Chapter 3 - The Photograph Inside the Locket
Silas fired into the ceiling above the doorway.
The intruder ducked back.
"Rear door!" he shouted.
Mrs. Doyle pulled Eliza through the kitchen.
Another shot struck the wall.
Silas backed toward them.
"Go!"
They escaped into the alley.
Eliza could hear horses.
Men shouting.
Silas pushed her behind a stack of firewood.
"Stay here."
"No."
"Eliza."
"I'm done hiding."
He looked at her for half a second.
"Then stay behind me."
They moved through the neighboring yard.
Mrs. Doyle knew the alleys better than their pursuers and led them through a laundry shed into a stable.
"Take those two."
Silas looked at her.
"They'll come after you."
"They already broke my window."
Despite everything, Mrs. Doyle seemed offended by that fact more than the bullets.
Silas helped Eliza mount.
"Where's the letter?"
Her face changed.
"I dropped it."
"We can't go back."
"The name was on it."
"We're alive. That's more useful."
They rode out through the northern edge of town.
No one spoke until Leadville disappeared behind them.
Eliza finally said, "Someone knew we were going there."
Silas nodded.
"Nathan?"
"Maybe."
"Elias?"
"Maybe."
"Mrs. Doyle?"
"She had six years to hand over the box."
"So who?"
Silas looked toward the trail.
"Someone following us."
They changed direction twice before making camp in an abandoned mining shelter.
Silas checked the photograph again.
Samuel Mercer.
Eliza.
Caleb.
Pike.
Four people.
One murderer.
Except Rebecca's unfinished letter suggested a fifth man.
The man who calls himself—
What?
Eliza took out her locket.
"Open it."
Silas looked at her.
"It opens."
"Of course."
"No. More than that."
She remembered her mother's fingers.
A tiny click.
Eliza pressed her thumbnail against the inside rim.
Nothing.
Then she rotated the inner frame.
A hidden panel opened.
Silas stared.
Inside was a tiny folded piece of paper.
Eliza removed it.
There were only two lines.
S.M. 417.
Mercer Bank. Denver.
Silas exhaled.
"Safe deposit box."
"How do you know?"
"Samuel used numbers like that."
"Then we're going to Denver."
"Eventually."
"Silas."
"Caleb expects you there."
"Good."
He stared at her.
"That isn't how staying alive works."
"I'm tired of running."
"So am I. That's why I prefer not dying."
She folded the paper.
"My father hid something."
"Probably."
"Rebecca knew."
"Probably."
"Caleb tried to kill me when my memories returned."
"Definitely."
"Then whatever is in that box matters."
Silas could not argue.
They reached Denver two days later disguised among a freight caravan.
The city overwhelmed Eliza.
Some streets felt familiar.
Others didn't.
Then they passed a blue-painted house.
She suddenly stopped.
"I lived there."
Silas followed her gaze.
"With Caleb?"
She nodded.
Memory rushed back.
A locked bedroom.
Caleb telling her she was sick.
A bottle beside the bed.
Medicine.
Always medicine.
"Silas."
"What?"
"He gave me something."
"When?"
"For years."
"Medicine?"
"Every night."
Her face went pale.
"He said it helped headaches."
Silas understood.
"What if it wasn't for headaches?"
They went first to Mercer Bank.
The manager, Mr. Whitcomb, nearly dropped his spectacles when Eliza introduced herself.
"Impossible."
She placed the locket on his desk.
His face changed.
"Where did you get this?"
"My mother."
Whitcomb stared at her.
"You are her."
"Can you prove it?"
He slowly nodded.
"Samuel left instructions."
He opened a cabinet and removed a ledger.
"His daughter's identity could be confirmed by three things. The locket. A scar beneath her left shoulder."
Eliza stiffened.
She had the scar.
"And?"
Whitcomb looked at her.
"A phrase."
"What phrase?"
"I cannot tell you. You must tell me."
Eliza closed her eyes.
Nothing.
Silas waited.
Whitcomb began closing the ledger.
Then Eliza remembered her father standing beside the stable.
Never sell the north pasture, Lizzie.
Why?
Because—
She opened her eyes.
"'Land remembers the hands that loved it.'"
Whitcomb went completely still.
Then he stood.
"Miss Mercer."
Tears filled his eyes.
"Welcome home."
For the first time in six years, someone officially recognized Eliza Mercer.
The safe deposit box contained no money.
It held property deeds.
Letters.
And a ledger.
Silas opened it.
Payments had been recorded for years.
H. Pike.
C. Vale.
N. Cole.
And another set of initials.
V.R.
Eliza turned pages.
"What is this?"
"Bribes," Silas said.
Samuel had been documenting them.
Land fraud.
Stolen cattle.
False mining claims.
Judges paid.
Witnesses intimidated.
At the center of it was V.R.
"Who is V.R.?"
Whitcomb's face tightened.
"I don't know."
Silas did.
Or thought he did.
Victor Rourke.
A Denver businessman who had grown wealthy buying distressed ranches after the Mercer fire.
He also happened to be Caleb Vale's silent business partner.
Silas said the name.
Eliza repeated it.
"Victor Rourke."
A memory struck.
A black stone ring.
Her father's study.
A man's hand on the desk.
"You!"
Eliza staggered.
Silas caught her.
"What did you see?"
"The ring."
"What ring?"
"Black stone."
Whitcomb went pale.
"Victor Rourke wears an onyx signet ring."
Eliza looked at him.
"I saw him with my father."
The night of the fire began returning in pieces.
Samuel shouting.
Caleb standing near the door.
Rourke demanding deeds.
Rebecca screaming upstairs.
Then someone struck Eliza from behind.
She woke in a wagon.
Caleb was driving.
After that, darkness.
Whitcomb packed the documents.
"You must take these to Judge Henry Wallace."
Silas frowned.
"Can he be trusted?"
"Samuel trusted him."
That no longer seemed enough.
They left through the rear entrance.
Silas noticed a man across the street.
He wore a gray coat.
He had been outside the bank earlier.
"Keep walking."
Eliza understood.
They turned down an alley.
The man followed.
Silas doubled back and caught him.
"Who sent you?"
The man smiled.
"Mr. Rourke wants his property."
Eliza stepped closer.
"I'm not his property."
The man's smile widened.
"Wasn't talking about you."
His eyes dropped to the satchel containing Samuel's ledger.
Silas tightened his grip.
"Tell Rourke he can come ask."
"He will."
The man suddenly looked at Eliza.
"Your husband misses you."
Eliza's face remained calm.
"Tell Caleb I remember the wagon."
The man's smile vanished.
That mattered.
Silas saw it.
"So Caleb drove her away from the fire."
The man said nothing.
Eliza stepped closer.
"And tell him I remember who was sitting beside him."
The man blinked.
She didn't remember.
Not yet.
But his reaction told her someone had been there.
They released him.
Silas looked at her.
"That was a gamble."
"It worked."
"You're becoming troublesome again."
"Again?"
"You always were."
That evening they met Judge Wallace privately.
He read Samuel's ledger for nearly an hour.
"This could destroy Rourke."
"And Pike," Eliza said.
"And several others."
"Then issue warrants."
Wallace shook his head.
"Not yet."
Silas's eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"Because this ledger proves financial crimes. Not murder."
Eliza leaned forward.
"Rebecca's letter might."
"Where is it?"
"Lost."
"Then find Rebecca."
"If she's alive."
Wallace studied the ledger.
"Samuel mentioned keeping duplicate records at the ranch."
"The ranch burned," Silas said.
"Not all of it."
Eliza looked up.
Wallace continued.
"The original house burned. The stone office survived."
Silas had not known.
"Who owns the property?"
Wallace's expression darkened.
"Victor Rourke."
They left Denver after midnight.
Before they reached the edge of the city, a rider appeared behind them.
Silas reached for his rifle.
"Wait," Eliza said.
The rider raised both hands.
Nathan Cole.
He looked exhausted.
"I've been looking everywhere."
Silas kept his hand near the rifle.
"How did they know about Leadville?"
Nathan looked confused.
"What?"
"Someone attacked us."
"I told no one."
Eliza studied him.
"Then why are you here?"
Nathan pulled something from his coat.
A medicine bottle.
"I searched Caleb's house."
Eliza recognized it immediately.
Her nightly medicine.
Nathan handed it to Silas.
"What is it?"
"A sedative mixture."
"Would it affect memory?"
Nathan nodded.
"Used long enough, especially after head trauma, it could keep someone confused."
Eliza closed her eyes.
Six years.
Six years of swallowing forgetfulness every night.
Nathan spoke softly.
"There's something else."
He handed her a telegram.
It had been sent to Caleb.
ELIZA REMEMBERING. MOVE DATE FORWARD. PIKE READY. ROURKE.
Eliza looked at Silas.
They finally had the connection.
Then Nathan said, "That's not why I came."
He reached into his coat again.
This time he produced a photograph.
Eliza took it.
Rebecca Mercer stood outside a house.
The photograph was recent.
On the back was an address.
"She's alive?" Eliza whispered.
Nathan nodded.
"Where?"
He pointed at the address.
Silas read it.
His face changed.
"What?"
Eliza took the photograph back.
The address was only twelve miles away.
At the bottom, someone had written one sentence.
BRING ELIZA ALONE.
May you like
Then a second line appeared beneath it.
SILAS REED MUST NEVER KNOW WHO I AM.
