Chapter 4: The Father I Buried Wasn't My Father
For several seconds, I couldn't understand what Elena had just said.
I stood beside her hospital bed, holding a silver key in one hand and my phone in the other.
My mother was missing.
A stranger had sent me a photograph of her tied up.
And now my wife was telling me that the man I had buried six years earlier might still be alive.
"Say that again.""
Elena wiped her cheeks.
"Your father is alive, Marcus.""
I shook my head.
"No. I identified his body.""
"You identified a body.""
"At the funeral home.""
"Did you see his face?""
I opened my mouth.
Then stopped.
My father's funeral had been closed-casket.
The official explanation had been that the accident had caused severe injuries. The funeral director had advised against an open viewing.
I remembered standing beside the coffin.
I remembered my mother crying.
I remembered Vanessa appearing at the funeral, although I hadn't known her very well at the time.
But I hadn't seen my father's face.
"Who was in that coffin?"" I whispered.
Elena looked down.
"I don't know.""
"Then how can you be certain he's alive?""
"Because I saw him.""
"When?""
"Four months before I disappeared.""
I gripped the edge of her bed.
"Where?""
"In the old service building behind the property.""
My father's estate included a small brick building that had once housed his construction company's equipment. After his death, it had been locked and largely forgotten.
Elena continued.
"He was standing in the doorway. He looked older, thinner. But it was him.""
"Did you speak to him?""
"Yes.""
"What did he say?""
She closed her eyes.
"He told me that if I ever found out what happened to him, I should protect Lily.""
I stared at her.
"Why didn't you tell me?""
"Because he asked me not to. He said someone in the family was watching you.""
I walked toward the window.
My entire childhood began rearranging itself inside my head.
My father teaching me to ride a bicycle.
My father carrying me on his shoulders at the county fair.
My father telling me that family was the only thing worth protecting.
Had he really been alive all those years?
Had he watched me mourn him?
Had he watched me lower an empty coffin into the ground?
I turned back.
"Why would he let me believe he was dead?""
Elena hesitated.
"Because he was afraid of your mother.""
The words landed heavily.
I wanted to reject them.
I wanted to tell Elena she was exhausted and confused.
But I remembered the photograph.
My mother's bound hands.
The stranger wearing my father's watch.
And the message.
Ask your mother what she did to your father.
I picked up my phone and called the police again.
This time, I requested an officer to accompany me to the house.
The dispatcher confirmed that officers were already responding to the earlier emergency call.
I told Elena I would return as soon as I found my mother.
She grabbed my sleeve.
"Marcus, take the key.""
I looked down at the silver key.
"What's behind the door?""
She swallowed.
"Everything Vanessa has been trying to hide.""
Twenty-seven minutes later, I arrived at our house.
Two police cruisers were parked near the driveway.
The front door stood open.
A uniformed officer approached me.
"Mr. Hayes?""
"Yes. Where's my mother?""
"We haven't located her yet. We found signs of a struggle upstairs.""
My stomach tightened.
"Was anyone else inside?""
"Not when we arrived.""
I looked toward the swimming pool.
The circular hatch was still open.
A strip of yellow police tape stretched across the patio.
An officer approached carrying a plastic evidence bag.
"Sir, is this yours?""
Inside was a small gold bracelet.
I recognized it immediately.
It belonged to my mother.
"Where did you find it?""
"In the hallway near your office.""
I stared at the bracelet.
Then I remembered the photograph.
My mother had been wearing it.
I looked at the officer.
"She was taken.""
He nodded.
"We're treating this as a possible abduction.""
I showed him the threatening message.
His expression changed.
"Do you know who sent this?""
"No.""
"Do you recognize the man in the photograph?""
I enlarged the image.
The man's face was obscured by darkness.
But something about his posture bothered me.
His shoulders were slightly uneven.
His left hand rested close to his waist.
I had seen that stance before.
Then I remembered.
A childhood photograph.
My father standing behind my mother at a Christmas party.
One hand resting on her shoulder.
The other hanging slightly lower because of an old injury.
My father's left shoulder had been damaged in a construction accident.
I looked at the photograph again.
The stranger had the same uneven shoulders.
"Officer," I whispered.
"Yes?""
"I think I know who took her.""
We searched the house with the officers.
The upstairs bathroom had been disturbed, but there was no blood.
The window was locked.
A wet towel lay on the floor.
Near the sink, I noticed a small piece of paper.
It had been folded several times.
I opened it.
Three words were written in my mother's handwriting.
*OFFICE. BEHIND CLOCK.*
I looked toward the hallway.
My father's old grandfather clock stood outside my study.
It had been in our family for decades.
I walked over and examined its wooden casing.
Behind the clock was a narrow panel.
I pressed it.
A small compartment opened.
Inside was a photograph and a folded document.
The photograph showed my father standing beside a younger Vanessa.
She was wearing a dark business suit.
Behind them was the entrance to my father's old service building.
On the back, someone had written:
*VICTORIA AND DANIEL. PROPERTY TRANSFER, 2019.*
Daniel.
My father's name.
I unfolded the document.
It was a copy of a property agreement.
My father's signature appeared at the bottom.
But something else caught my attention.
The date.
It had been signed three months after his supposed death.
I stared at it.
The document proved that someone had used my father's identity after the funeral.
An officer stepped beside me.
"What's that?""
I handed it to him.
He studied the signature.
"Do you recognize this?""
"Yes. It's my father's.""
"Could it be forged?""
"Maybe.""
I looked again at the photograph.
Vanessa.
My father.
The property.
Then I noticed something I hadn't seen before.
A small red mark on the back of Vanessa's hand.
A crescent-shaped scar.
The same scar Elena had once described as belonging to the woman who had drugged her.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered immediately.
"Where's my mother?""
A familiar voice responded.
"Still asking the wrong questions, son.""
My blood turned cold.
It was my father's voice.
Older.
Rougher.
But unmistakable.
"Dad?""
A pause.
Then a quiet laugh.
"You always were slow to understand things, Marcus.""
I gripped the phone.
"Where is my mother?""
"She's safe.""
"Let her go.""
"That depends on you.""
"What do you want?""
"The key.""
I looked down at the silver key in my hand.
"The key Elena gave me?""
"She shouldn't have given you that.""
"What's behind the door?""
My father sighed.
"Your future.""
I felt anger rising.
"You let me bury you.""
"I did what was necessary.""
"You let me believe you were dead!""
"And look how comfortably you rebuilt your life.""
His words were so casual that I nearly dropped the phone.
I stepped away from the officer.
"Did you put Elena beneath my swimming pool?""
Silence.
Then he answered.
"She was supposed to stay there.""
My vision blurred.
"She's my wife.""
"She was a problem.""
"She's the mother of your granddaughter!""
"Exactly.""
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
My father continued.
"Bring me the key. Come alone. If you involve the police, your mother disappears permanently.""
"Where?""
"The old service building.""
"When?""
"One hour.""
The call ended.
I stood motionless.
The officer beside me had heard enough to understand.
"Mr. Hayes, you're not going anywhere alone.""
I nodded.
But as he began speaking into his radio, I looked down at the silver key.
There was a tiny engraving near its base.
I had never noticed it before.
A series of numbers.
0714.
Elena's birthday.
Fourteen July.
I remembered something she had said in the hospital.
The documents she had signed.
The trust.
The protected ownership clause.
I pulled out my phone and called her.
She answered weakly.
"Marcus?""
"I found the document. My father called.""
There was a long silence.
Then Elena whispered, "Did he ask for the key?""
"Yes.""
"Don't give it to him.""
"What's behind the door?""
She took a shaky breath.
"Your father's original death certificate.""
I frowned.
"Why would he want that?""
"Because it doesn't belong to him.""
I waited.
Then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"Marcus, the man in the coffin wasn't your father.""
"Who was it?""
Elena began crying.
"It was the man who signed your father's death certificate.""
I looked at the document in my hand.
My father had been alive.
My mother knew.
Vanessa knew.
And someone else had died to make sure I never found out.
Then Elena whispered:
"And Marcus, there's something else. Your father didn't fake his death alone.""
"Who helped him?""
She hesitated.
May you like
Then answered.
"Your mother.""
