Chapter 7: The Voice From The Past
For several seconds after the call ended, nobody moved.
The house was silent except for the sound of Malcolm’s breathing.
He stared at the phone in his hand.
Not like someone who had received a strange call.
Like someone who had just watched the impossible happen.
“Malcolm,” I whispered.
He didn’t respond.
“Malcolm, who was that?””
His eyes slowly lifted toward me.
“I don’t know.””
But his voice told me he was lying.
Not because he was hiding something.
Because he was trying to understand something he couldn’t accept.
“That was Elena’s voice,” he finally said.
The words felt unreal.
I looked at the phone.
Then at the room around us.
The room where Elena had rocked baby Isaiah to sleep.
The room where she had laughed.
The room where we had just found proof that she had been fighting a battle nobody knew about.
“People can sound alike,” I said carefully.
Malcolm shook his head.
“No.””
He walked toward the window.
“No, Mom. You didn’t hear her.””
I watched his shoulders rise and fall.
“I heard Elena say my name thousands of times.””
His voice cracked.
“That was her.””
I wanted to believe him.
I wanted to tell him it was impossible.
But after everything we had uncovered, I wasn’t sure what impossible meant anymore.
A few minutes later, the phone rang again.
Same unknown number.
Malcolm looked at it.
This time, he answered immediately.
“Who are you?””
A pause.
Then the voice returned.
“Malcolm, I know you don’t understand.””
He closed his eyes.
“Elena?””
The woman on the phone took a shaky breath.
“Yes.””
I felt my hand cover my mouth.
Malcolm gripped the edge of the table.
“If you’re really Elena, tell me something.””
“Anything.””
“Where did we go the first time we left Isaiah with my mother?””
The woman answered instantly.
“The little diner near the lake. You ordered pancakes even though you said you weren’t hungry because you wanted me to eat.””
Malcolm went completely still.
I saw tears fill his eyes.
That was something nobody could fake.
Not a stranger.
Not a liar.
Not someone who had simply researched Elena’s life.
Because it wasn’t just a fact.
It was a memory.
“How?”” Malcolm whispered.
“I’ll explain everything,” the woman said.
“Where are you?””
“I can’t tell you yet.””
His face tightened.
“Why?””
“Because Tasha knows.””
I looked at Malcolm.
“What does she mean?””
He put the phone on speaker.
The woman continued.
“She has known for years that I survived.””
The air disappeared from the room.
Malcolm sat down slowly.
“What are you saying?””
“I didn’t die that night.””
The words felt impossible.
“My car crashed,” she continued.
“Everyone thought I was gone. But someone found me before emergency responders arrived.””
“Who?””
Silence.
Then:
“Tasha.””
My stomach turned.
Malcolm stood up.
“No.””
“She found me.””
His voice became angry.
“She was there?””
“Yes.””
“Then why didn’t she call anyone?””
The woman on the phone was quiet.
“Because she wanted something.””
I already knew.
Money.
Control.
Power.
“What did she want?”” Malcolm asked.
“She wanted access to Isaiah’s accounts.””
My hands tightened.
“She told me nobody would believe me. She told me I was confused. Injured. Unstable.””
Malcolm looked horrified.
“She kept you hidden?””
“Yes.””
The room went quiet.
For three years.
Three years, Elena had been alive somewhere while her son believed she was gone.
“Where are you?”” Malcolm asked again.
“I’m safe now.””
“That’s not an answer.””
“I need you to understand something first.””
“What?””
“I didn’t contact you because I was afraid.””
“Afraid of Tasha?””
“Yes.””
Malcolm looked at the papers scattered across the table.
“She stole from Isaiah.””
“She did more than that.””
My heart stopped.
“What else?”” I asked.
The woman on the phone went silent.
Then she said:
“She changed the story of my death.””
Malcolm frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“It means the accident wasn’t an accident.””
Nobody spoke.
The world seemed to narrow around those words.
“Who caused it?”” Malcolm asked.
“I don’t know.””
“But you suspect?””
Another pause.
“Yes.””
“Who?””
The woman whispered:
“Your brother.””
Malcolm stepped back.
“My brother?””
I had never seen my son look so confused.
“Elena, my brother died years ago.””
“I know.””
“Then what are you saying?””
“I’m saying Tasha wasn’t working alone.””
The call ended.
This time, Malcolm didn’t chase it.
He just stood there.
Broken.
Because the enemy was no longer one person.
It was a secret buried inside our family.
That evening, we returned home.
Isaiah was sitting on the couch doing homework.
When he saw Malcolm, he smiled.
“Dad.””
Malcolm walked over and hugged him.
Longer than usual.
Tighter than usual.
Isaiah noticed.
“Are you okay?””
Malcolm pulled back.
“I’m okay.””
The boy studied his face.
“Are you sure?””
Malcolm smiled sadly.
“Yeah.””
But Isaiah wasn’t looking at him like a child anymore.
He was looking at him like someone who had learned adults often said things they didn’t mean.
Later that night, after Isaiah went to sleep, Malcolm and I reviewed everything.
The hidden box.
The letter.
The phone calls.
The missing money.
Then something caught my eye.
The flash drive.
“We never checked this.””
Malcolm plugged it into his laptop.
There were dozens of files.
Bank records.
Emails.
Photos.
One folder was labeled:
“Proof.””
Inside were screenshots of conversations.
And one name appeared again and again.
Tasha.
But there was another name.
A name that made Malcolm stop breathing.
He whispered:
“No.””
I looked at the screen.
“What?””
He turned the laptop toward me.
The message was dated six months before Elena’s accident.
It read:
“She knows too much. If she talks, everything falls apart.””
The sender’s name was visible.
Malcolm’s own brother.
Daniel.
May you like
And beneath it was Tasha’s reply.
“Then we make sure she can’t talk.””
