Chapter 2 - ELLIOT WOULD NOT LET HIS FATHER TOUCH HIMWarren reached the house forty-three minutes later.
He didn’t remember most of the drive.
The front doors opened before he reached them.
Irene stood there.
Her face was pale.
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs.”
“Monique?”
“In the study.”
Warren started toward the staircase.
Irene caught his sleeve.
“Mr. Carter.”
He turned.
“Please don’t go in angry.”
He almost laughed.
“Did you watch what she did?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t tell me how to feel.”
“I’m not.”
Irene lowered her voice.
“I’m telling you Elliot is frightened of anger right now.”
That stopped him.
Warren looked upstairs.
His breathing slowed.
“You’re right.”
He climbed.
Elliot’s bedroom door was partly open.
Warren pushed it gently.
His son sat on the floor beside the bed.
Dry clothes now.
Blanket around his shoulders.
He was holding an old plastic dinosaur.
Warren stepped inside.
“Elliot.”
The boy looked up.
And immediately moved backward.
Warren stopped.
That single movement hurt more than the video.
“It’s me.”
“I know.”
Warren crouched several feet away.
“I saw the video.”
Elliot’s face changed.
Fear.
Not relief.
“Am I in trouble?”
Warren nearly broke.
“No.”
“I didn’t mean for Irene to—”
“You’re not in trouble.”
Elliot stared at him.
Warren opened his arms instinctively.
Elliot didn’t move.
So Warren lowered them.
That was when he understood.
Comfort could not be demanded.
Not even by a father.
Especially a father who had failed to notice.
“I’m sorry.”
Elliot looked confused.
“For what?”
“For not knowing.”
The boy looked at the dinosaur.
“She said you wouldn’t believe me.”
Warren swallowed.
“Did you try to tell me?”
Silence.
“Elliot?”
“Once.”
His chest tightened.
“When?”
“The night you came back from Chicago.”
Warren remembered.
Three weeks earlier.
Late flight.
He had walked into the kitchen and found Elliot sitting alone.
The boy had started saying something.
Monique interrupted.
He’s upset because I took his game away.
Warren had kissed Elliot’s head.
Told him to listen to Monique.
Then gone upstairs.
Warren closed his eyes.
“What were you trying to tell me?”
“That she put me downstairs.”
“The basement?”
Elliot nodded.
“Why?”
“I spilled juice.”
Warren felt something cold move through him.
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“She turned the lights off.”
He had to force himself not to react too strongly.
“Were you locked in?”
Elliot nodded.
“How long?”
“I fell asleep.”
Warren’s jaw tightened.
“Was that last Thursday?”
“No.”
He stopped.
“What?”
“That was before.”
Warren stared.
“Then what happened last Thursday?”
Elliot began rubbing the dinosaur’s tail.
“Nothing.”
“Buddy.”
“Nothing.”
The lie was obvious.
But Warren remembered Irene’s warning.
Don’t push.
He changed direction.
“What box did you find?”
Elliot froze.
Warren saw it immediately.
“Elliot.”
“She said I shouldn’t.”
“Who?”
“Monique.”
“Shouldn’t what?”
“Tell you.”
“About the box?”
The boy nodded.
“Where is it?”
Elliot’s eyes moved toward the closet.
Warren stood slowly.
“Can I look?”
Another nod.
Inside the closet were shoes.
School clothes.
Board games.
Nothing unusual.
Then Warren noticed one floorboard beside the back wall was slightly raised.
He knelt.
Lifted it.
Underneath was a small metal cash box.
Old.
Blue.
Locked.
Warren pulled it out.
Elliot’s breathing changed.
“She doesn’t know I moved it.”
“Moved it from where?”
“The basement.”
Warren looked at him.
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never opened it?”
Elliot shook his head.
“There was a key.”
“Where?”
“In the basement.”
“Do you still have it?”
The boy reached inside the dinosaur.
A zipper ran underneath.
He pulled out a brass key.
Warren took it.
The lock opened.
Inside were papers.
Photographs.
A flash drive.
And an envelope.
Warren recognized the handwriting on the front before he touched it.
His first wife.
Elliot’s mother.
Amelia.
His hands began shaking.
Amelia had been dead for four years.
Cancer.
Fast.
Cruel.
The envelope said:
Warren — if anything happens to me before Elliot turns ten, do not let anyone destroy these.
Warren stopped breathing.
Elliot looked at him.
“Is that Mom’s writing?”
“Yes.”
“Why was it in the basement?”
Warren had no answer.
He opened the envelope.
The first page contained one sentence.
Monique knows about the trust.
Warren’s blood turned cold.
He read it again.
Monique.
May you like
Amelia had written Monique’s name.
Four years before Warren claimed he had even met her.
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