Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN AT THE END OF THE HALL
For several seconds, I could not move.
Perrin's words seemed to hang in the hallway between us.
Mom never died.
She hid her.
I stared at my son.
Then I looked at Rhea.
The color had vanished from her face.
That frightened me more than anything Perrin could have said.
Rhea was always controlled.
Even when angry, she chose every word carefully.
Now her lips were trembling.
I tightened my arm around Perrin.
"What does he mean?"
Rhea glanced toward the staircase.
It lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
She was calculating the distance to the front door.
"Caleb, he's confused."
My name sounded wrong in her mouth.
"Perrin has been having nightmares."
Perrin buried his face against my shoulder.
"No."
His voice shook.
"I saw Mommy."
Rhea took another step backward.
I moved between her and my son.
"When?"
Perrin looked toward the broken panel behind us.
"Three nights ago."
My stomach dropped.
"Where?"
He pointed into the dark opening.
"There."
I turned.
The hidden space where I had found him was deeper than I first realized.
A narrow passage disappeared behind the walls of my house.
Our house had been built almost ninety years ago.
I knew about the old servant corridors on the original blueprints, but my father had told me they were sealed before I was born.
Apparently, he had been wrong.
Perrin's fingers dug into my shirt.
"She was crying."
Rhea suddenly spoke.
"He's seven years old, Caleb."
I looked at her.
"He knows what his mother looks like."
"Children imagine things."
"Did he imagine being locked inside a wall?"
Rhea's mouth closed.
I stepped toward her.
"What did you do to my son?"
She lifted her chin.
"I was disciplining him."
Something inside me went cold.
"You locked him in there?"
"He kept lying."
Perrin started trembling again.
I felt it through his entire body.
"What lies?"
Rhea's eyes moved toward him.
Perrin immediately hid his face.
That was when I understood something that made me want to tear the house apart with my bare hands.
He was afraid of her.
Not uncomfortable.
Not nervous.
Afraid.
I had left my son with someone he feared.
Rhea lowered her voice.
"Caleb, you just walked through the door after being gone for four months."
I hated the accusation hidden inside those words.
She wanted me to doubt myself.
"You don't know what has been happening here."
"Then tell me."
She said nothing.
Behind me, Perrin whispered.
"She took Scout."
Scout was the stuffed dog Perrin had slept with since he was a toddler.
My late wife, Mara, had bought it before he was born.
"Why did she take Scout?"
Perrin looked at Rhea.
"Because Mommy told me not to let her find it."
Rhea's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But it was enough.
I saw fear.
Real fear.
I turned back toward her.
"What is inside that stuffed dog?"
"Nothing."
Her answer came too quickly.
Perrin whispered another sentence.
"Mommy put something in his collar."
Rhea moved.
She spun toward the staircase.
I lunged forward.
Before I reached her, she grabbed a crystal bowl from the console table and hurled it toward me.
I turned my shoulder.
Glass exploded against the wall.
Perrin screamed.
That sound stopped me from chasing her.
I dropped to one knee and covered my son with my body.
Rhea ran.
Her heels struck the marble staircase.
Then the side door slammed.
By the time I reached the front windows, the black SUV was already racing down the driveway.
I pulled out my phone.
My hands were shaking.
I called 911 first.
Then I called the head of my private security team.
Then I called the one person who had investigated Mara's death two years earlier.
Detective Lena Ortiz.
She answered on the third ring.
"Ortiz."
"It's Caleb Mercer."
There was a pause.
I heard papers moving.
"Mr. Mercer?"
"My son says Mara is alive."
Silence.
"Where are you?"
"At my house."
"Do not touch anything."
I looked at the broken wall.
At the shattered crystal.
At the dark passage where my child had been imprisoned.
Then Perrin tugged my sleeve.
"Dad."
I looked down.
His eyes were fixed inside the hidden corridor.
"What?"
May you like
He pointed toward the darkness.
"I think Mommy is still in the house."
