Chapter 4 - The Voice Behind the Door
"Claire, don't let them open this door."
My sister's voice came through the wood.
My entire body went cold.
Gabriel raised one hand.
Nobody moved.
"Emily?" I whispered.
"Don't."
Her answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
I took a step toward the door.
Gabriel caught my wrist.
"Think."
"That's my sister."
"Maybe."
I stared at him.
"I know her voice."
"So does whoever has been watching you."
The words stopped me.
Marco moved silently to the side of the doorway, pistol raised. Luca positioned himself opposite him. Daniel backed toward the table while Dr. Mercer stood beside Gabriel.
Another knock.
Three times.
"Claire."
Emily sounded terrified.
"Please."
I wanted to open it.
Every instinct screamed at me to reach for the handle.
But something bothered me.
Emily had never called me Claire when she was frightened.
Not once.
When we were children, she called me Bug.
She still did whenever she was scared.
I stepped closer.
"Emily?"
"Yes."
"What did Mom call me when I collected ladybugs?"
Silence.
Gabriel's eyes sharpened.
I waited.
"Claire, please open the door."
Wrong.
I backed away.
"That's not her."
The handle turned violently.
Marco aimed.
"Back!"
Someone slammed against the door.
Once.
Twice.
Then silence.
Luca looked at Gabriel.
Gabriel nodded.
Marco pulled the door open while Luca covered the hallway.
Empty.
I stared.
No Emily.
No attacker.
Only a small black speaker sitting on the stone path.
Marco crouched beside it.
"Remote audio device."
My stomach twisted.
"They recorded her."
"Or generated the voice," Daniel said.
I looked at him.
"Either way, they have enough information about her to fool me."
Gabriel rolled toward the doorway.
"Which means the video from her apartment may have been recorded earlier."
Hope hit me.
"She might be safe?"
"Might."
He wasn't going to lie to comfort me.
Oddly, I preferred that.
Marco picked up the speaker with a gloved hand.
A strip of white tape was attached underneath.
One word had been written on it.
HAWTHORNE.
Gabriel looked at me.
"They want us there."
"Then we go."
"No."
I stared at him.
"Excuse me?"
"You stay here."
"My sister may be there."
"Which is exactly why you're not thinking clearly."
"Don't tell me how I'm thinking."
"I'm watching you do it."
I stepped directly in front of his wheelchair.
"You don't get to order me around because you have armed men."
"I ordered you around before you knew about the armed men."
"This isn't funny."
"No."
His expression changed.
"This is exactly what whoever planned this expects. They threaten Emily, give you an address connected to your mother, and wait for you to run into whatever they've prepared."
"Then what's your plan?"
"We go differently."
I folded my arms.
"I'm still going."
"No."
"Then fire me."
Gabriel stared at me.
"That strategy worked better when I merely wanted to fire you."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
"Gabriel."
"Claire."
Neither of us moved.
Luca cleared his throat.
Marco looked at him.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
Gabriel continued staring at me.
Finally he sighed.
"You stay beside me."
"Fine."
"You do exactly what I say."
"Within reason."
"That wasn't the agreement."
"It's the only one you're getting."
His mouth almost moved.
That nearly invisible smile again.
"You're exhausting."
"You hired me."
"I was under emotional distress."
"Coffee trauma?"
"Severe."
For half a second, the fear loosened its grip.
Then my phone vibrated.
A photograph appeared.
Emily.
She was sitting in a chair.
Alive.
A newspaper rested against her chest.
Today's date.
Behind her was a blue wall.
My mother's old house had blue walls.
Under the picture:
FORTY MINUTES.
Gabriel read it.
"Now we know."
"We go."
He nodded.
This time there was no argument.
Marco contacted the estate security team through a restored emergency channel.
Two vehicles were prepared.
Gabriel refused the armored van.
"My wheelchair lift is in the SUV."
Marco looked irritated.
"The SUV is less secure."
"I'm aware."
"Then use the van."
"Unless you're planning to carry me into it."
Marco looked away.
Gabriel's expression became colder.
I understood.
He hated needing people.
Not because he was ashamed of the wheelchair.
Because dependence was dangerous in his world.
Eighteen months earlier, he'd trusted someone enough to enter a vehicle.
That trust had cost him his father and the use of his legs.
I touched the wheelchair handle.
"Need help with the ramp?"
His eyes moved toward me.
"No."
"Okay."
No pity.
No insistence.
He seemed surprised.
Then he rolled toward the vehicle himself.
The drive to Hawthorne Street took twenty-three minutes.
Gabriel sat beside me in the modified rear compartment.
Marco drove.
Luca sat in front.
Daniel and Dr. Mercer followed with another security team.
I watched the city pass through tinted glass.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Gabriel noticed.
"You remembered something."
I looked at him.
"The basement."
"What?"
"Not enough."
"Tell me what you have."
I closed my eyes.
Dark stairs.
My mother's hand.
The smell of dust.
Men arguing.
"Someone was angry."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"What were they saying?"
"I can't remember."
"Don't force it."
That surprised me.
"I thought you wanted answers."
"I do."
"Then why—"
"Because memories aren't machines."
He looked toward the window.
"Push too hard and people start filling the gaps with what they expect to find."
That was strangely thoughtful.
"Personal experience?"
His jaw tightened.
"The explosion."
"You don't remember it?"
"Pieces."
"What pieces?"
"My father shouting."
He paused.
"A phone ringing."
His hand moved unconsciously toward his right leg.
"And waking up unable to move."
I didn't know what to say.
So I didn't say anything.
After a moment he looked at me.
"That's unusual."
"What?"
"You didn't tell me you're sorry."
"I figured you've heard it enough."
"I have."
"And it doesn't fix anything."
"No."
"Then I won't say it."
Something changed in his eyes.
Small.
But real.
Marco's voice came through the intercom.
"Two minutes."
Gabriel became the crime boss again.
"Claire."
"Yes?"
"If this goes wrong, you leave with Luca."
"I'm not leaving Emily."
"If she's there, Luca takes both of you."
"And you?"
"Not your concern."
"You're literally my patient."
"I'll survive."
"That's probably what you said before the explosion."
His face hardened.
I regretted it immediately.
Then he said, "Probably."
The SUV stopped.
I looked outside.
417 Hawthorne Street.
The blue house was smaller than I remembered.
Paint peeled from the porch.
One upstairs window was boarded.
The front yard was overgrown.
But the basement window was exactly as I remembered.
Small.
Rectangular.
Protected by rusted bars.
My stomach tightened.
"I've been here."
Gabriel looked at me.
"I know this place."
Marco opened the vehicle door.
"Security perimeter first."
Two men moved around the property.
No visible movement.
No vehicles.
No neighbors outside.
Too quiet.
"Clear exterior," Marco reported.
Gabriel descended the ramp.
I stayed beside him.
We approached the porch.
The front door stood slightly open.
Marco looked at Gabriel.
"Trap."
Gabriel replied, "We're past establishing that."
Marco entered first.
Luca followed.
Then Gabriel and me.
The house smelled abandoned.
Dust.
Old wood.
Something metallic.
The living room was empty.
No Emily.
"Emily!" I called.
Gabriel looked at me sharply.
"What?"
"If she's here, I want her to know I'm here."
A faint sound came from somewhere below.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The basement.
I ran toward the hallway.
Gabriel grabbed the back of my dress.
"Stop."
I spun around.
"Did you just grab my dress?"
"You were running."
"Let go."
He released it.
Marco reached the basement door.
Locked.
Another bang.
Then a muffled voice.
"Claire!"
This time I knew.
"Emily!"
"Bug!"
My knees nearly collapsed.
That was her.
I rushed forward.
Marco blocked me.
"Move."
"Let me check the door."
"My sister is down there."
"And whoever took her may be too."
He examined the frame.
No visible wires.
Luca found the key hanging behind a picture frame.
"Too easy," he said.
Gabriel nodded.
"Everything here is meant to guide us."
"Toward what?" I asked.
He looked at the basement door.
"That's what we're about to discover."
Marco unlocked it.
The door opened.
Dark stairs descended.
Exactly like my memory.
Emily called again.
"Claire!"
"I'm coming!"
Gabriel looked at Marco.
"Lights."
Marco switched on a flashlight.
We descended.
The staircase was narrow.
Gabriel couldn't use it.
I stopped.
He noticed.
"Go."
"I'm not leaving you."
"My wheelchair doesn't negotiate with stairs."
Despite everything, I nearly laughed.
"I'll stay with him," Luca said.
Gabriel looked at me.
"Get your sister."
I followed Marco down.
Daniel came behind us.
The basement smelled damp.
At the bottom was a narrow corridor.
Another door.
Emily's voice came from behind it.
Marco opened it.
I rushed inside.
"Emily!"
She sat tied to a chair.
Alive.
I ran to her.
She began crying.
"Claire."
I wrapped my arms around her.
"I'm here."
"I knew you'd come."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
I checked anyway.
No obvious injuries.
Her wrists were red from the rope.
Marco cut her free.
"Who did this?"
Emily shook her head.
"I don't know."
"You saw him?"
"He wore a mask."
"One person?"
"Two."
Daniel searched the room.
Nothing.
No windows.
No second exit.
"Where did they go?"
Emily pointed toward the wall.
"Through there."
Marco approached.
A bookcase stood against the concrete.
He pulled it.
It moved.
Behind it was another door.
My memory exploded.
I had seen this.
I was seven.
My mother had brought me downstairs.
She'd hidden me behind boxes.
She had argued with someone beyond that door.
"Don't open it," I whispered.
Marco looked at me.
"What?"
"My mother said that."
"When?"
"Nineteen years ago."
Emily stared at me.
"You remember?"
"Pieces."
I approached the hidden door.
There was an old scratch in the wood.
A child's handwriting.
CLAIRE WAS HERE.
My handwriting.
I touched it.
The basement vanished.
For one terrible second, I was seven again.
My mother's hand covered my mouth.
A man's voice shouted from the hidden room.
"You stole the files, Eleanor."
My mother answered.
"They were never yours."
Another voice.
Older.
Calmer.
Vittorio.
"Take Claire upstairs."
Then someone said:
"The girl saw me."
I gasped.
Emily grabbed my arm.
"Claire?"
I stumbled backward.
"I saw him."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
But another image surfaced.
A silver cross.
Black shirt.
Blood on one cuff.
A ring.
A snake wrapped around a crown.
I had seen that symbol recently.
Where?
Gabriel.
No.
Not Gabriel.
His ring was plain silver.
Marco?
No.
Luca?
I couldn't remember.
Then Daniel spoke.
"Claire."
He was staring at the hidden door.
"What?"
"That symbol you just described."
I hadn't realized I'd said it aloud.
"The snake and crown."
"Yes."
"That's Dominic Moretti's crest."
My blood turned cold.
Marco opened the hidden door.
Behind it was a second room.
Not abandoned.
Computers.
Monitors.
Fresh food.
Someone had been living here.
One monitor showed the Moretti mansion.
Another showed Gabriel's study.
Another showed my apartment.
They had watched us constantly.
Emily covered her mouth.
"Oh my God."
Daniel moved toward a filing cabinet.
"Don't touch anything."
Marco searched the room.
"Clear."
I approached the monitors.
One displayed archived footage.
Dates.
Years.
Then I saw my mother's name.
ELEANOR BENNETT — 2007.
I clicked it.
A video opened.
My mother appeared.
Younger than I remembered.
She was standing in this exact room.
Vittorio stood beside her.
And a third man faced away from the camera.
My heart pounded.
The audio crackled.
Eleanor spoke.
"Dominic knows."
Vittorio replied, "Then we move tonight."
"What about Gabriel?"
"He stays out of this."
"And Claire?"
Vittorio looked toward the camera.
"Claire saw too much."
The third man turned slightly.
Not enough to see his face.
But enough to see the necklace.
Silver cross.
Then he spoke.
"She won't remember."
My mother stepped toward him.
"Don't touch my daughter."
The footage cut.
Emily squeezed my hand.
"Who was he?"
"I don't know."
Daniel was staring at the screen strangely.
"Daniel?"
He didn't answer.
Marco noticed.
"You recognize him."
"No."
"You're lying."
Daniel backed away.
Marco grabbed his arm.
"Who was that?"
Daniel looked terrified.
"I can't tell you."
Marco slammed him against the wall.
"Try."
"Because if I'm right, none of us should be here."
A noise came from upstairs.
Gabriel.
"Claire!"
I ran.
Emily followed.
We climbed the stairs.
Gabriel waited at the top with Luca.
His face changed when he saw Emily.
"She's okay?"
"Yes."
Gabriel nodded once.
Relief.
Real relief.
Then I noticed something in his hand.
A photograph.
Another one.
"Where did you get that?"
"It was under the staircase."
He handed it to me.
The picture showed my mother.
Vittorio.
And a teenage boy.
Gabriel.
He looked about sixteen.
I stared at it.
"Why were you with my mother?"
Gabriel looked genuinely confused.
"I don't remember her."
I turned the photograph over.
My mother's handwriting.
GABRIEL DOESN'T KNOW.
Underneath:
NEVER TELL HIM WHO HIS REAL FATHER IS.
The air left the room.
Gabriel read it.
His face went white.
"No."
Marco appeared behind us.
He saw the note.
"Gabriel."
"No."
Gabriel's voice was barely audible.
"Vittorio was my father."
Nobody answered.
Then the old house phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Everyone stared at it.
Gabriel rolled toward the table.
"Don't," Marco said.
Gabriel picked up.
"Who is this?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice answered.
Gabriel's expression changed.
He knew that voice.
His fingers tightened around the receiver.
The man said one sentence.
"Ask Claire why her mother called you her brother."
May you like
Gabriel slowly turned toward me.
And behind us, the hidden basement door opened again.
