Chapter 6: The Phone Behind the Wall
The ringing stopped.
Every person in the garage froze.
For a few seconds, there was only the low hum of the refrigerator in the corner and the sound of my own breathing.
Then the phone rang again.
One sharp burst.
Then silence.
My father turned toward the wall.
“Don't touch it.””
I stared at him.
“You know where it is.””
He didn't answer.
“Dad.””
His jaw tightened.
“It's not a phone you want to answer.””
“Why?””
“Because whoever is calling knows we're here.””
Ryan moved toward the garage door.
My father caught his arm.
“Don't open it.””
Ryan pulled free.
“We can't stay here.””
My father grabbed him again.
“You don't understand.””
“No,” I said.
“None of us understands anything because everyone keeps talking around me.””
I walked toward the wall.
The ringing started again.
This time it was louder.
The sound came from behind a row of metal shelves stacked with paint cans and old tools.
I pulled one of the shelves toward me.
It barely moved.
Ryan rushed over.
“Emily, stop.””
“Move.””
“We need to leave.””
“Then leave.””
He stared at me.
I pulled again.
The shelf scraped across the concrete.
Behind it was a narrow access panel.
Painted the same gray as the wall.
I looked at my father.
“How did you know?””
He said nothing.
I reached for the panel.
“Don't,” he whispered.
I opened it.
A small black phone sat inside.
Old-fashioned.
Cordless.
Its display showed no number.
Only one word.
*PRIVATE.*
It rang again.
I picked it up.
“Hello?””
Nothing.
Then a man's voice.
Low.
Calm.
“Emily Carter.””
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“Who is this?””
“You shouldn't have opened that room.””
I looked at my father.
He had gone pale.
Ryan stepped closer.
The voice continued.
“You were supposed to remain uninformed.””
I gripped the phone.
“You took my daughter.””
A pause.
Then:
“Which one?””
My stomach turned.
“Ava.””
The man gave a quiet laugh.
“You finally learned her name.””
“Where is she?””
“Safe.””
“Where?””
“You don't ask the right questions.””
“I don't care what questions you think are right.””
My voice shook.
“I want my daughter.””
“You have a daughter.””
“Two.””
Another pause.
“You believe that.””
“I know it.””
“Do you?””
Something about the way he said it made me uneasy.
“What does that mean?””
He ignored the question.
“Your father knows where the records are.””
I looked at my father.
He closed his eyes.
“Ask him about Room 214.””
The line went dead.
I slowly lowered the phone.
“What's Room 214?””
My father didn't answer.
“Dad.””
Nothing.
I raised my voice.
“What is Room 214?””
He looked at me.
“The maternity ward.””
My skin prickled.
“At which hospital?””
He hesitated.
“St. Vincent's.””
I felt a memory flash through my mind.
White walls.
A hospital bracelet.
The smell of disinfectant.
A nurse with tired eyes.
A baby crying somewhere down the hall.
I had been there.
Of course I had.
That was where I was told I lost Ava.
I turned toward Ryan.
“Was Dr. Hale at St. Vincent's?””
He nodded.
“Yes.””
“Was my mother there?””
My father looked away.
“Yes.””
My breath caught.
“Why?””
“She knew what was happening.””
I stared at him.
“You said she was part of Nightwell.””
“She was.””
“What did she do?””
“She recruited families.””
My stomach twisted.
“And you?””
He swallowed.
“I handled records.””
“What records?””
“Medical histories.””
“Genetic data?””
“Yes.””
The word hung in the air.
I stepped back.
“My entire family was collecting information on children.””
“We thought we were helping.””
I laughed.
“Everyone keeps saying that.””
My father lowered his head.
“We didn't understand what Hale was doing at first.””
“And when you did?””
“By then, it was too late.””
“Too late for whom?””
He looked at the photograph on the table.
“For Ava.””
I stared at him.
“What happened in Room 214?””
My father sat down slowly.
“I was there when she was born.””
I waited.
“Your mother had left the room.””
“Why?””
“She couldn't handle what she was seeing.””
“What was she seeing?””
He took a breath.
“Your daughter had an episode.””
I frowned.
“She was a newborn.””
“She stopped crying.””
“That's normal.””
“Not like this.””
He looked at me.
“She opened her eyes.””
His voice dropped.
“And the monitor beside her started recording something.””
“What?””
“A pattern.””
I felt confused.
“A heartbeat?””
“No.””
He shook his head.
“Something else.””
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper.
“Your mother kept the original.””
He handed it to me.
The page was covered in numbers.
Rows of them.
Time stamps.
Waveforms.
At the bottom was a handwritten note.
*Response observed in Subject A before administration.*
I looked up.
“What does that mean?””
“The child responded.””
“To what?””
My father swallowed.
“To a voice.””
I stared at him.
“What voice?””
“We don't know.””
“But you said she was a newborn.””
“Yes.””
“Babies don't—”
“She wasn't reacting like a normal infant.””
I shook my head.
“This is insane.””
“I wish it were.””
He pointed to another note.
“Every time Dr. Hale spoke, her heart rate changed.””
“Maybe she was startled.””
“Maybe.””
He looked at me.
“But then something happened.””
“What?””
“The room recording captured another voice.””
“Whose?””
“We couldn't identify it.””
I felt a chill.
“What did it say?””
My father looked at the floor.
“Your daughter answered.””
I stared.
“A newborn answered?””
“No words.””
He swallowed.
“She made a sound.””
“What sound?””
He looked toward the wall.
“Like someone saying her name.””
Silence.
I shook my head.
“No.””
“It was on the recording.””
“Then where is the recording?””
“Gone.””
“Who took it?””
“Dr. Hale.””
I folded my arms around myself.
“Why was he studying my daughter?””
“Because of the genetic marker.””
“You keep saying that.””
“Because it matters.””
“What does it mean?””
My father took a long breath.
“It means certain members of our family carry a mutation.””
“Which causes what?””
“Nothing obvious.””
“That doesn't make sense.””
“It affects how the brain processes certain signals during sleep.””
I stared at him.
“So this is why Lily couldn't sleep?””
“Possibly.””
“And why you monitored her?””
“We didn't know exactly what she would do.””
My voice hardened.
“You didn't know what you were doing to her.””
“No.””
“But you did it anyway.””
He looked away.
I could barely stand to look at him.
Then Ryan spoke.
“There's something you don't know.””
I turned toward him.
“What now?””
He stepped closer.
“The medication wasn't supposed to hurt Lily.””
“That's not helping.””
“The dose was wrong.””
I stared.
“What?””
“My mother was supposed to give her a specific amount.””
“Supposed to?””
“Yes.””
“How do you know?””
“I saw the instructions.””
“Where?””
“In the files.””
I held up the bottle.
“So the bottle wasn't the problem.””
Ryan shook his head.
“The dosage was.””
“Who changed it?””
He went quiet.
“Ryan.””
“I don't know.””
I almost laughed.
Then I noticed my father staring at the bottle.
Not the bottle itself.
The label.
“Dad?””
He didn't respond.
“Dad.””
His eyes widened.
“What?””
“You recognize it.””
He looked at me.
“No.””
“You do.””
“No.””
I placed the bottle in front of him.
“Read the prescription number.””
He didn't touch it.
“I can't.””
“Why?””
“Because that number isn't for the medication.””
“What is it for?””
He looked frightened.
“An identification code.””
“For what?””
He finally whispered:
“A subject.””
I felt my stomach drop.
“Which subject?””
He pointed.
Not to the name.
To the number beneath it.
Then he said:
“Subject A.””
I stared.
“Ava.””
He nodded.
I looked at Ryan.
“Your mother has been giving Lily medication assigned to Ava.””
Ryan's face went white.
“No.””
My father looked at him.
“Yes.””
“Then why?””
“I don't know.””
Ryan backed away.
“You told me it was safe.””
“I told you I thought it was.””
“You knew.””
“I didn't.””
“You knew.””
“I didn't.””
Their voices rose.
I stepped between them.
“Enough.””
Both stopped.
I looked at my father.
“Where is Ava?””
He shook his head.
“I don't know.””
“That's a lie.””
“I swear.””
“You said she was alive.””
“She was.””
“When did you last see her?””
He closed his eyes.
“Three weeks ago.””
My heartbeat stopped.
“What?””
He opened his eyes.
“I saw her three weeks ago.””
“Where?””
“A facility.””
“What facility?””
“I can't tell you.””
“You can.””
“Emily—”
“You've lied to me for eighteen months.””
My voice became quiet.
“You owe me the truth.””
My father looked toward the garage door.
Then whispered:
“Northbridge.””
Ryan took a step forward.
“You're lying.””
My father looked at him.
“I was there.””
“Northbridge closed.””
“No.””
Ryan's face changed.
“It closed years ago.””
“That's what they wanted people to believe.””
I looked between them.
“What is Northbridge?””
“A private research center,” my father said.
“Still operating?””
“Yes.””
“Where?””
“I'll take you.””
Ryan stepped forward.
“No.””
I turned to him.
“You don't get a vote.””
“I know who runs Northbridge.””
“Who?””
He hesitated.
“Dr. Hale.””
My father's face tightened.
“Not anymore.””
I stared.
“Then who?””
Before either man could answer, the garage lights went out.
Complete darkness.
Someone screamed.
I grabbed the nearest person.
It was Ryan.
“Stay with me.””
“I'm here.””
A loud metallic crash came from the front of the garage.
My father shouted:
“Get down!””
We dropped.
Glass shattered.
Something struck the wall.
Diane screamed.
I crawled toward Lily's photograph folder, dragging it against my chest.
Another crash.
Then footsteps.
Heavy.
Slow.
Coming through the garage.
A flashlight beam swept across the floor.
“Emily,” a man's voice called.
The same voice from the phone.
“Come out.””
Ryan whispered beside me.
“Don't move.””
My father lifted his head.
The beam swung toward him.
“Mr. Carter.””
My father's voice cracked.
“You're not taking her.””
The man laughed.
“We already did.””
A second beam appeared.
Then a third.
More than one person.
I held my breath.
Ryan reached for my hand.
Someone entered the room.
I could hear shoes scraping across the concrete.
Then a voice said:
“Check the shelves.””
Another person moved toward us.
I felt Ryan tense.
My father suddenly stood.
“Leave them alone.””
The flashlight snapped toward him.
“Move.””
“No.””
“You should have handed her over years ago.””
“She's my daughter.””
The man paused.
“Which one?””
My father didn't answer.
The man laughed.
“That was always the problem with your family.””
A gunshot cracked through the room.
Diane screamed.
I flinched.
But my father was still standing.
The shot had hit the shelf beside him.
Metal screamed.
“Dad!””
He dropped to one knee.
I crawled toward him.
Ryan pulled me back.
“Stay down.””
My father grabbed my wrist.
“Listen.””
Blood was spreading across his sleeve.
“There's a car behind the house.””
“What?””
“Blue sedan.””
“I don't understand.””
“Drive.””
“Dad—”
“Take Lily.””
“I can't leave you.””
“You have to.””
Another gunshot.
The man shouted:
“Find Emily!””
Ryan grabbed my arm.
“We have to go.””
“No.””
My father looked directly at me.
“Your sister left something for you.””
“What?””
“Inside the nursery.””
“What did she leave?””
“A music box.””
I froze.
“The rabbit?””
He nodded.
“Open it.””
“What's inside?””
He smiled sadly.
“The truth.””
A shadow appeared at the doorway.
Ryan pulled me toward the back exit.
I stumbled after him.
Diane followed.
We burst into the backyard.
The night air hit my face.
I ran barefoot across the grass.
Behind us, men shouted.
Ryan unlocked the blue sedan.
I looked back at the garage.
“Dad!””
He was standing in the doorway.
Blood on his shirt.
He pointed at me.
“Go!””
We got into the car.
Ryan slammed the door.
The engine roared.
He drove.
I twisted around.
My father disappeared behind the house.
I pressed my hand against the window.
“Stop!””
“We can't.””
“Stop!””
“They'll kill us.””
I stared at him.
“How do you know?””
He didn't answer.
“Ryan.””
He kept driving.
“You knew they were coming.””
“No.””
“You knew enough to be afraid.””
“I knew Northbridge was watching.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“I was trying to get you out.””
“After two years of lies?””
He gripped the steering wheel.
“I never wanted this.””
“You signed Lily into it.””
“I was trying to find Ava.””
“And now?””
His voice cracked.
“Now I don't know who I was trying to save.””
We drove several miles in silence.
Then my phone buzzed.
A message.
*You have ten minutes.*
Another appeared.
*Go to Lily's room.*
I looked at Ryan.
“We're going home.””
“No.””
“Yes.””
“Emily—”
“The music box.””
He didn't argue.
We turned around.
Twenty minutes later, we slipped back into the house through the garage.
Nobody was there.
The front door stood open.
Glass from the earlier attack covered the floor.
The house looked abandoned.
We ran upstairs.
Lily's room.
I went straight to the shelf.
The little wooden rabbit sat exactly where it always had.
I picked it up.
My fingers found a seam along the bottom.
I pressed.
A compartment popped open.
Inside was a tiny memory card.
And a folded piece of paper.
My name was written on it.
Not printed.
Written in handwriting I had seen thousands of times.
My sister's handwriting.
My hands trembled as I unfolded it.
There were only eight words.
*Emily, I'm sorry I let you bury me.*
I couldn't breathe.
Ryan stared over my shoulder.
“What does that mean?””
I unfolded the rest.
There was one more sentence.
*Ava is not the child you think she is.*
A sound came from behind us.
We both turned.
The bedroom door was open.
A little girl's voice came from the hallway.
Soft.
Clear.
“Mommy?””
My blood went cold.
May you like
It was Lily's voice.
But Lily was still in the hospital.
