Chapter 2
I had heard my dead mother's voice.
There was no other way to describe it.
One moment, I was standing at the basement door with my terrified son beside me.
The next, the voice I had spent six months longing to hear came through the wood.
“Marcus.”
My knees almost gave way.
I gripped the handrail.
Behind me, Claire whispered, “Please.”
I turned toward her.
“What is down there?”
She was crying now.
“Marcus, you have to understand.”
“Understand what?”
She shook her head.
“It's not what you think.”
I stared at her.
“My mother is dead.”
Claire pressed her lips together.
I stepped closer.
“I buried her.”
“Marcus…”
“I stood over her coffin and said goodbye!”
Noah began sobbing.
I turned immediately.
“Son, look at me.”
He wiped his cheeks.
“I'm sorry, Dad.”
“For what?”
“I didn't know if you'd believe me.”
I knelt in front of him.
“I believe you heard something.”
He shook his head.
“No. I saw her.”
My heart seemed to stop.
“What?”
“Grandma Evelyn.”
I stared at him.
“She was sitting in a chair downstairs.”
I couldn't breathe.
Claire suddenly moved toward the kitchen.
“Marcus, don't.”
I stood and blocked her.
“Where are you going?”
She looked toward the front door.
“I need to call someone.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“My brother.”
Her brother, Daniel, was a private physician.
He had helped arrange my mother's medical care before she died.
I remembered his face at the funeral.
He hadn't cried.
He simply kept telling me that grief took time.
Now I wondered why Claire wanted him involved.
“You can call him after we see what's downstairs,” I said.
Her eyes widened.
“No, Marcus.”
I turned toward the basement door.
It was locked.
That surprised me.
We never locked the basement.
It held our laundry machines, storage boxes, and my old exercise equipment.
I reached for the key hanging beside the door.
It was gone.
“Claire.”
She didn't answer.
“Where's the key?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at her.
She lowered her eyes.
Another metallic tapping came from below.
Then a faint cough.
Noah grabbed my shirt.
“Dad, hurry.”
I took the spare key from the kitchen emergency cabinet.
My hands shook as I opened the lock.
The door swung inward.
A strip of light spilled across the basement stairs.
I went first.
Noah followed closely.
Claire remained behind us.
The basement smelled different.
Not dusty or damp.
It smelled like disinfectant.
Medicine.
Something sharp and clinical.
I reached the bottom step.
Then I saw a narrow hallway formed by newly installed partitions.
Someone had built a room inside our basement.
I hadn't authorized any construction.
I traveled frequently for my job managing regional construction contracts.
Three months earlier, I had spent nearly two weeks in Chicago.
I remembered Claire saying contractors needed to repair a leaking pipe.
Was this what they had built?
A white door stood at the end of the hallway.
A small electronic keypad glowed beside it.
I approached slowly.
“Hello?”
Something moved inside.
Then came a weak voice.
“Who's there?”
My chest tightened.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it thousands of times.
When I was sick.
When I was scared.
When I graduated.
When my son was born.
“Mom?”
Silence.
Then a broken sob.
“Marcus?”
I rushed toward the door.
“Mom!”
Claire caught my arm.
“Don't!”
I pulled away.
“Get off me!”
My shout startled Noah.
I forced myself to lower my voice.
“Claire, open this door.”
She shook her head.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Daniel has the code.”
I stared at her.
Her brother had access to a locked medical room beneath my house.
My mother was apparently inside.
And my wife was telling me she couldn't open it.
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“Call him.”
Claire reached for her phone.
But instead of dialing, she stepped backward.
Noah spoke suddenly.
“Dad, I know the code.”
I turned.
“What?”
“I watched Mom put it in.”
Claire gasped.
“Noah!”
He ignored her.
“It's Grandma's birthday.”
My mother's birthday was April seventeenth.
I entered 0417.
The keypad flashed red.
Then I tried 1704.
Red again.
Noah shook his head.
“No. The year too.”
My hands trembled.
I entered 04171952.
A green light appeared.
The lock clicked.
I pushed the door open.
And the world I knew collapsed.
My mother was sitting in a medical recliner.
Her once-beautiful gray curls were thin and uneven.
Her face was pale.
A blanket covered her legs.
There was an oxygen concentrator beside her.
Her wrists were not tied.
But she looked too weak to stand.
When she saw me, her eyes widened.
“Marcus?”
I couldn't move.
For six months, I had dreamed about seeing her again.
But never like this.
“Mom?”
She began crying.
“Oh, my baby.”
I crossed the room in three strides.
Then I fell to my knees beside her.
She touched my face.
Her fingers were trembling.
“Is it really you?”
I grabbed her hand.
“Yes.”
I was sobbing now.
“Mom, I'm here.”
She pulled me closer.
I wrapped my arms around her carefully.
She felt frighteningly thin.
But she was warm.
Alive.
My mother was alive.
Behind me, Noah began crying too.
“Grandma?”
She turned.
Her face softened.
“My Noah.”
He rushed forward.
I caught him gently before he could throw himself against her.
“Careful, son.”
He hugged her shoulders.
She kissed his forehead.
For a few precious seconds, the three of us simply held one another.
Then I remembered Claire.
I turned.
She stood in the doorway.
Her face was wet with tears.
I rose slowly.
“Explain this.”
Claire looked at my mother.
Then at Noah.
“Marcus…”
“Explain why my mother has been locked in my basement.”
She opened her mouth.
My mother suddenly squeezed my hand.
“Marcus.”
I looked down.
Her expression had changed.
She was frightened.
Not of me.
Of Claire.
“Mom?”
Her lips trembled.
“Don't let them take me again.”
I felt my stomach twist.
“Who?”
She swallowed.
“Daniel.”
Claire began shaking her head.
“Evelyn, please.”
My mother ignored her.
She gripped my hand tighter.
“Your wife knows.”
I turned toward Claire.
Her eyes widened.
Then Mom whispered something that made the room spin.
“They told you I died because I refused to sign the papers.”
I stared at her.
“What papers?”
She began crying.
“The papers that would give them your son.”
I looked at Noah.
He was trembling beside the chair.
Claire covered her mouth.
May you like
And I realized the nightmare wasn't only about my mother.
Someone had been planning something involving my twelve-year-old boy.
