Chapter 5: Beneath the Floor
Marcus stared at the message until the words blurred.
*You still haven't found the room beneath the room.*
He looked at the floor.
At first, nothing seemed different.
Old hardwood.
A faded rug.
A coffee table with one leg slightly shorter than the others.
A dark stain near the wall that he had always assumed came from spilled coffee.
Then he remembered something Camille had once said.
Not the exact words.
The tone.
Some houses have secrets before the people who live in them do.
He had laughed when she'd said it.
She hadn't.
Marcus slowly pushed himself upright.
“Dad?””
“Stay here.””
Jaylen grabbed his wrist.
“No.””
Marcus looked down.
His son was trembling.
“I’m not leaving you.””
The words broke something inside Marcus.
He crouched.
“You're right.””
Jaylen nodded.
“You stay with me.””
Officer Ruiz came back through the shattered windowless front room.
“Marcus, the SUV got away.””
Marcus held up his phone.
“Someone was inside this house.””
Ruiz's eyes moved to the message.
“What?””
“They photographed us.””
She took the phone.
Carter stepped closer.
“That's impossible.””
Marcus looked at him.
“Apparently impossible is having a pretty good week.””
Carter ignored the sarcasm.
He examined the image.
His jaw tightened.
“This isn't from outside.””
“I know.””
“The angle is wrong.””
Ruiz looked around.
“Can you trace the phone?””
Carter shook his head.
“Probably not.””
Marcus suddenly noticed something beneath the photograph.
A reflection.
In the black edge of the television screen behind him.
He zoomed in.
A tiny shape appeared in the reflection.
A round object.
Mounted near the ceiling.
“Wait.””
He pointed.
“There.””
Ruiz followed his finger.
“Camera.””
Carter moved immediately.
He checked the ceiling.
Then the smoke detector.
Nothing.
Marcus enlarged the image again.
“It's behind the vent.””
Carter pulled a chair beneath the wall vent.
He removed the cover.
A tiny camera sat inside.
The lens pointed directly at the living room.
Jaylen stared at it.
“Were they watching us?””
Marcus swallowed.
“Yes.””
“Since when?””
Nobody answered.
Carter removed the device.
A tiny red light blinked once before going dark.
“Battery powered,” he said.
“Can you find where it sends the footage?”” Marcus asked.
“Maybe.””
“Then do it.””
Carter looked at Ruiz.
She nodded.
He left with the camera.
Marcus turned toward the floor.
“The message said there's a room beneath the room.””
Ruiz followed his gaze.
“Could be metaphorical.””
“No.””
“How do you know?””
“Because Camille used to say things like that.””
Ruiz studied him.
“Your wife mentioned a basement?””
“No basement.””
“Crawl space?””
Marcus shook his head.
“I've never seen one.””
Carter returned.
“I'll need a minute with the camera.””
“Take it upstairs,” Ruiz said.
He disappeared again.
Marcus knelt near the rug.
He ran his hands over the floorboards.
Nothing.
He moved the coffee table.
Nothing.
Then he looked at the wall.
The wall with the photograph of Camille.
He pulled the frame down.
Behind it was a small brass plate.
Marcus had never noticed it.
He stared.
“What is that?””
Ruiz crouched beside him.
“It looks like an access panel.””
Marcus touched it.
The panel shifted.
His heart kicked hard.
He pulled.
It opened.
Behind it was a narrow metal cylinder.
Inside the cylinder was a key.
Marcus removed it.
A small tag hung from the key.
*B-17.*
Ruiz frowned.
“Storage unit.””
Marcus nodded.
“The key from the park was probably another one.””
He reached into his pocket.
The silver key with the red tape.
He held both keys together.
Different locks.
Same style.
Same purpose.
Two locations.
One message.
Carter appeared at the top of the stairs.
“We found a transmission.””
Marcus stood.
“Where?””
“Not where you'd expect.””
Carter held up a tablet.
“The camera wasn't transmitting to a phone.””
“Then where?””
“To a private server.””
“Whose?””
Carter's expression hardened.
“Riverside Security.””
Marcus froze.
The company Ruiz had mentioned.
The one connected to the deaths.
“You're sure?””
“Yes.””
“Why would a security company spy on my house?””
Carter looked at Ruiz.
“We don't know.””
Marcus turned toward the floor again.
“Then we find out.””
Ruiz stopped him.
“Not tonight.””
Marcus stared at her.
“Someone shot through my window.””
“I know.””
“Someone hid a camera in my house.””
“I know.””
“Someone claims my dead wife is alive.””
Ruiz went silent.
Marcus stepped closer.
“And somebody is telling me there's a room under my house.””
His voice lowered.
“You want me to go to a motel and sleep?””
“No.””
“Then what?””
“We find the room.””
Carter looked at her.
“That could take hours.””
“Then we spend the hours.””
Marcus nodded.
For the first time since the patrol car had entered Riverside Park, he felt like someone was finally moving in the same direction he was.
They searched the house methodically.
Bedrooms.
Closets.
Kitchen cabinets.
Attic.
No hidden doors.
No loose boards.
Nothing.
Then Jaylen wandered toward the dining room.
“Dad?””
Marcus turned.
“What?””
Jaylen pointed at the floor.
“This sounds different.””
Marcus walked over.
Jaylen tapped one floorboard with his sneaker.
A hollow sound answered.
Marcus's pulse jumped.
He tapped another.
Solid.
The next.
Solid.
The board beneath Jaylen's foot sounded hollow again.
Ruiz crouched.
“Move.””
Jaylen stepped back.
Carter checked the wood with a small scanner.
A minute later, he looked up.
“There’s a void underneath.””
Marcus stared.
“How big?””
“About eight feet by ten.””
Ruiz looked around.
“A hidden basement?””
Marcus shook his head.
“No.””
He remembered the message.
The room beneath the room.
Carter found a seam beneath the rug.
They rolled it back.
A rectangular outline appeared in the wood.
Marcus ran his fingers along the edge.
There was no handle.
No latch.
Then he noticed two small holes.
Exactly the distance apart that a key could fit.
Marcus took the B-17 key.
It slid into the first hole.
He turned.
Click.
The floor moved.
A section of hardwood lifted two inches.
Everyone froze.
Carter raised his flashlight.
A set of narrow concrete steps descended into darkness.
Cold air rose from below.
It smelled like dust.
And something else.
Metal.
Marcus looked at Ruiz.
“Stay behind me.””
She almost smiled.
“Absolutely not.””
Carter went first.
Ruiz followed.
Marcus held Jaylen's hand and descended last.
The staircase ended in a low concrete chamber.
Eight feet by ten.
Bare walls.
One hanging bulb.
A metal table.
Two chairs.
And a wall covered with photographs.
Marcus stopped breathing.
Every photograph was of his family.
His mother.
Cameron.
Marcus.
Camille.
Jaylen.
Years.
Dozens of photographs.
Hundreds.
Some showed Marcus as a teenager.
Some showed Cameron.
Some showed Camille long before Marcus met her.
And many showed Jaylen.
At school.
At the park.
In the backyard.
Sleeping.
Walking.
Playing.
Marcus felt sick.
“How long have they been watching him?””
Ruiz didn't answer.
She was staring at the wall.
Carter moved toward the table.
There were files arranged in neat piles.
Each marked with a date.
Marcus saw one labeled with his mother's name.
Another with Cameron's.
Another with Camille's.
Then one with his own.
And one with Jaylen.
Marcus reached for it.
Ruiz caught his wrist.
“Don't.””
He pulled free.
“This is my son.””
“I know.””
He opened the file.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Jaylen Washington.
Mother: Camille Washington.
Father: Marcus Washington.
Everything looked normal.
Until he reached the final page.
A laboratory report.
Marcus's eyes moved over the numbers.
Then stopped.
“No.””
Ruiz stepped closer.
“What?””
Marcus read the conclusion again.
The words seemed impossible.
He handed the paper to her.
She scanned it.
Her face went rigid.
“What is it?””
Marcus couldn't speak.
Carter took the report.
He read it.
Then looked at Marcus.
“According to this, you are not Jaylen's biological father.””
Marcus stared at him.
The room seemed to disappear.
“No.””
Carter pointed to the report.
“It's a DNA test.””
“No.””
“Marcus—”
“I said no.””
He grabbed the file.
The test date was two years after Jaylen was born.
Three years before Camille died.
Marcus looked at the signature.
The test had been ordered anonymously.
But the doctor who signed it was someone he knew.
A pediatrician from the hospital where Jaylen had been born.
The same hospital where Camille had died.
His hands shook.
“Camille knew.””
Ruiz said nothing.
Marcus turned the page.
A second report was attached.
Not a paternity test.
A genetic comparison.
Marcus Washington.
Cameron Washington.
Jaylen Washington.
The conclusion was highlighted.
*Relationship probability: 99.97%.*
Marcus's heart pounded.
“Then what does this mean?””
Carter read the document again.
“It means you're related.””
“I know that.””
“No.””
Carter looked up.
“It means the DNA profile listed under Cameron isn't the profile of a brother.””
Marcus stared.
The words refused to make sense.
“What are you saying?””
Carter pointed to the file.
“The sample labeled Cameron belongs to Jaylen's biological father.””
Marcus couldn't breathe.
Ruiz took the document.
Her eyes widened.
Marcus looked from one officer to the other.
“My brother…”
He swallowed.
“My brother is Jaylen's father?””
“No,” Ruiz said quietly.
She looked at the report again.
“That's not what it says.””
“Then what does it say?””
Ruiz slowly raised her eyes.
“Cameron Washington isn't your brother.””
Marcus felt something inside him crack.
The room seemed to spin.
“Then who is he?””
Before anyone could answer, the light above them flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out.
A mechanical lock slammed behind them.
Jaylen screamed.
Carter spun toward the stairs.
“Everyone stay together!””
Marcus grabbed Jaylen.
In the darkness, a speaker crackled to life.
A man's voice filled the room.
Calm.
Close.
Almost amused.
Marcus knew it immediately.
“You're finally asking the right question.””
Marcus's blood ran cold.
“Cameron.””
A pause.
Then the voice answered.
“No, Marcus.””
The speaker hissed.
“Cameron is the name they gave me.””
A second light flickered on above the table.
Beside it sat a laptop.
The screen displayed a live video.
Marcus saw himself standing in the room.
Then Jaylen.
Then Ruiz.
Then Carter.
The camera angle was impossible.
It was directly above them.
The voice continued.
“You wanted to know who I am.””
The laptop screen changed.
An old photograph appeared.
Two infants.
Identical faces.
A hospital bracelet around one wrist.
The name on it was *Michael Washington*.
The other read *Marcus Washington*.
Marcus stared.
Then the image changed again.
A DNA chart appeared.
The voice whispered:
“Your mother didn't hide me from you.””
The screen went black.
“She hid you from me.””
Then the door unlocked.
Marcus looked toward the stairs.
Nobody stood there.
But on the table, beside the laptop, was a final note.
May you like
Five words.
*Your son belongs to us.*
