Chapter 4 - The Things He Remembered
Ethan began remembering more.
Or appeared to.
A red blanket.
Claire’s perfume.
Andrew shouting in garage.
A silver music box.
The number 417.
Each detail landed like key turning inside Claire.
417 had been security code on Thomas’s nursery alarm.
Only Claire, Andrew, and nanny knew.
The nanny, Diane Foster, had died two years earlier.
Claire asked Ethan:
“Who taught you that number?”
“Nobody.”
“Then how do you remember?”
“I see it when I sleep.”
Doctors warned trauma memories could return as fragments.
Claire wanted desperately to believe.
Detective Sloan wanted evidence.
She asked Ethan about disappearance.
He remembered red balloons.
Street musician.
Someone taking hand.
“A woman?”
“I don't know.”
“A man?”
“I don't know.”
“What happened next?”
“A car.”
Color?
“White.”
Then:
“Mom was screaming.”
Claire left room sobbing.
Detective watched Ethan.
“You could hear her?”
“Yes.”
“From car?”
“I think.”
Claire had screamed Thomas’s name for nearly an hour after disappearance.
Witnesses remembered.
Could child have heard?
Possible.
Then detective asked:
“What was your mother wearing?”
Ethan hesitated.
“Blue.”
Wrong.
Claire had worn green coat.
Lily knew because photograph from festival hung in private search binder.
Ethan corrected:
“Green. I meant green.”
Detective wrote nothing visibly.
That evening Lily found Ethan inside Claire’s study.
He stood before locked cabinet containing investigation files.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for bathroom.”
“Bathroom is other way.”
“I forgot.”
Lily moved toward him.
He closed cabinet.
“Did you read Mom’s files?”
“No.”
Then she saw thin strip of paper sticking from his sleeve.
He tucked arm behind back.
Lily ran downstairs.
“Mom!”
Ethan followed slowly.
Claire was on phone with DNA lab.
Her face had gone pale.
“Say that again.”
Lily stopped.
Claire listened.
Then looked at Ethan.
Direct comparison showed significant biological relationship.
But not enough for parent-child.
Claire was not Ethan’s biological mother.
Silence swallowed house.
Ethan’s face crumpled.
“No.”
Claire stared.
“No, your test is wrong.”
Laboratory repeated.
Same.
Ethan backed away.
“You said you were my mom.”
Claire began crying.
“I thought…”
“You knew my name.”
“I thought you were Thomas.”
Ethan ran upstairs.
Lily watched.
This should have ended mystery.
Instead Detective Sloan said:
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Ethan is related to Thomas.”
Claire turned.
“How?”
“We can't tell yet.”
Then from upstairs came sound of glass breaking.
They rushed up.
Ethan was gone.
May you like
On bedroom mirror, written with finger through condensation:
ASK WHAT ANDREW DID BEFORE THOMAS DISAPPEARED.
