Chapter 4: The Woman in the Photograph
Marcus kept staring at the key in his palm.
The red tape around its head was faded, but he knew it.
Camille had wrapped red tape around things when she wanted him to pay attention.
Not because the object was dangerous.
Because she was.
She had been afraid.
And she had known there would come a day when Marcus needed to understand why.
“Dad.””
Jaylen’s voice pulled him back.
Marcus turned.
His son was sitting on the bottom step, wrapped in the blanket from the box. Tiny cuts from the shattered window marked one side of his pajama sleeve. There was a thin red scratch along his cheek.
Marcus's heart twisted.
He crouched immediately.
“Let me see.””
“It’s nothing.””
“Let me see.””
Jaylen held still while Marcus examined the scratch.
Barely a line.
No glass embedded.
No serious injury.
Still, Marcus kissed his forehead.
“I’m sorry.””
Jaylen looked confused.
“For what?””
“For bringing you here.””
“This is our house.””
“I know.””
“Then why are you saying sorry?””
Marcus didn't have an answer.
Officer Ruiz approached them.
“EMS is on the way.””
Marcus shook his head.
“He doesn't need an ambulance.””
“The medics can check him here.””
“I said he's fine.””
Ruiz lowered her voice.
“Marcus, someone just fired through your front window.””
He looked up.
“I know.””
“That means this house isn't safe.””
She glanced toward the hallway.
“Neither is the park. Neither is your car. At this point, we have to assume someone knows where you live and where your son spends time.””
Marcus felt a cold pressure building behind his eyes.
“Then where do we go?””
Ruiz looked at him.
“That depends.””
“On what?””
“Whether you're finally ready to tell me what you know.””
Marcus wanted to argue.
Instead he looked at the photograph in Carter's hand.
The photograph of his mother.
Denise beside her.
Cameron beside both of them.
There was something wrong with it.
Not the picture itself.
The date.
Marcus took it from Carter.
At the bottom right corner was a handwritten number.
*1989.*
He frowned.
“I was born in 1986.””
Ruiz nodded.
“So was Cameron.””
Marcus stared.
That meant the photograph had been taken when he was three.
Cameron was three.
But the two boys in the photograph looked older.
Much older.
At least six or seven.
Marcus turned the photograph over.
The writing on the back had been added recently.
But the date was old.
“That's impossible.””
Carter leaned closer.
“What?””
Marcus pointed.
“That date can't be right.””
“Why?””
“My mother didn't move into that building until 1992.””
Silence.
Ruiz looked at Carter.
Carter's expression hardened.
“You're sure?””
“I grew up there.””
“You were three.””
“I remember.””
Marcus did.
Not every detail.
But enough.
The blue carpet.
The cracked kitchen window.
His mother's flower curtains.
Cameron sleeping on the floor because he insisted the bedroom was haunted.
He remembered being there.
But not in 1989.
That date belonged somewhere else.
Somewhere he had never seen.
His mind began searching through memories he hadn't touched in years.
A hospital.
A woman's perfume.
A white hallway.
Someone calling him Michael.
Marcus closed his eyes.
The memory vanished.
“Marcus?””
He opened them.
“Did you say Michael?””
He stared at Ruiz.
“I didn't.””
Carter looked between them.
“You just did.””
Marcus swallowed.
“No.””
But something inside him had shifted.
Michael.
The name felt familiar in a way that frightened him.
Jaylen stood.
“Dad, who is Michael?””
“I don't know.””
“You do.””
Marcus looked at him.
“What makes you say that?””
“You made that face.””
“What face?””
“The one you make when you know something but don't want to say it.””
Despite everything, Marcus almost smiled.
His son knew him too well.
Then the front door creaked.
Carter immediately drew his weapon.
Everyone froze.
The door had been shut.
Locked.
Now it moved inward two inches.
Nobody had touched it.
Ruiz stepped forward.
“Stay back.””
Carter checked the entry.
Nothing.
The porch was empty.
He opened the door and looked outside.
A small white envelope sat on the welcome mat.
Marcus recognized the handwriting before Carter even picked it up.
Camille.
Carter brought it inside.
Marcus took one look and felt his throat tighten.
His name was written across the front.
But underneath it, in smaller letters, were three words.
*For Jaylen first.*
Jaylen looked at his father.
“What is it?””
Marcus hesitated.
Then opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Not old.
Recent.
Jaylen standing beside Camille.
Marcus stared at it.
The picture appeared to have been taken years earlier.
Jaylen was maybe three.
Camille was kneeling beside him in a park Marcus didn't recognize.
She was smiling.
Her hand rested against the back of his son's head.
Marcus turned the photograph over.
There was a date.
Three years ago.
The month Camille died.
His breath stopped.
“That's impossible,” he whispered.
Ruiz looked over his shoulder.
“What?””
“This picture.””
“That's your wife?””
“Yes.””
“And the boy is Jaylen.””
“Yes.””
Ruiz pointed to the date.
“You said your wife was in the hospital that month.””
“She was.””
“She couldn't have been at a park.””
Marcus shook his head.
“She was too sick.””
Carter examined the photograph.
“Maybe the date is wrong.””
Marcus looked closer.
Then he saw the sign in the background.
A small blue plaque beside a playground.
He knew that place.
He had taken Jaylen there once when they first moved into the neighborhood.
A park nearly an hour away.
Marcus had never told Camille about it.
Because they had never been there together.
His pulse began racing.
“Where did you get this?””
The question wasn't directed at the officers.
It was directed at whoever had left the envelope.
A folded note was tucked behind the photograph.
Marcus opened it.
Only one sentence.
*She was alive when you buried her.*
Marcus dropped the paper.
Jaylen stared at him.
“What does that mean?””
Marcus couldn't answer.
Ruiz picked up the note.
She read it once.
Her face changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Marcus noticed.
“You've seen this before.””
“No.””
“Don't lie to me.””
“I’m not.””
“You reacted.””
Ruiz looked at him.
“Because I've seen the handwriting.””
Marcus went still.
“Where?””
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, “On Denise Holloway's hospital records.””
Marcus's jaw tightened.
“Then why did you tell me you had never seen it?””
“I didn't know who wrote it.””
“You knew.””
“I suspected.””
Marcus stood.
“Suspected what?””
Ruiz looked toward the broken window.
“That Denise wasn't your only connection to this.””
“What does that mean?””
“It means we've been investigating a series of deaths for the last eighteen months.””
Marcus stared.
“Whose deaths?””
“People connected to the same private security company.””
Carter gave her a warning look.
Ruiz ignored him.
“Three former employees died under circumstances initially ruled accidental. One died in a fire. One was involved in a boating accident. One suffered an apparent overdose.””
Marcus felt the room shrink.
“What does that have to do with me?””
“Each one had some connection to a woman named Camille Washington.””
Marcus shook his head.
“My wife wasn't involved in anything.””
Ruiz didn't argue.
“We're not saying she was.””
“Then what are you saying?””
“That someone may have been cleaning up around her.””
The sentence hit harder than the gunshots.
Marcus looked at the photograph again.
Camille.
Jaylen.
Three years ago.
Alive.
Smiling.
Why had she hidden it?
Why had she never told him?
“Where is Denise now?”” he asked.
“We're still looking.””
“She knows where Camille went.””
“We believe so.””
“And Cameron?””
Ruiz hesitated.
“We found something else.””
Marcus waited.
“An old incident report.””
“From when?””
“Twenty-three years ago.””
Marcus looked at her.
“What happened?””
“Two children were brought to an emergency clinic after a traffic accident.””
Marcus frowned.
“Which children?””
“Two boys.””
She looked at him.
“Identical.””
Marcus felt the floor disappear beneath his feet.
“No.””
“One was listed as Cameron Washington.””
Marcus's voice shook.
“What about the other?””
Ruiz held his gaze.
“The other was listed as Michael Washington.””
Marcus backed away.
“No.””
Carter stepped closer.
Marcus raised a hand.
“Stop.””
His mind raced.
Two boys.
Identical.
Michael.
He suddenly remembered the white hallway.
A woman crying.
Someone whispering, We can't keep both.
Then his mother.
Holding one child.
Walking away.
Marcus bent over, struggling for breath.
Jaylen grabbed his hand.
“Dad?””
Marcus looked down at his son.
And suddenly another memory surfaced.
A birthday.
A cake.
Eight candles.
His mother leaning close and whispering into his ear.
“Never tell anyone you have a brother.””
Marcus's blood ran cold.
He had thought she meant Cameron.
But Cameron had always been public.
His family knew Cameron existed.
His mother had never forbidden him to talk about Cameron.
She had forbidden him from talking about someone else.
Marcus looked at Ruiz.
“I had a twin.””
Ruiz said nothing.
He stared at Carter.
“You knew.””
Carter's face was unreadable.
“You've been investigating this.””
“Yes.””
“How long?””
“Almost two years.””
“And you waited until tonight to tell me?””
“We didn't know where you fit.””
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“You knew my name.””
“We knew your name.””
“You knew my address.””
“We found your address.””
“You knew my son.””
“We were trying to protect him.””
Marcus stepped forward.
“You don't get to say that.””
Ruiz held her ground.
“You're right.””
The honesty stopped him.
She continued.
“Three hours ago, Denise Holloway entered the hospital under an assumed name. Before disappearing, she told a nurse to find you. She also told the nurse one more thing.””
Marcus waited.
“She said, ‘Michael doesn't know he survived.’”
Marcus stared at her.
The house became silent.
Then Jaylen spoke.
“Dad…”
Marcus turned.
His son's face had gone pale.
“Who is Michael?””
Marcus opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Jaylen looked toward the shattered window.
Then toward the hallway.
“Is he the man at the park?””
Marcus frowned.
“What man?””
“The one who was watching us.””
“You said you saw someone.””
“I saw his face.””
Marcus's heart stopped.
“Jaylen…”
“He looked like you.””
Marcus stared.
Jaylen's voice dropped to a whisper.
“He looked exactly like you.””
Outside, a car engine started.
Carter rushed to the window.
“Everyone down!””
Marcus pulled Jaylen to the floor.
A black SUV tore away from the curb.
Carter ran outside.
Ruiz followed.
Marcus remained on the floor with his son.
Jaylen was shaking.
Marcus held him close.
Then his phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
One message.
A photograph.
Marcus opened it.
The image showed him and Jaylen kneeling in the living room.
Taken from somewhere inside the house.
Marcus stared at the screen.
The timestamp was seconds old.
Then another message appeared.
*You still haven't found the room beneath the room.*
Marcus looked slowly toward the floor.
Under his feet.
Under his home.
May you like
Something was hidden beneath them.
And whoever was watching had just reminded him that the people hunting his family might not be outside the house at all.
