Chapter 6: The House at the Edge of Town
We drove in silence.
No music.
No conversation.
Nothing but the sound of rain hitting the windshield.
The address came from Vanessa.
She had written it on a piece of paper with shaking hands.
A small house outside town.
Twenty minutes away.
A place hidden between trees and empty fields.
A place where my son had been.
A place where someone had kept him from us.
Marcus held the paper in his hand.
His fingers trembled.
I noticed.
Because I knew Marcus.
Everyone thought he was impossible to break.
But I knew the truth.
He had been broken for seven years.
He had just learned how to walk with the pieces.
“We don’t know what we’ll find,” Detective Harris said from the back seat.
“I know.””
Marcus looked out the window.
“We find our son.””
The detective was quiet.
Then:
“We find the truth.””
I looked at him.
“You think Elijah is still there?””
He didn’t answer immediately.
That scared me.
“I think someone wants us to believe he is.””
My stomach dropped.
“What does that mean?””
“It means we need to be careful.””
The car slowed.
The house appeared through the trees.
Small.
White paint peeling.
A wooden fence around the yard.
Exactly like the photograph.
My heart stopped.
Because I recognized it.
Not from the picture.
From a dream.
A dream I had every year since Elijah disappeared.
The same fence.
The same house.
The same feeling that I was always one step away.
Marcus saw my face.
“What?””
I whispered:
“I’ve seen this place.””
He looked at me.
“In your dreams?””
I nodded.
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t question me.
He just took my hand.
The first time he had touched me gently in days.
“We’re here.””
We got out.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
Detective Harris checked the windows.
“No movement.””
Marcus walked toward the door.
I grabbed his arm.
“Wait.””
He looked at me.
“What?””
I pointed.
A small wooden box sat beside the porch.
Inside were old toys.
A baseball.
A broken truck.
And a drawing.
I picked it up.
My hands started shaking.
Because I knew that handwriting.
A child’s handwriting.
Seven years younger.
But I knew it.
The drawing showed four people.
A mother.
A father.
A little boy.
And another little boy.
Above them were words.
*My family is coming for me.*
Marcus made a sound I had never heard before.
A sound between a laugh and a sob.
“He knew.””
I held the paper against my chest.
“He knew we would come.””
Detective Harris looked toward the house.
“Someone left this here for us.””
The front door opened.
All three of us froze.
A man stepped outside.
Older.
Gray hair.
Calm.
Too calm.
My uncle.
Richard.
He looked at me.
Then Marcus.
Then the drawing in my hand.
“You shouldn’t have come.””
Marcus moved forward.
“Where is my son?””
Richard didn’t answer.
My voice shook.
“Where is Elijah?””
Richard looked at me.
For a second, I saw something.
Regret.
Then it disappeared.
“You have no idea what you’re asking.””
Marcus laughed.
“You kidnapped a six-year-old child.””
Richard’s expression hardened.
“No.””
The answer shocked us.
“No?””
He stepped onto the porch.
“I saved him.””
My blood ran cold.
“You expect us to believe that?””
Richard looked at me.
“You think your mother was protecting a monster.””
He shook his head.
“She was protecting Elijah.””
“From who?””
Richard looked toward the road.
Then back at us.
“From your husband.””
The world stopped.
Marcus went still.
“What?””
Richard’s face showed no emotion.
“You never asked why Elijah was afraid that night.””
My heart pounded.
“What are you talking about?””
Richard looked at me.
“He wasn’t afraid of the lake.””
A cold feeling spread through me.
“He was afraid of someone else.””
“No.””
The word came out before I could stop it.
Richard reached into his pocket.
He pulled out an old photograph.
Not Elijah.
Not the house.
Something else.
He handed it to me.
I looked down.
And everything inside me shattered.
Because the photograph showed Marcus.
Seven years ago.
Standing outside the lake house.
Holding Elijah’s hand.
And behind them was a timestamp.
Taken twenty minutes before Elijah disappeared.
Marcus looked at the photograph.
His face went pale.
“I don’t remember this.””
Richard smiled sadly.
“That’s the problem.””
I looked at my husband.
The man I had loved for fifteen years.
The father who searched for our son.
The man who swore he would never stop looking.
And for the first time in seven years…
I wondered what happened in those twenty minutes.
May you like
Because Richard whispered:
“Ask your husband what he did before Elijah vanished.””
