Chapter 2 - The Envelope for Daniel
Daniel didn’t open the bedroom door.
Not yet.
He moved Emily and Leo behind him.
“Mrs. Carter, take the children across the hall.”
Emily refused.
“No.”
“Emily—”
“Mom said stay with Leo.”
“You are staying with him.”
She tightened her grip on her brother.
Then she pointed at the envelope.
“That wasn’t there before.”
Daniel crouched.
The envelope looked old.
Yellowed edges.
No stamp.
His full name was written in black ink.
Officer Daniel Mercer.
He opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Daniel at perhaps eight years old.
Beside him stood another boy.
Same dark hair.
Same eyes.
Older by several years.
Daniel stopped breathing.
He turned the photograph over.
Two names were written there.
Daniel Mercer — 8.
Nathan Mercer — 13.
Mrs. Carter whispered:
“Who’s Nathan?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
Emily did.
“That’s the name.”
Daniel looked at her.
“What?”
“Mom said Nathan.”
Daniel stood very slowly.
His older brother Nathan had disappeared when Daniel was eight.
Thirty years ago.
The family spent two years searching.
Eventually, everyone accepted the most likely explanation: Nathan had drowned after running away from home.
No body had ever been recovered.
Daniel became a police officer partly because of him.
And now a missing mother had apparently whispered Nathan’s name to her seven-year-old daughter.
Daniel stared at the bedroom door.
“Emily, exactly what did your mom say?”
Emily squeezed Leo’s hand.
“She said, ‘If Nathan comes back, don't believe what he looks like.’”
Daniel felt cold.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
Mrs. Carter suddenly stepped backward.
Daniel noticed.
“You recognize that name.”
“No.”
“You reacted.”
“I’m frightened.”
“Mrs. Carter.”
Her eyes moved toward her apartment.
Then toward the stairs.
Daniel understood immediately.
“Don’t leave.”
“I wasn’t.”
He held out his hand.
“The recording.”
She reluctantly gave him her phone.
The audio began with hallway noise.
Then my voice.
Low.
Angry.
“You were told never to come here.”
A second voice answered.
Distorted by distance.
But unmistakably adult.
“You called me.”
“I called because you promised you would finally tell me what happened to Nathan.”
Daniel stopped the recording.
His chest tightened.
I had known about his missing brother.
But Daniel and I had never met.
At least, he believed we hadn’t.
He pressed play again.
My voice returned.
“You lied to Daniel for thirty years.”
Then the other person said something quieter.
Daniel replayed it.
Again.
The words became clear.
“Daniel was never supposed to remember me.”
Daniel looked at the childhood photograph.
A memory surfaced.
A basement.
A flashlight.
Nathan whispering:
If anybody asks, you never saw the room.
Then Leo screamed.
May you like
Everyone turned.
The bedroom door was slowly opening by itself.
