Chapter 2 - The Locked RoomJocelyn did not sleep.
The dress scratched at her neck.
The room was too quiet.
Every few minutes she pressed her ear against the bedroom door, hoping to hear Freya.
Sometimes she did.
A cough.
A floorboard.
Once, a muffled sob.
At dawn, the lock turned.
Harrison entered carrying a breakfast tray.
Jocelyn stood immediately.
“Where is she?”
“Good morning.”
“Where’s Freya?”
Harrison set the tray down.
Toast.
Eggs.
Milk.
The normality made Jocelyn furious.
“I asked you something.”
“So did I.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“The key.”
Jocelyn clenched her fists.
“I don’t know.”
Harrison studied her.
“You’re more like your mother than I remembered.”
“Mom hated you.”
The words escaped before Jocelyn could stop them.
Silence.
Harrison’s eyes became colder.
“Did she tell you that?”
Jocelyn realized she had hurt him.
For half a second she expected a strike.
Instead he smiled faintly.
“Natalie told people whatever was useful.”
“She told me you left us.”
“She told you half the story.”
“Then tell me the other half.”
“Eat.”
Jocelyn shoved the tray away.
“I want Freya.”
“You don’t make demands here.”
“She’s seven!”
“And she’s eating breakfast peacefully because unlike you, she hasn’t decided to turn this into a battle.”
Jocelyn’s throat tightened.
“You talked to her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Harrison paused.
“That your mother had a wooden box with stars carved into the lid.”
Jocelyn stopped breathing.
Harrison saw it.
There.
Recognition.
He stepped closer.
“You know the box.”
“No.”
“You just answered me.”
Jocelyn looked away.
Of course she remembered it.
Natalie had kept a small walnut box in the bottom drawer of her bedroom dresser.
Silver stars decorated the lid.
The girls called it the star box.
Sometimes Natalie placed jewelry inside.
Sometimes letters.
Once, shortly before she died, Jocelyn saw her mother hide something there.
Something blue.
But Jocelyn could not remember what.
Harrison lowered his voice.
“Where is the box?”
“I don’t know.”
“Damon’s house?”
“Maybe.”
“Where?”
“I said I don’t know.”
He stared at her.
“Your sister remembered more.”
Jocelyn’s fear sharpened.
“Leave her alone.”
“Then help me.”
“What’s the key for?”
Harrison’s expression shifted.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters if Mom hid it from you.”
For the first time, Harrison looked genuinely angry.
“Natalie hid a lot of things because Damon filled her head with poison.”
“Damon hurts us.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you talking like he was her friend?”
“Because things weren’t always what they became.”
Jocelyn frowned.
Harrison had just said something important.
She could feel it.
Before she could ask more, he turned toward the door.
“Finish breakfast.”
“Can I see Freya?”
“After you tell me where the star box is.”
The door locked again.
Jocelyn waited until his footsteps faded.
Then she searched the room.
Closet.
Drawers.
Under the mattress.
Behind curtains.
Nothing useful.
The window opened only four inches.
Too narrow.
She sat against the wall.
Think.
The star box.
Mom’s bedroom.
The final months before Natalie died had been confusing.
Medicine bottles.
Hospital visits.
Damon whispering on the phone.
Arguments downstairs.
Natalie once taking Jocelyn’s hands and saying:
“If anybody ever asks about my little blue bird, you don’t remember it.”
Jocelyn had laughed.
“There’s no bird.”
Natalie smiled.
“Exactly.”
Jocelyn’s heartbeat increased.
Blue bird.
Blue key.
Had Natalie been talking about the key?
A sound came through the wall.
Tap.
Jocelyn lifted her head.
Tap. Tap.
She moved toward the wall.
“Freya?”
Silence.
Then three taps.
“Freya?”
A tiny voice came through what looked like an old heating vent.
“Jo?”
Jocelyn nearly cried.
“I’m here.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“Dad keeps asking me questions.”
“What questions?”
“Mom’s box.”
“Did you tell him anything?”
“I said it was brown.”
“That’s okay.”
Freya sniffled.
“He said you already told him.”
Jocelyn’s stomach turned.
“He lied.”
“I knew.”
“Good.”
“Jo?”
“Yeah?”
“Is he bad too?”
Jocelyn closed her eyes.
She wanted to say no.
She wanted to invent another rescue.
Instead she whispered:
“I think we have to be careful.”
Freya began crying softly.
“Are we going back to Damon?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Jocelyn didn’t.
“We’re going somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Freya trusted those words because she had always trusted Jocelyn.
That responsibility felt heavier than any blow Damon had ever thrown.
Footsteps approached.
“Freya, stop talking.”
“What?”
“Someone’s coming.”
Jocelyn hurried away from the vent.
The door opened.
Harrison entered.
He carried a cardboard box.
Jocelyn stared.
Printed on the side was Natalie’s handwriting.
JOCELYN — SCHOOL / ART
Harrison set it on the floor.
“Recognize this?”
“Yes.”
“I brought several boxes from Damon’s house under the custody order.”
Jocelyn looked at him.
“He let you?”
“The deputy supervised.”
Harrison opened it.
School drawings.
Old notebooks.
A broken music trophy.
Then birthday cards.
Jocelyn frowned.
She had never seen them.
Harrison removed one.
The envelope read:
Jocelyn — Love, Aunt Miriam
Another.
Freya — I miss you every day. Aunt Miriam
Jocelyn stared.
“Who’s Miriam?”
Harrison’s jaw tightened.
“Your mother’s sister.”
“I have an aunt?”
“You had one.”
“What does that mean?”
“She chose not to be part of this family.”
Jocelyn reached for the envelopes.
Harrison pulled them away.
“Why haven’t I seen those?”
“They’re irrelevant.”
“They have my name on them.”
“She sent them to Damon.”
“And he hid them?”
Harrison said nothing.
Jocelyn suddenly understood something terrifying.
Damon had told them nobody else wanted them.
Harrison had said the same thing in a different way.
But someone had been writing.
For years.
Someone named Miriam.
Harrison put the cards back.
Then he removed one final object from the box.
A photograph.
Natalie stood between Damon and Harrison.
All three were younger.
All three were smiling.
Jocelyn stared at it.
“That’s impossible.”
Harrison watched her.
“No.”
“Mom said Damon met her after you left.”
“That was another half-truth.”
Jocelyn looked from Harrison to the photograph.
On the back, Natalie had written a date.
Nine years earlier.
Two years before Freya was born.
Underneath:
The three of us finally signed. May God forgive me if I trusted the wrong men.
Jocelyn’s skin went cold.
Harrison took the photograph back.
“Your mother knew both of us long before your family fell apart.”
He headed for the door.
Jocelyn called after him.
“What did you sign?”
Harrison paused.
May you like
Then he said:
“The reason your mother hid the key.”
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