmistakable.
“If this recording is playing, then I failed.””
My breath caught.
Richard stepped closer.
My grandfather continued.
“Edward Bell was not my enemy.””
Richard looked at the floor.
“The man I feared was much closer.””
Static crackled.
Then another voice.
A woman's.
My mother's.
“Evan, this has gone too far.””
My entire body went cold.
Mom.
Alive on a recording from before my grandfather died.
My grandfather said, “You can't go through with this.””
My mother answered, “If we don't, they'll kill the children.””
I closed my eyes.
Children?
My grandfather said, “Daniel knows nothing.””
“He must never know.””
“He deserves the truth.””
“He deserves a life.””
My stomach twisted.
Then my mother whispered:
“Then we have to make the world believe you were the one who stole everything.””
I opened my eyes.
Richard looked stunned.
The tape continued.
My grandfather's voice was shaking.
“They'll destroy the Bell family.””
My mother said, “Then let them come after us.””
A loud sound.
Like a door opening.
Then my grandfather said:
“Someone is here.””
The recording ended.
I stared at the machine.
“That can't be all.””
My father was pale.
“There was another tape.””
“Where?””
“Evelyn had it.””
Richard stood.
“My sister?””
“Yes.””
“Where is she?””
Before my father could answer, a small voice came from the hallway.
“Richard?””
We all froze.
The voice was soft.
Female.
Older than a child.
Richard turned toward the door.
“Evelyn?””
A figure appeared in the darkness.
A woman stepped into the room.
She was in her late twenties, perhaps early thirties.
Dark curly hair.
Pale face.
A thin scar crossed her eyebrow.
Richard stared at her.
She stared back.
Then her eyes filled with tears.
“Hi, Richard.””
He couldn't breathe.
He took one step forward.
“Evelyn?””
She smiled.
Just barely.
“You got old.””
Richard laughed through a sob.
Then he ran to her.
They collided in the middle of the room.
He held her like he was terrified she would disappear.
“You were dead.””
“I know.””
“I looked for you.””
“I know.””
“Why didn't you come home?””
She pulled back.
“Because they wouldn't let me.””
My father looked at her.
“Who?””
Evelyn's smile disappeared.
She looked at me.
Then at Emma.
Her face changed.
“Daniel.””
“How do you know me?””
She took a breath.
“Because your mother told me about you.””
I stared at her.
“What does my mother have to do with you?””
Evelyn walked toward us.
“She saved my life.””
Richard wiped his tears.
“Then why did she let us think you were dead?””
“Because she knew exactly who was watching.””
“Who?””
Evelyn looked at the dark hallway.
Her voice dropped.
“The person who has been threatening Emma.””
I stepped in front of my daughter.
“Who is it?””
She stared directly at me.
Then said:
“Victor Hale.””
My heart sank.
“But he's my CFO.””
“I know.””
“He's been working for you?””
“No.””
“For Richard?””
“No.””
“Then who?””
Evelyn's face went pale.
She whispered:
“Your mother.””
I stared at her.
“That isn't possible.””
“She isn't dead.””
Everything inside me stopped.
Richard shook his head.
“No.””
Evelyn grabbed his arm.
“She faked her death.””
My father looked like he'd been struck.
“You're sure?””
Evelyn nodded.
“I saw her.””
“When?””
“Three days ago.””
I couldn't speak.
“Where?””
Evelyn looked toward the tunnel behind us.
“Here.””
Then the emergency lights flickered red.
A phone began ringing somewhere in the nursery.
Not mine.
Not Richard's.
It was coming from inside a locked cabinet.
Evelyn opened it.
Inside was an old black phone.
It had one incoming call.
She answered.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then a woman's voice came through the speaker.
My mother's voice.
The same voice I had just heard on the tape.
“Daniel.””
My knees weakened.
“Mom?””
A pause.
Then:
“I'm sorry.””
The line went dead.
May you like
And on the cabinet door, written in fresh red paint, were four words:
*SHE HAS EMMA'S KEY.*
