Chapter 7: Behind the Freezer
My father’s shout froze the garage.
“No.””
Not wait.
Not don’t touch that.
No.
A single word.
A desperate one.
Daniel looked at me.
“You still want to move it?””
“Yes.””
Richard stepped toward us.
“You don't understand what you're doing.””
“I understand exactly what I'm doing.””
I pointed at the old freezer.
“Move.””
He didn't.
So Daniel and I moved toward it.
The freezer was enormous, an old white chest freezer with yellowed plastic handles and rust around the hinges. It had been sitting against the back wall for as long as I could remember.
My father had always told us not to touch it.
When I was little, I thought it was because the lid was heavy.
Now I knew better.
Daniel grabbed one side.
I grabbed the other.
“On three,” he said.
“One.””
Richard moved forward.
“Emily, stop.””
“Two.””
“I'm warning you.””
“Three.””
We shoved.
The freezer scraped across the concrete.
A cloud of dust rose from beneath it.
And there it was.
A rectangular patch of newer cement.
Fresh compared with the rest of the garage floor.
My mother made a sound behind me.
Not a gasp.
A whimper.
I stared at the concrete.
Then at her.
“You knew.””
She shook her head violently.
“No.””
“Mom.””
“I knew there was work done.””
“What kind of work?””
“I don't know.””
My father stepped between us.
“That's enough.””
I looked down.
There was a metal ring embedded near the edge of the cement.
A small access hatch.
Daniel saw it too.
“Oh, God.””
Richard lunged.
Daniel caught him.
“Don't touch it.””
“Get off me!””
My father struggled with a strength I hadn't seen from him all night.
Brandon grabbed his other arm.
“Dad, stop.””
Richard looked at him.
“You ungrateful little—”
“Stop!””
Brandon shoved him backward.
Richard stumbled.
For one second, father and son stared at each other.
Then Brandon said quietly, “I'm not fourteen anymore.””
My father's face hardened.
“No.””
Brandon swallowed.
“You're not the only person I'm afraid of anymore.””
I crouched beside the hatch.
My fingers hovered over the ring.
I looked at Daniel.
“Call Detective Harris.””
He was already dialing.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then the detective answered.
“Emily?””
“We found something.””
“Don't touch it.””
“We haven't.””
“Where are you?””
“My parents' garage.””
“Step away from the area. Officers are on the way.””
I stood.
My father laughed bitterly.
“You really think this proves anything?””
I looked at the cement.
“No.””
I looked at him.
“But your reaction might.””
He stopped smiling.
A few minutes later, police vehicles arrived.
Detective Harris entered with two officers.
His eyes immediately went to the freezer.
Then the concrete.
“Who moved this?””
“I did,” I said.
“Did you touch the hatch?””
“No.””
He crouched and examined it.
“Good.””
He stood.
“Everyone out of the garage.””
My father objected.
“This is my property.””
Harris looked at him.
“And this is potentially a crime scene.””
Richard's mouth tightened.
“On what grounds?””
“Possible evidence connected to a missing person.””
Nobody spoke.
The detective pointed toward the driveway.
“Outside.””
We moved.
My mother stood on the porch with her arms wrapped around herself.
Brandon sat on the bottom step.
Margaret remained beside me.
The garage door stayed open.
Police officers moved around inside.
I watched through the doorway as they photographed the floor.
My father stood across the yard.
He looked smaller now.
Not physically.
Something else.
The certainty was gone.
For the first time, I saw the man I'd spent my childhood trying to understand without the protection of fear.
He was just a man.
An aging man who had built his life around the belief that nobody would ever make him answer for what he'd done.
Detective Harris came outside.
“Mrs. Coleman.””
I stood.
“We need to talk.””
“About the hatch?””
“Yes.””
He lowered his voice.
“We've requested a forensic team.””
“What's beneath it?””
“We don't know.””
My father called from the driveway.
“You don't have enough evidence to search anything.””
Harris turned.
“Mr. Coleman, if you have nothing to hide, you'll have nothing to worry about.””
Richard laughed.
“That line might work on ordinary people.””
Harris looked at me.
Then back at Richard.
“She isn't the one under investigation tonight.””
My father's expression changed.
Harris walked away.
I turned to Margaret.
“You said David disappeared.””
“Yes.””
“You never saw him leave?””
“No.””
“Why didn't you tell the police?””
She looked at the ground.
“Because Richard had already destroyed my reputation.””
“And you were afraid.””
“Yes.””
I looked at her.
“You knew where he was.””
She shook her head.
“No.””
“Then what did you mean when you said I saw him?””
Margaret hesitated.
“You saw something else that night.””
“What?””
She looked toward the garage.
“You saw your father carry something outside.””
My chest tightened.
“What?””
“I don't know.””
“You saw him?””
“Yes.””
“With what?””
“A tarp.””
I closed my eyes.
The memory came back in fragments.
Rain.
A cold garage.
My father's shoes.
A blue tarp dragged across concrete.
And something heavy underneath it.
I'd spent years believing it was a stack of old equipment.
But I remembered something else.
A hand.
I opened my eyes.
“My God.””
Daniel came toward me.
“What?””
“I remember.””
Margaret's face went pale.
“What?””
“I saw a hand.””
My mother began crying.
Richard looked away.
I turned toward him.
“You knew I remembered.””
He said nothing.
“You knew.””
His silence was an admission.
I walked toward him.
“You let me believe I imagined it.””
He finally looked at me.
“You were a child.””
“You made me doubt my own memory.””
“You were unstable.””
I stopped.
Daniel's face hardened.
“Don't call her that.””
Richard looked at him.
“I raised her.””
“And she survived you.””
The words landed hard.
My father stepped forward.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.””
“I know exactly what I'm talking about.””
Daniel moved beside me.
“You attacked a three-year-old girl tonight.””
Richard's jaw clenched.
“She wasn't supposed to be in the kitchen.””
“She was a child.””
“She was disobedient.””
“She was bleeding.””
Richard looked away.
My mother whispered, “Please.””
I turned toward her.
“Please what?””
She didn't answer.
A police officer appeared at the garage door.
“Detective?””
Harris hurried over.
The officer said something quietly.
Harris's expression changed.
Then he looked at me.
“We need everyone away from the house.””
“What happened?””
“We found something beneath the freezer.””
My pulse jumped.
“What?””
He hesitated.
“Human remains.””
My mother screamed.
Brandon stood abruptly.
My father didn't move.
I looked at him.
He stared straight ahead.
No surprise.
No confusion.
Nothing.
Detective Harris watched him too.
“Mr. Coleman?””
Richard remained silent.
Harris stepped closer.
“Did you know those remains were there?””
My father finally looked at him.
“No.””
The detective studied his face.
Then he looked at me.
“We'll need your statement.””
I nodded.
But before I could speak, an officer came running from the side of the house.
“Detective!””
Harris turned.
“What?””
“We found the second scene.””
“Where?””
“In the old shed.””
My blood ran cold.
The officer held up a plastic evidence bag.
Inside was a bloodstained piece of fabric.
And attached to it was a small brass button.
Margaret covered her mouth.
I knew that button.
I'd seen it in the blue box.
On the photograph of David Mercer.
The detective looked at me.
“Do you recognize this?””
I nodded.
“Yes.””
“From where?””
I stared at the button.
“David's coat.””
Harris's expression hardened.
Then he looked toward the house.
“Find Victor Lane.””
An officer immediately reached for his radio.
But before he could speak, a phone began ringing.
Everyone turned.
It was my father's phone.
He looked at the screen.
His face went white.
I couldn't see the number.
But I could see the name.
*VICTOR.*
Richard didn't answer.
The phone stopped.
Then immediately rang again.
This time, the call came from my mother's phone.
She looked down.
Her hands began shaking.
“Why is Victor calling me?””
I stepped toward her.
“Answer it.””
She stared at me.
“I can't.””
“Mom.””
The phone kept ringing.
Finally, she pressed accept.
A man's voice came through the speaker.
“Elaine?””
My mother couldn't speak.
The voice continued.
“Tell Emily to stop looking.””
I felt every hair on my arms rise.
“Victor?””
Silence.
Then he said,
“She doesn't know what her father did to David.””
I stepped closer.
“What did my father do?””
Victor's voice dropped.
“He didn't kill David.””
My father closed his eyes.
I stared at him.
Victor continued.
“Your father made him disappear.””
The call ended.
And in the silence that followed, my father's phone rang again.
This time, the caller wasn't Victor.
It was the police station.
They had found Victor Lane.
May you like
Alive.
And he was asking for me.
