Chapter 7: The Second Child
The sound of the car outside changed everything.
My father grabbed my shoulder.
“Down.””
He shoved me toward the floor just as headlights swept across the workshop windows.
Claire dropped beside me.
“What is happening?”” she whispered.
My father moved toward the wall.
“Someone followed you.””
I looked at him.
“You said this place was safe.””
“It was.””
A car door slammed outside.
Then another.
Two sets of footsteps crossed the gravel.
I felt my pulse in my throat.
“How many?””
“At least three.””
Claire leaned toward me.
“Marcus, we need to leave.””
My father shook his head.
“No.””
“What do you mean, no?”” I whispered.
“They know the main entrance.””
He reached beneath the workbench and pulled out an old canvas bag.
I stared.
“What is that?””
“Your way out.””
He opened a concealed panel in the floor.
Cold air rose from beneath it.
A tunnel.
I looked at him.
“You built a tunnel?””
“I didn't build it.””
“Then who did?””
His eyes met mine.
“The people I was hiding from.””
A heavy knock struck the workshop door.
My father closed the panel.
“Listen to me carefully.””
He crouched in front of us.
“Maya cannot stay at that hospital.””
I felt anger surge through me.
“She has doctors and security.””
“Security can be bought.””
“So can doctors?””
“Anyone can be bought.””
Claire whispered, “What about Dr. Harris?””
“I don't know him.””
“He's treating her.””
“Then don't trust him yet.””
Another knock.
Harder.
“Arthur!””
The voice outside echoed through the workshop.
My father's face went pale.
He knew the voice.
I grabbed his arm.
“Who is that?””
He didn't answer.
“Dad.””
He looked at me.
“Caleb Warren.””
The name meant nothing.
Claire's face changed.
“You know him?””
She nodded slowly.
“He worked with your father.””
My father's jaw tightened.
“He did more than work with me.””
The door shook under another blow.
“Arthur, we know you're in there.””
Caleb's voice sounded almost amused.
“Open the door.””
I whispered, “Why does he want Maya?””
My father looked at me.
“Because she remembers the night they took Emily.””
The name stopped me.
“Emily.””
The little girl from the newspaper.
My father nodded.
“She was six.””
I stared at him.
“And Maya saw her?””
“She saw enough.””
“How?””
“She followed you that night.””
I frowned.
“Me?””
“Yes.””
“You said I was seventeen.””
“You were.””
“What does that have to do with Emily?””
My father's eyes darkened.
“You saw her, too.””
A memory flashed.
Rain.
Trees.
A little girl's red coat.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I don't remember.””
“You were threatened.””
“By who?””
He didn't answer.
The workshop door rattled.
Caleb shouted again.
“Arthur, don't make this difficult.””
My father opened the canvas bag.
Inside were documents, old photographs, a small recorder, and several handwritten pages.
He handed me the recorder.
“What is this?””
“Proof.””
“Proof of what?””
“Everything.””
I turned it over.
“How did you get this?””
“Emily's father gave it to me before he disappeared.””
I stared at him.
“You said Emily's family never found her.””
“They didn't.””
“What happened to her father?””
“He was killed.””
Claire covered her mouth.
“Marcus,” she whispered.
I looked at her.
“You knew.””
She nodded.
“Not all of it.””
My father looked toward the door.
“They'll kill anyone who knows too much.””
“Then why am I still alive?””
His expression broke.
“Because I spent thirteen years making them believe you knew nothing.””
I stared at him.
“You let me hate you.””
“Yes.””
“You let me think you abandoned Mom.””
“Yes.””
“You let me think you died.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
His voice cracked.
“Because loving you from a distance was the only way I could keep you alive.””
For the first time that night, he looked less like the terrifying stranger I had built in my head and more like the father I remembered.
The man who taught me how to change a tire.
The man who stayed up after my first school fight.
The man who used to whistle when he cooked breakfast.
I wanted to believe him.
But then I remembered Maya.
“Why didn't you tell me when she was born?””
His eyes dropped.
“I tried.””
I frowned.
“What?””
“I sent letters.””
“To where?””
“Your old apartment.””
“I never got them.””
“I know.””
Claire suddenly spoke.
“I intercepted them.””
Silence.
My father slowly looked at her.
“You did what?””
Claire's face crumpled.
“I was scared.””
“You promised me.””
“I had a baby. Marcus was building a life. I couldn't risk it.””
My father stepped toward her.
“You had no right.””
“I know.””
I stared at my wife.
“You intercepted my father's letters?””
She nodded.
“How many?””
“Four.””
“Four?””
“I burned three.””
My voice became barely audible.
“What about the fourth?””
Claire looked at me.
“I kept it.””
“Why?””
“Because I couldn't destroy the only proof that maybe you'd been telling the truth.””
My father closed his eyes.
Then a gunshot exploded outside.
The window shattered.
Claire screamed.
My father pulled us down.
“Move!””
He shoved the canvas bag into my hands.
“Take the tunnel.””
“What about you?””
“I'll slow them down.””
“No.””
“Marcus.””
“I just found you.””
He gripped my shoulder.
“You didn't find me.””
He pointed toward the tunnel.
“I found you.””
Another gunshot struck the wall.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
“Go!””
I grabbed Claire's hand.
We climbed into the tunnel.
The opening was barely wide enough.
Muddy walls.
Low ceiling.
The smell of damp stone.
Behind us, the workshop door splintered.
Then men shouted.
I pulled Claire forward.
“Keep moving.””
“I am.””
“Where does this go?””
“I don't know.””
“Your father does.””
“He's your father too.””
The words hurt.
I crawled faster.
Behind us came another gunshot.
Then silence.
I stopped.
Claire nearly collided with me.
“Why did you stop?””
I listened.
Nothing.
“Dad?””
No answer.
I turned around.
“We have to go back.””
Claire grabbed my shirt.
“No.””
“That's my father.””
“And that's exactly why he told us to run.””
She was crying.
“I can't lose you too.””
I looked at her.
For the first time, Claire wasn't trying to control the situation.
She was terrified.
Real terror.
I turned forward.
We kept moving.
After several minutes, the tunnel opened into a small concrete room.
There was a metal ladder leading upward.
At the top was a hatch.
I pushed it.
It opened into the woods behind the property.
We climbed out.
Cold air hit my face.
My phone had no signal.
Claire was bent over, breathing hard.
“We need a car.””
I opened the canvas bag.
Inside was a set of keys.
And an address.
I unfolded the paper.
“What's this?””
Claire came closer.
Her face changed.
“What?””
“You recognize it?””
She nodded.
“That's an apartment.””
“Whose?””
“Daniel Bennett's.””
I looked at her.
“Why would my father have Daniel's address?””
“Because Daniel isn't working for your father.””
“Then who?””
She stared toward the dark trees.
“Someone higher up.””
A branch snapped behind us.
We both turned.
Nothing.
I reached into the bag again.
My fingers touched something hard.
Another photograph.
I pulled it out.
My stomach dropped.
It showed three people standing outside a courthouse.
My father.
Daniel Bennett.
And Claire.
But the photograph was dated sixteen years ago.
Claire stared at it.
Her face drained of color.
“That isn't possible.””
“You're in this.””
“I know.””
“No.””
I pointed to the date.
“You were pregnant with Maya.””
Claire shook her head.
“I wasn't.””
I looked at her.
She whispered:
“I was pregnant with someone else.””
I couldn't understand.
“What?””
Claire's eyes filled with tears.
“Maya wasn't the baby I was carrying.””
The photograph slipped from my hand.
She looked at me.
“And now you finally know why everyone was so afraid of your daughter.””
A light appeared between the trees.
A flashlight.
Then another.
Voices carried through the darkness.
“Check the trail.””
“Find them.””
Claire grabbed my hand.
“We have to go.””
I picked up the photograph.
But before we ran, I noticed writing on the back.
May you like
Five words.
*THE SECOND CHILD SURVIVED AFTER ALL.*
