Chapter 4: The Woman Behind the Locked Door
"Hello, Ryan. Welcome home.""
The woman's voice was soft, almost affectionate.
I couldn't move.
She stood beneath a flickering fluorescent light, wearing a faded blue cardigan and holding a small photograph against her chest. Her hair was almost entirely gray, and her face looked painfully familiar.
My mother's face.
But my mother had been dead for twenty years.
I took one step backward.
"Who are you?""
The woman smiled sadly.
"You really don't recognize me?""
I shook my head.
She approached slowly, careful not to frighten me.
"Your first word was Mama. You used to hide under the kitchen table whenever thunderstorms came. You were afraid of the dark, Ryan.""
I swallowed.
"Stop.""
"You had a little wooden airplane. Your father made it for you. You carried it everywhere.""
"STOP!""
My voice cracked.
Claire stood behind me, crying silently.
The woman looked at her.
"Claire, you didn't tell him?""
Claire shook her head.
"I tried. I swear I tried.""
My mother closed her eyes.
"Twenty years, and you still haven't learned how to tell him the truth.""
I stared at Claire.
"Tell me what?""
Before she could answer, my mother reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
"Don't touch me.""
She stopped immediately.
Then she lifted her cardigan sleeve.
There was a long surgical scar running from her wrist to her elbow.
"Your father told you I died in a car accident," she said.
"But I was admitted to a private medical facility. I was kept there against my will.""
"Why?""
Her expression changed.
"Because I refused to let him take another child.""
A chill moved through me.
I remembered the little girl inside the wall.
Emma.
The second voice beneath the floor.
The photographs.
The hospital bracelet bearing my name.
"What children?"" I asked.
My mother looked toward the ceiling.
"Your father believed our family carried something special. He became obsessed with the birthmark you and your brother inherited. He thought it meant our bloodline could produce children with unusual abilities.""
I stared at her.
"That's insane.""
"I know.""
She pulled a chair away from the table.
"Sit down, Ryan. There are things you need to know before your father comes back.""
I remained standing.
"Start with the little girl in my wall.""
"Emma was born six years ago.""
Claire made a small sound.
My mother continued.
"She was taken from the hospital shortly after birth. Your father arranged everything. Claire was told the baby had died.""
I turned toward my wife.
"Is that true?""
Claire nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks.
"I was twenty-six weeks pregnant when the doctors told me there were complications. They said the baby had died before delivery. I never saw her.""
"Then why does she call me Daddy?""
Claire looked at the floor.
"Because she has been told you're her father.""
I stared at her.
"Am I?""
She nodded.
The room seemed to shrink around me.
"How?""
My mother answered.
"Your father used your medical records without your knowledge. He had stored samples from a procedure you underwent as a teenager. He used them to create embryos.""
I gripped the edge of the table.
"What procedure?""
"Do you remember the hospital stay after your accident?""
I did.
I was sixteen. I'd fallen from a tree while helping my father repair the roof of our old farmhouse. I had a concussion and spent several days in the hospital.
My father had told me they ran additional tests because I was unconscious.
"Those tests weren't just tests," my mother said.
"He collected biological samples.""
I felt sick.
"You're telling me my father stole my DNA?""
"Yes.""
Claire finally stepped forward.
"Ryan, I didn't know any of this until four months ago.""
I turned toward her.
"Four months?""
She nodded.
"Your father contacted me. He said Emma was alive. He threatened to hurt Lily if I told you.""
I stared at my wife.
"Why didn't you call the police?""
"Because he sent me pictures of Lily sleeping. Pictures taken inside our house.""
My blood ran cold.
"He was watching us?""
Claire nodded.
"Every night.""
My mother sat down.
"Your father has been living in the walls and underground passages for months. He built them years ago, when this house was still being renovated.""
I looked at the photographs covering the walls.
"Why?""
"Because he wanted to keep the children close.""
A faint scratching sound came from somewhere behind the steel shelves.
My mother immediately stood.
"He's back.""
The door at the top of the stairs creaked.
Then my father's voice floated down.
"Everyone enjoying the family reunion?""
Claire grabbed my arm.
"Ryan, we need to get out.""
My mother shook her head.
"There's another exit behind the cabinet.""
I looked toward the old wooden cabinet in the corner.
She pulled it aside, revealing a narrow passage.
"Where does it lead?""
"To the garage.""
I moved toward it.
Then a loud metallic bang echoed through the room.
The steel door slammed shut.
A red light appeared above the lock.
My father spoke through the speaker.
"Mother always was terrible at following instructions.""
My mother froze.
A second later, the speaker crackled.
"Ryan, before you leave, there's something you should know.""
I stepped toward it.
"What?""
My father's voice became almost gentle.
"The little girl you found in the wall isn't the child Claire gave birth to.""
My wife stopped breathing.
"What did you say?"" I demanded.
My father chuckled.
"Ask Claire about the baby she brought home four years ago.""
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Then the lights went out.
And somewhere in the darkness, a little girl began screaming my name.
