Chapter 2 - The Room That Made Them Sick
Claire grabbed Ethan and shouted, “Everybody out of the hallway.”
Vincent carried his son downstairs while Noah clutched the beige teddy bear against his chest.
Inside the open vent, a digital display flashed one number.
03:17.
Then it began counting backward.
Claire did not know what would happen when it reached zero.
Crowe moved faster than I expected.
He reached toward the vent.
I caught his wrist.
“Don’t.”
His head snapped toward me.
“Let go.”
“What is it?”
“It’s an environmental monitoring unit.”
“Then why is it counting down?”
His face changed.
Only slightly.
But it was enough.
Vincent saw it too.
“Answer her.”
Crowe pulled his arm free.
“The unit may be cycling.”
“Cycling what?” I asked.
He ignored me.
“Vincent, take the children downstairs. I’ll shut it off.”
“No.”
“Your sons are symptomatic.”
“And you’re standing beside something hidden in my wall.”
“It isn’t hidden.”
“It was behind a decorative vent.”
Crowe exhaled sharply.
“You’re emotional.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Vincent became very still.
“Sebastian.”
Crowe seemed to recognize the danger too late.
“I meant understandably emotional.”
Vincent turned to me.
“Get the boys downstairs.”
I hesitated.
“Go.”
I took Ethan’s hand.
Noah followed.
As we reached the staircase, I looked back.
Crowe stood beside the open wall.
Vincent faced him.
Neither man moved.
Downstairs, I opened the French doors leading to the terrace.
Fresh night air entered the family room.
I settled both boys on the sofa.
Ethan put his head against a cushion.
Noah leaned against me.
“Does it happen every night?” I asked.
Noah nodded.
“When?”
“After we go upstairs.”
“How fast?”
“Sometimes right away.”
Ethan’s eyes remained closed.
“Sometimes when the buzzing starts.”
My stomach tightened.
“You hear buzzing?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you ever tell your dad?”
“We told Doctor Sebastian.”
I looked at them.
“What did he say?”
“That old houses make sounds.”
A door slammed upstairs.
The twins flinched.
Then Vincent appeared at the top of the stairs.
Alone.
“Where’s Crowe?” I asked.
“Gone.”
“What happened?”
“He said the device was installed as part of an air-quality study six months ago.”
“Did you authorize it?”
“No.”
“Did he explain the countdown?”
“He said it was a diagnostic cycle.”
“You believe him?”
Vincent came downstairs.
“No.”
That one word changed everything.
He called his head of security.
Within twenty minutes, two guards were stationed outside the boys’ wing.
Nobody was allowed upstairs.
Vincent phoned an environmental engineering firm he owned through one of his companies.
He woke the director personally.
“I need your best technician here tonight.”
A sleepy voice protested over the speaker.
Vincent’s reply was calm.
“My children may have been exposed to something inside my home. How long?”
Silence.
Then: “Forty-five minutes.”
“Make it thirty.”
He hung up.
Money could not diagnose his sons.
But money could make people move quickly.
The engineer arrived at 11:06.
Her name was Dr. Lila Park.
She was in her early forties, with glasses, black hair tied tightly back, and the practical irritation of someone dragged from sleep but instantly alert once she understood the situation.
She examined the device without touching it.
“This isn’t part of your HVAC system.”
“What is it?” Vincent asked.
“Sensor.”
“For what?”
“I’ll need to remove it.”
“Do it.”
She photographed everything first.
Then disconnected power.
The countdown stopped at 00:41.
Lila removed the device.
It was the size of a deck of cards.
Several thin tubes disappeared deeper into the wall.
“What does it measure?” I asked.
She turned it over.
“No manufacturer label.”
“Normal?”
“No.”
Vincent folded his arms.
“How unusual?”
“Very.”
Lila opened a hard case and removed two handheld meters.
She tested the hallway.
Then Ethan’s bedroom.
Then Noah’s.
Numbers appeared on the display.
Her expression changed.
“What?” Vincent demanded.
“I need to check something.”
She went back into Ethan’s room.
Then Noah’s.
Then the hallway again.
“Lila.”
She looked at him.
“There’s an intermittent gas reading.”
Vincent’s face emptied.
“What gas?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Carbon monoxide?”
“No.”
“Natural gas?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“The levels are low right now. I need samples.”
Vincent stared toward the stairs.
“My sons have been sleeping up there for nine months.”
“I understand.”
“No. You don’t.”
His voice cracked.
It was the first time I heard his fear break through.
He looked at me.
“They slept there every night.”
I put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder.
“Not tonight.”
We moved the boys to two guest rooms in the west wing.
I slept in the sitting room between them.
Or tried to.
At 2:13 a.m., Vincent found me awake.
He stood in the doorway.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“I can’t.”
“Neither can I.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“Their mother died when they were three.”
I hadn’t known.
“Car accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She was taking them to preschool.”
He looked toward the twins.
“They weren’t in the car yet.”
I understood immediately.
He had already lost one person he loved without warning.
Now his sons were slipping away slowly, and no amount of power could stop it.
“I promised them I’d always keep them safe,” he said.
“You’re trying.”
“I brought every specialist money could buy into this house.”
“Sometimes expensive answers aren’t the right answers.”
He gave a tired laugh.
“That sounds like something Crowe would hate.”
“He already hates me.”
“You’ve been here one day.”
“I’m efficient.”
That almost made him smile.
By sunrise, Lila had collected samples from both bedrooms, the hallway, the ducts, the wall cavity, and the attic space above the east wing.
Vincent called Crowe three times.
No answer.
At 7:40, Crowe finally returned the call.
Vincent put him on speaker.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“You left without permission.”
“I don’t require permission to leave a private residence.”
“You installed equipment in my walls without mine.”
Silence.
Then Crowe said, “I explained that.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“It was part of my investigation.”
“What was it measuring?”
“Environmental variables.”
“Which variables?”
Crowe paused.
“Volatile compounds.”
Lila looked at me.
That answer bothered her.
Vincent noticed.
“Sebastian, I’m going to ask once. Did you know there was a gas being released near my sons’ bedrooms?”
“No.”
“Did you install tubing inside that wall?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent’s voice became colder.
“Come to the house.”
“I have patients.”
“You have thirty minutes.”
“I’m not an employee you can order around.”
“No,” Vincent said. “You’re the physician who told me for nine months that nothing in my house was making my children sick.”
The call went silent.
Then Crowe said something unexpected.
“Vincent, listen carefully. Do not allow anyone to open the wall.”
Lila froze.
Vincent’s eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“I’m serious.”
“Why?”
“I need to come there first.”
“You just said you couldn’t.”
“I changed my schedule.”
The line went dead.
Lila looked at Vincent.
“That wasn’t a medical warning.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
She stared toward the ceiling.
“But he knows what’s inside.”
At breakfast, the twins ate more than I had seen them eat the day before.
Eggs.
Toast.
Half a banana each.
Vincent watched every bite.
“You feel okay?” he asked Ethan.
“Better.”
“Headache?”
“No.”
Noah lifted his teddy bear.
“Bear feels better too.”
Vincent smiled.
Then he looked at me.
The meaning was obvious.
One night away from the east wing.
Already improvement.
It proved nothing scientifically.
But emotionally, it was impossible to ignore.
At nine, Lila’s laboratory called with the first preliminary result.
She took the call privately.
When she returned, she looked disturbed.
“Tell me,” Vincent said.
“The gas sample contains traces of an industrial solvent.”
“What kind?”
“Still confirming.”
“Could it cause their symptoms?”
“Yes.”
Every sound in the room seemed to disappear.
Vincent gripped the back of a chair.
“How?”
“Headaches. Dizziness. Nausea. Fatigue. Neurological symptoms depending on concentration and duration.”
“Could it kill them?”
Lila hesitated.
“Yes.”
Vincent turned away.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then he faced me.
“Get the boys out of the house.”
“Where?”
“My apartment in the city.”
Lila interrupted.
“I’d rather they go to a hospital for baseline testing.”
Vincent nodded immediately.
“Done.”
We were preparing to leave when security called.
Crowe had arrived.
But he wasn’t alone.
A second car entered behind him.
An older man stepped out carrying architectural plans.
Vincent stared through the window.
“Who is that?”
One of the housekeepers answered.
“Mr. Rourke.”
“Who?”
“The contractor who renovated the boys’ wing.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
Crowe walked toward the front door.
Rourke followed.
Then Rourke stopped.
He looked up at the east wing windows.
His face went pale.
He turned suddenly and tried to get back into his car.
Security blocked him.
Vincent opened the front door.
“Mr. Rourke.”
The contractor froze.
Vincent walked down the steps.
“Why are you running?”
Rourke looked at Crowe.
Crowe said nothing.
Then Rourke looked directly at me.
“You found the vent.”
It wasn’t a question.
Vincent took another step.
“What did you put in my wall?”
Rourke swallowed.
“I didn’t put it there.”
“Who did?”
He looked at Crowe again.
Crowe’s face became rigid.
Rourke opened his mouth.
Before he could speak, his phone rang.
He stared at the screen.
Then his hands began shaking.
“Who is it?” Vincent asked.
Rourke slowly turned the phone around.
The caller ID showed one word.
PRIVATE.
He answered.
Nobody spoke for three seconds.
Then a voice came through the speaker.
“Don’t say another word.”
Rourke dropped the phone.
May you like
And Dr. Crowe whispered one name.
“Evelyn.”
