Chapter 1 - The Portrait on the Wall
Maya pushed open the heavy glass door of the art gallery.
The room smelled of wet paint and framed wood.
Her eight-year-old son, Noah, held her hand tightly.
Parents were standing near the colorful display boards.
A soft murmuring filled the brightly lit hall.
Maya smiled and looked for her son’s drawing.
Instead, her eyes stopped on a large canvas at the back.
The painting showed a warm, suburban living room.
A red rug sat in the center.
A silver clock hung above a stone fireplace.
The clock hands were painted at three twenty-two.
Maya stopped walking.
Her heart hit her ribs hard.
That was her living room.
Every single detail was exact.
Even the scratch on the lower left leg of the coffee table was drawn.
Maya looked down at the tiny name tag beside the frame.
The tag read: Painted by Toby Vance, Age Seven.
Maya did not know anyone named Toby Vance.
She turned around slowly.
A little boy in a faded blue sweater was standing three feet away.
He was holding a worn yellow sketchbook against his chest.
The boy stared directly into Maya’s eyes.
“You’re Maya,” the boy whispered.
Maya stepped closer to him.
“Do I know you, sweetie?” she asked gently.
The boy shook his head.
“My dad told me about you,” Toby said.
Maya felt a sudden cold tightness in her chest.
“What did your dad tell you?” Maya asked.
Toby pointed his small finger at the painted fireplace.
“He said you keep the real key inside the metal box under the floor.”
Maya froze completely.
Only three people knew about the floorboard compartment beneath her fireplace.
Her father had built that hidden box thirty years ago.
Her father had passed away five years back.
The second person was Maya herself.
The third person was her husband, David.
“Where is your father right now, Toby?” Maya asked, her voice trembling.
Toby pointed toward the front entrance of the gallery.
A tall man in a dark green jacket stood near the doors.
His back was turned toward the room.
He turned his head slightly toward the lights.
Maya recognized the scar behind his right ear immediately.
It was Julian.
Julian was David’s older brother.
Julian had been declared dead seven years ago after a boating accident.
Maya’s breath caught in her throat.
She took a step toward the entrance.
The man in the green jacket walked quickly out the doors.
The glass doors swung shut behind him.
Noah pulled on Maya’s sleeve.
“Mom, who was that man?” Noah asked.
Maya could not answer him.
Her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
She looked back down at seven-year-old Toby.
Toby reached into his front pocket.
He pulled out an old silver wrist watch.
The glass face of the watch was cracked.
Engraved on the silver back were three initials: D. A. V.
Those were David’s initials.
It was the anniversary watch Maya had bought David six years ago.
David had claimed he lost it at a construction site three years back.
“He said to give this to you,” Toby whispered.
“Why?” Maya managed to ask.
“Because my dad said you think my uncle is a good man,” Toby said.
Maya felt the floor sway beneath her feet.
“Your uncle?” Maya asked.
“Uncle David,” Toby replied clearly.
Maya grabbed the edge of the display board to steady herself.
Her husband was standing right across the gallery floor now.
David was walking toward her with two cups of coffee in his hands.
He was smiling softly.
He looked completely relaxed.
“Found Noah’s artwork yet, honey?” David asked smoothly.
Maya looked at David’s face.
Then she looked at the silver watch in Toby’s hand.
David stopped walking.
His eyes fell on the cracked watch.
The smile disappeared from his face instantly.
His posture became completely rigid.
The paper coffee cups crumpled in his hands.
Hot coffee spilled across his brown leather shoes.
He did not even wince.
“Where did you get that?” David asked in a harsh whisper.
Toby stepped back behind Maya’s coat.
“A boy gave it to me,” Maya said, watching her husband’s face carefully.
David looked around the gallery frantically.
His eyes darted from the doors to the back hallway.
“We are leaving right now,” David said, gripping Maya’s arm.
His grip was far too tight.
“David, you’re hurting me,” Maya said quietly.
Noah looked up at his father in surprise.
“Dad, what’s wrong?” Noah asked.
David loosened his grip, but his fingers were still twitching.
“Nothing is wrong, champ,” David said through clenched teeth.
“We just need to go home immediately.”
Maya looked back at the painting on the wall.
The painted clock still read three twenty-two.
That was the exact time David’s brother had supposedly drowned seven years ago.
Maya turned toward her husband.
“Who is Toby’s father, David?” Maya asked.
David refused to make eye contact.
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” David said.
He guided Noah toward the exit with quick steps.
Maya stood alone near the painting for five seconds.
She reached behind the canvas carefully.
A small white envelope was taped to the back of the frame.
Maya pulled the envelope free.
Inside was an old photo.
It showed David standing next to a living Julian inside an unknown office.
The photograph was dated three months ago.
May you like
At the bottom of the photo, someone had written a short note in blue ink.
“He took your life, and he took mine.”
