Chapter 4: The Room Beneath the East Wing
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Mae stood beside the shattered coffee table, staring at David as though she were trying to pull a face out of a nightmare. Richard had stopped smiling. Even the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed unnaturally loud.
I held the brass key so tightly that its teeth dug into my palm.
“My father was inside that hospital?”” I asked.
Mae nodded slowly.
“I remember smoke. Someone screaming. A little girl crying behind a door.”” Her breath hitched.
“Your father was standing in the hallway, Claire. He had blood on his sleeve.””
David stepped toward her.
“Mae, you have to be careful. Those memories aren't necessarily accurate.””
She recoiled.
“Don't come near me!””
He stopped immediately.
The fear in her voice was real. So was the guilt that spread across David's face.
I turned on him.
“You said you were trying to save her.””
“I was.””
“Then explain why she remembers my father at the hospital.””
David rubbed his wedding ring, twisting it until the skin beneath it turned red.
“Because your father was there.””
Richard let out a bitter laugh.
“At least you're finally admitting that.””
David shot him a murderous look.
“Shut up, Richard.””
“No. I've spent twenty-three years watching you protect a dead man's reputation. I'm finished.””
Richard pulled a folded document from his briefcase and placed it on the coffee table.
“This is a maintenance report from the hospital. The fire began at 11:42 p.m. in a storage room beside the east stairwell. The alarm system had been disabled eleven minutes earlier.””
I picked up the report.
The name of the technician who had disabled the alarm was handwritten at the bottom.
*Arthur Bennett.*
My father's name.
I felt the room tilt.
“Why would he disable a fire alarm?””
Richard looked at David.
“Ask the man who helped him get inside.””
David's face hardened.
“I was twenty years old. Your father promised he was taking Rebecca somewhere safe. He told me she was unstable and that she'd threatened to hurt the baby.””
“And you believed him?”” I demanded.
“I believed what I was told.””
“You were old enough to know better!””
His voice rose.
“I was old enough to be terrified of him!””
The sudden outburst silenced everyone.
David stared at me, breathing hard.
“Your father controlled everything. The money, the house, the police officers who returned his calls. He knew how to make people disappear without leaving a trace. When he told me Rebecca had to be moved, I thought he was protecting you.””
“Protecting me from what?””
He looked at Mae.
“From the truth.””
I wanted to slap him. I wanted to demand every detail of every lie he'd ever told me. Instead, I turned toward the east wing.
“Show me the room.””
David shook his head.
“Claire, don't.””
“You gave me the key. Now show me what it opens.””
Richard picked up his briefcase.
“I'll come with you.””
“No,” David said sharply.
Richard raised an eyebrow.
“Still giving orders?””
“You have no idea what's down there.””
“Neither do you,” I replied.
“Not anymore.””
I led the way through the hallway.
The east wing had been closed since we'd bought the mansion. David claimed the old plumbing made it unsafe, and I'd never questioned him because there were plenty of other rooms in the house.
At the end of a narrow corridor stood a wooden door painted the same cream color as the walls.
I inserted the brass key.
It turned with a heavy click.
Behind the door, a staircase descended into darkness.
A smell of damp concrete and stale air drifted upward.
David switched on the lights.
One bulb flickered, illuminating a narrow set of stairs and a steel door at the bottom.
Mae stood several feet behind us.
“I don't want to go down there,” she whispered.
I turned to her.
“Then you don't have to.””
She looked at me with an expression that made my chest ache.
“What if that's where I lost myself?””
I reached for her hand.
“Then we'll find out together.””
We descended slowly.
At the bottom, the steel door stood slightly ajar.
David stopped in front of it.
“Your father used this room for storage,” he said.
I pushed past him.
It wasn't a storage room.
It was an archive.
Metal filing cabinets lined the walls. Boxes were stacked beneath a long table. A dusty computer sat beside an old tape recorder. On the far wall hung a collection of photographs, all arranged in chronological order.
The first showed my father standing outside the hospital.
The second showed David, much younger, beside a dark sedan.
The third showed a woman being wheeled through a hospital corridor.
Her face was partially obscured, but the scar on her shoulder was unmistakable.
Mae staggered.
“That's me.””
I caught her elbow.
The next photograph showed a newborn baby wrapped in a pale yellow blanket.
My stomach twisted.
Pinned beneath it was a hospital bracelet.
The name had been written in faded ink.
*Baby Girl Morgan.*
My hands began to shake.
I opened the nearest filing cabinet.
Inside were folders bearing dates, names, and hospital identification numbers. One folder contained my father's financial records. Another held copies of payments made to a private clinic in Connecticut.
Then I found a folder marked with my birthday.
October 15, 1992.
I opened it.
A birth certificate lay on top.
The original name of the child had been crossed out.
Underneath, in my father's handwriting, were two words.
*Claire Bennett.*
I stared at the paper.
“My entire life,” I whispered.
David stood behind me.
“Claire, listen—”
I slapped the document onto the table.
“You knew.””
He didn't answer.
“You knew who I was.””
“Yes.””
The word was so quiet I almost didn't hear it.
I turned toward him.
“How long?””
He lowered his head.
“Since before our wedding.””
A sound escaped me that was half laugh, half sob.
“You married me knowing I might be the daughter of the woman you helped disappear?””
“I loved you.””
“You lied to me every single day!””
“I thought the truth would destroy you.””
“You don't get to decide what truth I can survive!””
My voice echoed through the basement.
David flinched.
For once, he had no defense.
Then Mae approached the table.
She was staring at a small metal box tucked behind the filing cabinet.
“What's that?”” she asked.
I pulled it free.
There was no lock, only a strip of yellowed tape bearing a handwritten note.
For Rebecca, if she ever remembers.
Mae's knees weakened.
I opened the box.
Inside lay a child's drawing, a faded hospital photograph, and a cassette tape labeled with a date.
The drawing showed a house with a red roof. Three figures stood in front of it: a woman, a little girl, and a man whose face had been crossed out.
At the bottom, a child had written:
Mommy says we will go home soon.
Mae touched the paper with trembling fingers.
“I drew that.””
Her voice broke.
“I remember the house.””
“Where was it?”” I asked.
She closed her eyes.
“Near the water. There was a blue door. A white fence.””
Richard suddenly stepped forward.
“That's impossible.””
I looked at him.
“What is?””
He stared at the drawing.
“Your father told me that house had been demolished.””
David went pale.
“What house?””
Richard didn't answer immediately.
Then he turned to me.
“There's one more thing you should know about your father.””
He pointed at the photograph of the newborn.
“The hospital didn't record one birth that night.””
He took a breath.
“It recorded two.””
I looked down at the folder again.
Two birth certificates had been filed beneath my name.
One belonged to me.
The other bore a different name.
*Evelyn Morgan.*
Before I could ask who Evelyn was, a sharp metallic sound rang out behind us.
The steel door slammed shut.
The lights went dark.
Mae screamed.
And from somewhere beyond the locked door, a man's voice spoke through the ventilation grate.
“You shouldn't have opened that box, Claire.””
I recognized the voice immediately.
May you like
It belonged to someone who had been dead for six years.
My father.
