Chapter 8: The Cottage Where My Mother Disappeared
The road to Lake Mercer was almost empty.
Detective Morgan drove with both hands on the wheel, her eyes moving between the road and the rearview mirror.
Damon sat beside me in the back of the unmarked vehicle.
Neither of us spoke.
The words from the radio kept repeating in my head.
She was never supposed to survive.
I didn't know whether they referred to my mother or me.
Perhaps both.
The cottage appeared between the trees shortly after eleven.
Its white shutters hung crookedly, and one of the front windows had been shattered. Yellow police tape stretched across the porch.
A patrol car blocked the driveway.
As we stepped out, the cold night air struck my face.
I smelled wet leaves and wood smoke.
The same smells I remembered from childhood.
For one brief moment, I could almost see my mother standing on the porch, wearing a thick cardigan and holding two mugs of hot chocolate.
Then I saw the broken window.
The fantasy vanished.
Detective Morgan approached a uniformed officer.
“What's the situation?””
“Possible burglary. Blood found near the kitchen. No victim located.””
“Any sign of the owner?””
“Not yet.””
She turned toward us.
“Stay behind me.””
Damon nodded.
I followed them through the front door.
The cottage looked as if someone had searched every room in a hurry.
Cushions lay scattered across the living room.
A drawer had been ripped from an antique cabinet.
Books covered the floor.
A framed photograph had been smashed beneath a muddy boot print.
I stopped when I saw the photograph.
My mother and me.
I was six years old, sitting on her shoulders beneath a tree covered in white blossoms.
Someone had drawn a black line through my mother's face.
I knelt and picked up the frame.
“Why would anyone do this?””
Damon crouched beside me.
“To frighten you.””
I looked at the damaged photograph.
“It's working.””
He didn't pretend otherwise.
“I know.””
A crime-scene technician appeared from the kitchen carrying a small evidence bag.
“Detective, we found this beneath the table.””
Inside the bag was a silver bracelet.
A tiny gold butterfly hung from its chain.
My mother had worn it every day when I was little.
I reached for the bag, but Detective Morgan held it out of reach.
“I'm sorry, Serena. We have to process it first.””
“That's hers.””
“We'll document it.””
“Please.””
The detective softened.
“I promise we'll do everything we can.””
She handed the bag to the technician.
Then she moved toward the hallway.
I followed her.
The blood had been found beside the kitchen table, where a dark stain spread across the wooden floor.
It wasn't a large amount.
But it was enough.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
Damon came up behind me.
“Don't look at it.””
“I have to.””
“Serena—”
“What if she's hurt?””
He fell silent.
I stared at the stain.
My mother had been alive for fifteen years.
She had lived somewhere, eaten somewhere, slept somewhere.
She had woken up every morning without me.
And now I might have lost her again before I had the chance to ask why.
Detective Morgan called one of the officers over.
“Check the perimeter. I want every road monitored, and I want hospitals notified.””
The officer nodded and hurried away.
I walked into the kitchen.
On the wall above the sink, someone had written a message in black marker.
*SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO SURVIVE.*
Beneath it, in smaller letters, were three words.
*ASK THE SON.*
I turned toward Damon.
He was standing in the doorway.
His face had gone pale.
“What does that mean?”” I asked.
He stared at the message.
“I don't know.””
“Damon.””
He swallowed.
“I remember something about the hospital.””
“What?””
He rubbed his forehead.
“After the crash, I woke up in a private room. My father was beside the bed. There was a woman in the next room, separated by a curtain.””
I felt my chest tighten.
“Was it my mother?””
“I don't know. I never saw her face.””
“What did you hear?””
He closed his eyes.
“A nurse said the woman had regained consciousness. My father told her to keep the room locked.””
I stared at him.
“And you never mentioned this?””
“I thought it was a dream.””
“Why?””
“Because my father told me I had been hallucinating after the concussion.””
I turned away.
For fifteen years, I had believed my mother died in a crash.
For fifteen years, Damon had believed he had imagined hearing a woman in the hospital.
And Calvin had known the truth.
I felt something harden inside me.
“I want to see your father.””
Damon looked at me.
“Serena, he may not know where she is.””
“He knows more than he's telling us.””
Detective Morgan stepped between us.
“We'll question him again. But first, I need you to see something.””
She led us into a small bedroom at the back of the cottage.
A narrow bed stood beneath the window.
A wooden wardrobe leaned against the wall.
On the bedside table sat a glass of water, a bottle of medication, and a framed photograph of me in my wedding dress.
I stopped.
Someone had written on the back of the frame.
*I WAS THERE WHEN YOU SAID YES.*
My fingers trembled.
“She watched my wedding?””
Damon looked around the room.
“Someone was following you.””
Detective Morgan opened the wardrobe.
Inside hung three coats, a row of dresses, and a small black handbag.
She put on gloves and examined the bag.
“There's a phone inside.””
She removed it.
The screen was cracked, but it still worked.
A single message appeared on the display.
*MIDNIGHT. BRING THE CARD. COME ALONE.*
Beneath it was a location.
A warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago.
Damon looked at the time.
“It's eleven twenty.””
Detective Morgan shook her head.
“No one is going anywhere alone.””
I stared at the message.
The memory card.
Someone knew we had it.
Someone knew what was on it.
And someone wanted it badly enough to tear apart my mother's hiding place.
“Maybe this is how we find her,” I said.
Detective Morgan turned toward me.
“It's also how someone could lure you into a trap.””
“I understand.””
“Do you?””
I met her gaze.
“I've spent fifteen years mourning a woman who was alive the entire time. If there's even a chance I can find her, I'm going.””
Damon stepped forward.
“Then I'm going with you.””
The detective looked between us.
“I'll arrange surveillance. We won't approach until we know who is inside.””
I nodded.
But as we left the cottage, my phone buzzed.
An unknown number.
One message.
*YOUR HUSBAND KNOWS WHY YOUR MOTHER DISAPPEARED. ASK HIM WHAT HE DID AT THE HOSPITAL.*
I stopped on the porch.
Damon noticed immediately.
“What is it?””
I showed him the screen.
He read the message.
Then he looked away.
The movement was small.
But I saw it.
“Damon?””
He said nothing.
“Look at me.””
Slowly, he raised his eyes.
“There's something I haven't told you.””
My stomach twisted.
“What?””
He took a long breath.
“When I woke up after the accident, my father gave me a document to sign.””
“What document?””
“A statement saying I had been driving alone and that no other vehicle had been involved.””
I stared at him.
“You signed it?””
“I was seventeen. I had a concussion. I thought I was signing a hospital release.””
“Did you read it?””
“No.””
“Then how do you know what it said?””
“Because I found a copy years later.””
“When?””
“About six months before our wedding.””
The night air seemed to grow colder.
“You knew the official report was false before you married me?””
“I knew there were inconsistencies. I didn't know your mother was involved.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I was afraid.””
I laughed once, bitterly.
“Of what? Losing me?””
“Yes.””
The honesty hurt more than another excuse.
Damon stepped closer.
“I thought I could find the truth before it reached you. I thought if I understood what happened, I could protect you from it.””
“You sound exactly like your father.””
He flinched.
I turned away.
“Serena, please.””
“No. You don't get to keep secrets from me and call them protection.””
“I know.””
“Do you? Because you've spent our entire marriage asking me to trust you while you decide which parts of your life I deserve to know.””
He lowered his head.
“I was wrong.””
I looked at him.
For a moment, I saw the man who had brought me coffee when we first met.
The man who had learned how I took my tea.
The man who had held me through nightmares about my mother's death.
I still loved him.
That was the cruelest part.
But love did not erase the truth.
“Then prove it,” I said.
“How?””
“Tell me everything you remember about that hospital.””
He closed his eyes.
“I remember a woman crying behind a curtain. I remember asking my father who she was. He told me she was a patient who had been injured in the crash.””
“And then?””
“He said she had died.””
My throat tightened.
“What else?””
Damon opened his eyes.
“I remember hearing her ask for her daughter.””
The words seemed to split the night in two.
I gripped the porch railing.
“What did your father do?””
“He told the nurse to increase her medication. Then he told me to sleep.””
“Did you see her?””
“No.””
“Did you hear her again?””
He nodded slowly.
“She said your name.””
I stared at him.
“Serena?””
“Yes.””
A sob rose in my throat.
My mother had been in the same hospital as my husband.
She had been alive.
She had asked for me.
And neither of us had known what was happening.
Damon reached toward me, then stopped before touching my shoulder.
“I should have told you.””
“Yes.””
“I can't change that.””
“No.””
“But I can help you find her.””
I looked at him for a long moment.
Then I nodded.
“One more lie, Damon, and there won't be anything left to save.””
He swallowed.
“I understand.””
Detective Morgan called from the driveway.
“It's time.””
We entered the vehicle.
As we pulled away from the cottage, I looked back at the broken window.
A light flickered in the bedroom.
I blinked.
The light went out.
Then my phone rang.
The caller ID showed a name I had never expected to see.
*MOM.*
I snatched it up.
“Mom?””
Her voice was barely audible.
“Serena, don't go to the warehouse.””
“Where are you?””
“Listen to me. They're waiting for you.””
“Who?””
“The people who were there the night of the accident.””
I leaned forward.
“Mom, tell me where you are!””
A sharp noise sounded on the other end.
My mother's breathing quickened.
Then a man's voice spoke.
“Hello, Serena.””
I froze.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it on the memory card.
I had seen the man's face in the video.
My father.
Victor Vale.
“You've grown up beautifully,” he said.
I gripped the phone.
“Where is my mother?””
He laughed softly.
“That's the wrong question, sweetheart.””
“Then what is the right question?””
His voice dropped.
“Ask your husband why he was the last person to see her alive.””
The call ended.
I slowly turned toward Damon.
May you like
He was staring at the phone.
And for the first time since I had met him, I saw genuine terror in his eyes.
