Chapter 8: The Whitmore House
The old Whitmore house stood behind a wall of overgrown trees.
By the time we arrived, rain had started.
Thin drops struck the windshield while Detective Harris parked two houses away.
I stared through the glass.
The place looked abandoned.
Peeling white paint.
Broken porch light.
Windows dark.
A rusted swing moving in the wind.
Brandon sat beside me.
“You've never been here?””
“No.””
He nodded.
“I have.””
“When?””
“After Dad told me Sarah was gone.””
I looked at him.
“What did he tell you?””
“That she left.””
“Did you believe him?””
“I was seventeen.””
He looked out the window.
“I believed whatever kept me alive.””
Detective Harris turned around.
“Stay in the car.””
I shook my head.
“Nicole is inside.””
“I know.””
“I'm coming.””
“No.””
“Detective—”
“You're a witness and a potential target.””
“I've spent eight years in courtrooms.””
“This isn't a courtroom.””
“I know.””
I opened the door.
“This is my sister.””
He sighed.
“Stay behind me.””
We moved toward the house.
Rain soaked my coat within seconds.
The front door was slightly open.
Detective Harris pushed it wider.
“Nicole?””
Nothing.
We entered.
The smell hit me first.
Dust.
Mildew.
Something metallic.
Blood.
I stopped.
“Detective.””
He nodded.
“I smell it.””
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
We looked up.
“Nicole?””
A voice answered.
“Emily?””
I ran.
Harris grabbed my shoulder.
“Wait.””
Then Nicole screamed.
I pulled free.
“Nicole!””
We rushed upstairs.
She was lying against the hallway wall.
Blood streaked her forehead.
Her hands were tied with a torn piece of fabric.
I dropped beside her.
“Oh my God.””
She looked at me.
“You came.””
“Of course I came.””
Harris cut the restraints.
“Who did this?””
Nicole coughed.
“I don't know.””
“You saw him?””
“Yes.””
“Who?””
She looked at me.
“He knew your name.””
My stomach dropped.
“What did he look like?””
“Dark jacket. Gray hair.””
“Anything else?””
“He had Dad's old watch.””
I looked at Brandon.
“What?””
Brandon's face changed.
“That's impossible.””
“What?””
“That watch belonged to Grandpa.””
I frowned.
“Our grandfather?””
“He gave it to Dad.””
My heart pounded.
“Why is that impossible?””
“Because Grandpa died before you were born.””
Nicole grabbed my wrist.
“He said something.””
“What?””
“He said, ‘Sarah should have kept quiet.’”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Where's Sarah?””
“I don't know.””
“What happened?””
Nicole's eyes filled with tears.
“I came here because I thought she would be here.””
“Why?””
“Because she told me to.””
I stared at her.
“She contacted you?””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“After the party.””
“What did she say?””
Nicole looked toward the end of the hallway.
“She said the house had a room your father never wanted anyone to enter.””
I followed her gaze.
A door stood at the end of the hall.
Its lock had been broken.
Detective Harris approached.
“What room?””
Nicole whispered:
“Sarah's.””
I pushed the door open.
The room was almost empty.
A mattress.
A wooden dresser.
A cracked mirror.
And a desk covered in papers.
My pulse accelerated.
I walked toward it.
“Emily,” Brandon said quietly.
There was a photograph on the desk.
Three people.
My mother.
My father.
And a woman I had never seen.
She had my eyes.
I picked it up.
“Sarah.””
Brandon nodded.
On the back was a date.
*June 1989.*
I turned it over again.
A handwritten sentence appeared beneath the photograph.
*He doesn't know I kept the original.*
“Original what?”” I whispered.
I opened the dresser.
Inside were dozens of envelopes.
Most were addressed to Richard.
Some to my mother.
One had my name.
*Emily.*
My hands shook as I opened it.
The letter was written in blue ink.
Emily,
If you're reading this, then either I finally found the courage to tell you, or someone found the courage to tell you for me.
Your father will tell you I abandoned you.
Your mother will tell you she saved you.
Neither is completely true.
I stopped reading.
Daniel's voice came through my phone.
I had forgotten he was still connected.
“Emily?””
“I'm here.””
“What did you find?””
I looked at the letter.
“Something from Sarah.””
“Is she there?””
“No.””
“Then we need to get you back to the hospital.””
“I can't.””
“Why?””
I looked at the next paragraph.
The night Emily was born, Richard made a decision that changed three families.
I swallowed.
“What decision?”” I whispered.
Brandon stepped closer.
“What does it say?””
I read aloud.
He owed money to people who were willing to hurt a child to collect it.
My blood went cold.
Brandon looked at me.
“Keep reading.””
I refused to let them take my daughter.
Richard promised he could protect her.
He lied.
My mother appeared in the doorway.
I spun around.
She had followed us.
“Mom?””
She stared at the letter.
“Don't.””
“Did you know?””
She began crying.
“Yes.””
“Who wanted me?””
“I don't know.””
“You know.””
She shook her head.
“Your father borrowed money.””
“From whom?””
She whispered:
“Men who didn't forgive debt.””
The room went silent.
Detective Harris stepped closer.
“Names.””
My mother looked at him.
“I don't know all of them.””
“Names.””
She swallowed.
“One was called Vincent.””
Brandon's face changed.
“Vincent Cole?””
My mother nodded.
Brandon backed away.
“What?””
I looked at him.
“You know him?””
“I met him once.””
“When?””
“2004.””
My stomach tightened.
“The night you were found in the garage?””
“Yes.””
I stared at him.
“What did he want?””
Brandon looked at my mother.
“He wanted Emily.””
I couldn't breathe.
My mother covered her mouth.
“That's why Dad attacked you,” Brandon said.
“What?””
“He knew they were coming back.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“Dad said he lost control.””
“He did.””
“Why?””
“Because he knew someone was watching the house.””
I looked at the letter again.
The final paragraph was underlined.
Richard believes he can control everyone with fear.
He cannot.
Because I have proof.
I turned the page.
Nothing.
The rest had been torn away.
“Where's the rest?””
Nicole shook her head.
“It was gone when I found it.””
I looked around the room.
A floorboard creaked.
Everyone froze.
Detective Harris drew his weapon.
“Who's there?””
No answer.
Then footsteps.
Running downstairs.
Harris sprinted out.
Brandon followed.
I stayed with Nicole.
A crash came from below.
Then Detective Harris shouted:
“STOP!””
Another crash.
A car engine roared outside.
Seconds later, Harris returned.
He was breathing hard.
“Gone.””
I ran to the window.
A black SUV disappeared down the road.
The license plate was partially obscured.
But I recognized the last four digits.
The same SUV from the hospital.
My phone buzzed.
A new text.
*You found the letter. Good.*
I stared.
Another message:
*Now find the birth certificate.*
Then:
*The one with the real father's name.*
I looked at my mother.
She went white.
“Mom?””
She shook her head.
“Don't.””
“What real father's name?””
She whispered:
“Emily…”
“Who is my father?””
My mother looked toward the doorway.
Then at Brandon.
Then at Nicole.
May you like
Finally, she said:
“Richard isn't your father.””
