Chapter 2: The Locket
“Turn around.””
Lucas stared at me.
“What?””
“Please.””
My voice didn't sound like mine.
He slowly turned his back again.
I leaned closer.
The crescent-shaped mark sat just beneath his left shoulder blade.
My hands began shaking.
No.
It couldn't be.
My father had disappeared when I was sixteen.
Twenty years ago.
The same amount of time Lucas couldn't remember.
I ripped off the gloves.
“Grace?””
“Don't move.””
I ran from the bathroom.
“Grace!””
I barely heard him.
I crossed the hallway and raced upstairs.
Julian was standing in his study, phone against his ear.
He looked up.
“I'll call you back.””
He ended the call.
“What happened?””
I pushed past him toward the bookshelf.
“Where is it?””
“Where's what?””
“The box.””
“What box?””
“My mother's box!””
Julian grabbed my shoulders.
“Grace, slow down.””
“Don't tell me to slow down!””
My voice cracked.
His hands immediately loosened.
I opened the bottom cabinet.
Nothing.
Then I remembered.
The bedroom safe.
I ran again.
Julian followed.
“Did Lucas hurt you?””
“No.””
“Then what happened?””
I punched the code into the safe.
Wrong.
Again.
Wrong.
“Damn it!””
Julian gently moved my hand.
“Your mother's birthday.””
“I know!””
“You're entering yours.””
I stared at the keypad.
He was right.
I entered 0412.
The safe clicked.
Inside were passports, jewelry, property documents, and a small velvet box I hadn't opened in years.
I grabbed it.
My fingers trembled so badly I almost dropped it.
Julian watched me.
“What is that?””
I opened the box.
Inside lay an old gold locket.
The hinge squeaked when I opened it.
On one side was a photograph of sixteen-year-old me standing between my parents at Lake Michigan.
On the other was a tiny photograph my mother had cut from an older family picture.
My father stood shirtless beside a swimming pool, laughing as he held me above the water.
His back was partly turned toward the camera.
And beneath his left shoulder blade was a crescent-shaped birthmark.
Julian stared.
Then he looked at me.
“No.””
I nodded, tears already blurring my vision.
“Lucas has it.””
Julian's face went pale.
“The same place?””
“The same shape.””
“Birthmarks aren't fingerprints.””
“He said twenty years.””
“I know.””
“He woke up at a construction site.””
“I know.””
“My father disappeared twenty years ago.””
“I know, Grace.””
I grabbed Julian's shirt.
“Did you know?””
His eyes widened.
“What?””
“Did you know who he was before you brought him here?””
“No.””
“Don't lie to me.””
“I'm not.””
“You ordered me to bathe him.””
“Because I wanted you to help someone yourself for once.””
The cruelty of the truth cut through my panic.
I stepped back.
Julian continued, softer now.
“I found Lucas near the soup kitchen. He collapsed outside. While the medic checked him, I noticed an old injury near his shoulder, but I never saw the birthmark.””
I looked toward the hallway.
Memories crashed into me.
My father teaching me to ride a bicycle.
My father burning pancakes every Saturday morning.
My father sitting beside my bed during thunderstorms and tapping three times against my headboard.
Three taps.
Our signal.
I'm here.
Then the final morning.
Dad kissing my forehead before work.
“See you tonight, Gracie.””
He never came home.
His truck was found two days later near an unfinished building on the South Side.
There had been an accident at the site.
A partial structural collapse.
Police believed he'd been caught somewhere inside or injured and wandered away.
Weeks became months.
Months became years.
No body.
No confirmed sighting.
My mother searched until searching consumed her.
She died eleven years later still believing he might walk through the door.
I closed the locket.
“I need to talk to him.””
Julian followed me downstairs.
Lucas had dressed by the time we returned.
Clean, he looked completely different.
His silver hair was combed back. His face was narrow and weathered, but there was dignity in it now.
He wore the navy sweater Julian had bought him.
He stood beside the window.
When I entered, he looked worried.
“Did I do something?””
“No.””
I gripped the locket.
“I need to ask you some questions.””
Julian remained near the door.
Lucas sat.
“All right.””
“You said you woke up at a construction site.””
“Yes.””
“Do you remember anything about it?””
“Concrete dust.””
“What else?””
“Rain.””
I froze.
It had rained the night my father vanished.
“Anything else?””
Lucas rubbed his temple.
“A machine.””
“What kind?””
“I don't know.””
“Do you remember Chicago?””
“Not specifically.””
“Do you remember having children?””
His eyes moved to mine.
“Sometimes.””
My throat tightened.
“What do you remember?””
“A girl.””
“How old?””
“I don't know.””
“Her name?””
His face twisted with frustration.
“I wish I knew.””
I sat opposite him.
“My father disappeared twenty years ago.””
Lucas went still.
“His name was Thomas Bennett.””
Nothing.
“Does that name mean anything?””
He slowly shook his head.
I opened the locket.
“This was him.””
I handed it over.
Lucas studied the photograph.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then his thumb began trembling.
Julian saw it too.
“Lucas?””
The old man brought the photograph closer.
“I've seen this girl.””
My breath stopped.
“Where?””
“I don't know.””
“That's me.””
His eyes snapped toward mine.
“What?””
“The girl is me.””
Lucas looked at the photograph again.
His breathing changed.
I leaned forward.
“My father had a birthmark exactly like yours.””
Lucas instinctively touched his shoulder.
“What are you saying?””
“I don't know yet.””
His eyes filled with fear.
“Grace, I don't remember being your father.””
“I know.””
“I don't want to hurt you.””
“I know.””
“I've spent twenty years wondering if somebody was waiting for me.””
My composure broke.
“My mother waited.””
Lucas closed his eyes.
“She waited until she died.””
His face crumpled.
“I'm sorry.””
I covered my mouth.
Julian stepped forward, but I raised my hand.
There was one thing.
One stupid thing no police record would contain.
No newspaper article.
No photograph.
I stood and walked toward the wooden bedframe.
“Lucas.””
He looked up.
“When I was little, I was terrified of thunderstorms.””
He said nothing.
“My father had a way of calming me.””
I placed my fingers against the wood.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Lucas stared at my hand.
For a moment, the room was silent.
Then his face drained of color.
His fingers rose slowly toward his temple.
“Three knocks,” he whispered.
My knees nearly gave way.
“What did you say?””
Lucas stood.
His eyes were suddenly somewhere else.
Somewhere twenty years in the past.
“Three knocks means…”
He stopped.
“Means what?””
His mouth trembled.
May you like
And then he looked directly at me.
“I'm here, Gracie.””
