Chapter 6: The Brother Who Never Died
The photograph trembled in my hand.
A boy stood beside me, smiling at whoever had taken the picture. He looked about twelve, with dark hair falling across his forehead and a thin scar running along his chin.
I was sitting on a stone wall, wearing a white dress and a blue ribbon in my hair.
The boy's hand rested on my shoulder.
He looked protective.
Familiar.
And completely unknown to me.
“Who gave you this?”” I whispered.
Adrian pressed his good hand against his wounded shoulder.
“Your father.””
“When?””
“Shortly before the fire.””
“Why didn't you tell me about it?””
“Because I didn't know whether Daniel was alive.””
I stared at the photograph again.
“You knew about my brother.””
“I knew Richard had an older son. I didn't know what happened to him after the fire.””
“Then why did you say he was looking for me?””
Adrian's expression tightened.
“Because three months ago, someone began sending me photographs of you.””
My stomach turned.
“What?””
“Pictures of a woman sleeping beneath an awning near the Hudson. A woman collecting food outside restaurants. A woman walking through Manhattan with her hair covering her face.””
I stared at him in horror.
“You knew where I was?””
“I knew someone had been watching you. I didn't know it was you until last night.””
“Why didn't you find me?””
“Because the photographs came without names. Whoever sent them wanted me to believe they were warnings.””
He swallowed.
“I didn't understand what they meant until I saw your birthmark.””
I felt sick.
For ten years, I'd believed I was invisible.
Someone had been watching me the entire time.
Someone knew where I slept, what I ate, and which streets I walked.
And they'd been sending photographs of my misery to Adrian Kane.
“Who sent them?””
“I don't know.””
“Vincent?””
“Possibly.””
“Thomas Vale?””
“Possibly.””
“Your own people?””
Adrian looked at me.
“Also possible.””
I stepped away from him.
The apartment was a wreck. Glass glittered across the floor, smoke drifted through the corridor, and somewhere outside the windows, sirens were beginning to rise.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I held the photograph so tightly that the edges cut into my fingers.
“Everyone knew something about me except me.””
Adrian closed his eyes briefly.
“Yes.””
“And now you want me to trust you?””
“No,” he said quietly.
“I want you to survive long enough to decide whether I deserve it.””
Before I could answer, Daniel limped into the room.
“We have to move. The police are on their way, and I can't guarantee the building is secure.””
Adrian tried to stand.
I caught his arm.
“You're bleeding.””
“I've noticed.””
“Sit down.””
He stared at me.
Then, incredibly, he obeyed.
I found a clean towel in the kitchen and pressed it against his shoulder. The wound was ugly but didn't appear to have struck a major artery.
Adrian watched me work.
“You've done this before.””
“I've treated worse injuries with less than a clean towel.””
His expression changed.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I'm sorry.””
I kept my eyes on the wound.
“For what?””
“For the years you spent alone.””
My hands stopped.
It was the first apology anyone had offered me that didn't come with an excuse.
I swallowed hard.
“You didn't put me on those streets.””
“No. But I could have looked harder.””
I wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault.
I wanted to say that the past couldn't be changed.
Instead, I tied the bandage and stepped away.
“Don't make promises you can't keep.””
He nodded.
“I won't.””
We left the apartment through a service stairwell and took a second car to a private medical clinic in Queens.
Daniel insisted Margaret come with us, and two security men carried her carefully down the stairs. She regained consciousness before we reached the car, though she looked dazed and frightened.
At the clinic, a doctor treated Adrian's shoulder and Daniel's head wound. Margaret was examined for a concussion.
I sat alone in a small waiting room, the gold necklace resting against my chest.
The photograph lay on my lap.
I couldn't stop looking at the boy beside me.
His face tugged at something buried deep inside my mind.
A memory surfaced.
A dark bedroom.
Thunder against the windows.
A boy climbing through my bedroom door with a flashlight.
Don't be scared, Moonbeam. Monsters don't come into rooms where I'm standing.
I covered my mouth.
The memory was so clear that I could almost hear his voice.
Then it vanished.
I closed my eyes and tried to hold on to it.
Nothing.
A nurse approached.
“Are you all right?””
I wiped my cheeks.
“Do you know if the man in the examination room will be okay?””
“Mr. Kane? He'll need to rest, but the doctor says he's fortunate.””
“That's one word for it.””
The nurse smiled sympathetically.
“Your friend seems very concerned about you.””
I looked toward the closed door.
“He barely knows me.””
“Sometimes that isn't the same thing.””
She left before I could respond.
A few minutes later, Daniel entered the waiting room with his arm in a sling.
“Wren?””
I looked up.
“How's Margaret?””
“Concussed, but stable. She's sleeping.””
“And Adrian?””
“Arguing with the doctor.””
“That sounds promising.””
Daniel smiled faintly, then sat beside me.
For several seconds, he stared at the photograph.
“That's Daniel Whitmore,” he said.
“You're sure?””
“I saw a picture of him years ago. Adrian kept it in his office.””
“Did Adrian know him?””
“Not personally. But Richard Whitmore helped his father more than once. Adrian heard stories about the family when he was growing up.””
I turned the photograph toward Daniel.
“Do you think my brother is alive?””
He studied the boy's face.
“I think someone wants us to believe he is.””
“That isn't the same thing.””
“No.””
I waited.
Finally, Daniel sighed.
“Look, Wren, there are things about Adrian's business you should understand. Vincent Moretti has been trying to take over several operations for years. Richard Whitmore stood in his way. If Daniel is alive, he could have information Vincent wants.””
“What kind of information?””
“The kind people kill for.””
I touched the pendant at my throat.
“The ledger?””
“Maybe. But the message said the book was a witness, not the ledger itself.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
Daniel leaned forward.
“Your father may have kept a second record. Something that could prove who ordered the fire.””
“Where?””
“If we knew, we wouldn't be sitting here.””
I looked down at the photograph.
“Then we find my brother.””
Daniel's expression grew serious.
“That's not going to be easy.””
“Neither was surviving on the street for ten years.””
He studied me for a moment, then nodded.
“I'll tell Adrian you want to help.””
“No. Tell him I'm going to help.””
Daniel laughed quietly.
“I can see why he likes you.””
My cheeks warmed.
“He doesn't like me.””
“Of course not.””
“He's a criminal.””
“Absolutely.””
“He's bossy.””
“Terrible habit.””
“And he has a bullet wound.””
Daniel rose.
“Then it's a good thing he's not here to hear you talking about him.””
He left me with the photograph.
For the first time since discovering my identity, I felt something other than fear.
I felt determined.
Adrian was sitting upright when I entered his examination room.
His shoulder was wrapped in fresh bandages, and his black shirt lay folded on a nearby chair. He looked pale but alert.
A glass of water sat untouched on the table beside him.
“You should be resting,” I said.
“You should be sleeping.””
“I asked first.””
He gestured toward the chair.
“Sit down.””
I sat.
He studied the photograph in my hands.
“Daniel told me you've decided to find your brother.””
“I have.””
“It's dangerous.””
“Everything about my life is dangerous.””
“Wren—”
“Don't.””
He stopped.
I placed the photograph on the table.
“I don't remember him, but I know he was important to me. If he's alive, I need to find him.””
Adrian looked at the photograph for a long time.
Then he nodded.
“All right.””
I blinked.
“That's it?””
“What did you expect?””
“A lecture.””
“I can give you one if you'd like.””
“No, thank you.””
He almost smiled.
Then he reached into a drawer and removed a folded piece of paper.
“There's something else you need to know.””
He placed it beside the photograph.
It was a police report dated ten years earlier.
The report described a fire at the Whitmore estate, the disappearance of Richard and Eleanor Whitmore, and the presumed death of Isabella Whitmore.
I scanned the page.
Near the bottom was a list of witnesses.
One name had been highlighted.
*Thomas Vale.*
Beneath it was an address.
An abandoned property in upstate New York.
I looked up.
“Why do you have this?””
“Because Thomas Vale disappeared shortly after the fire. His name surfaced again six months ago in connection with Vincent Moretti.””
“Do you think he took me?””
“I think he knows what happened to you.””
I gripped the paper.
“Then we find him.””
Adrian shook his head.
“Not yet.””
“Why?””
“Because the last person who tried to approach Vale ended up in the hospital with two broken legs.””
“Then we'll be careful.””
He looked at me, a strange mixture of concern and admiration in his eyes.
“You really don't know when to be afraid, do you?””
“I know exactly when to be afraid.””
I touched the crescent mark behind my ear.
“I'm just tired of letting fear make every decision for me.””
Adrian was silent for a long moment.
Then he reached for his phone.
“Daniel,” he said when the call connected.
“I need everything you can find on Thomas Vale. Addresses, associates, financial records. And find out whether Daniel Whitmore is alive.””
He paused.
“No. Don't contact him. Just find him.””
He ended the call.
I leaned back in my chair.
“What happens if we find my brother?””
Adrian looked toward the window.
“Then we ask him what happened the night your family disappeared.””
“And if he was involved?””
His expression darkened.
“Then we find out why.””
I wanted to believe that answer.
I wanted to believe the truth would be something simple enough to survive.
But as I sat beside the man who had pulled me out of an alley and carried me into a world of secrets, I couldn't shake the feeling that the worst part of my story had not yet begun.
That evening, Margaret woke up.
I found her sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, staring at the gold necklace in my hand.
“Your mother wore that every day,” she whispered.
I sat beside her.
“Why did she hide something inside it?””
“Because she knew someone would search the house. She believed they wouldn't think to look inside something you wore.””
“Did she know what was coming?””
Margaret looked away.
“I think she suspected.””
“Then why didn't she run?””
“Because your father refused to leave Daniel behind.””
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?””
Margaret clasped her hands.
“Your brother had been meeting with Thomas Vale. He believed the man could help him expose the people who were threatening your family.””
“Was Daniel working with the Broker?””
“I don't know. But the night of the fire, your brother disappeared from the house before the flames reached the east wing.””
My stomach tightened.
“Did he take my mother?””
“No.””
“How can you be sure?””
Margaret looked directly into my eyes.
“Because I saw him come back.””
I stopped breathing.
“When?””
“After the fire began. He ran into the house while everyone else was running out.””
“Why?””
“To find you.””
I felt tears gather behind my eyes.
“Did he find me?””
Margaret shook her head.
“No. By the time he reached the nursery, you were already gone.””
I looked down at the necklace.
The memory of a boy holding my hand flickered through my mind.
A voice whispering, Run, Moonbeam.
I pressed the pendant against my palm.
“Where did he go afterward?””
Margaret's face tightened.
“I don't know.””
She hesitated.
Then she reached beneath her pillow and pulled out a small envelope.
“I've kept this for ten years.””
I stared at it.
“What's inside?””
“A letter Daniel left for you before the fire.””
My fingers trembled as I opened it.
The handwriting was uneven, as though he'd been writing in a hurry.
Moonbeam,
If anything happens tonight, don't trust anyone who tells you I abandoned you.
I promised Dad I'd keep you safe. I'm going to keep that promise, even if it takes me the rest of my life.
If you ever find this letter, look for the place where we buried the silver horse.
You'll know what to do.
I read the words twice.
A memory struck me with such force that I gasped.
A garden.
A stone fountain.
A little silver horse buried beneath a rosebush.
My brother kneeling beside me, his finger pressed against his lips.
This is our secret place. Nobody will ever find it.
I looked at Margaret.
“Where was the garden?””
She began to cry.
“At the Whitmore estate.””
I rose from the bed.
Adrian appeared in the doorway, his shoulder still bandaged.
“What happened?””
I held out the letter.
“We know where to look.””
He read it, then glanced toward Daniel, who had just entered behind him.
“The Whitmore estate has been abandoned for ten years,” Daniel said.
“The property is surrounded by private land, and the original house is structurally unstable.””
“Can we get inside?”” I asked.
Adrian's eyes met mine.
“Yes.””
“Then we're going.””
He studied me for several seconds.
Finally, he nodded.
“We leave at dawn.””
I tucked the letter into my pocket.
For the first time, I knew where my past was waiting.
But as Adrian turned to speak to Daniel, his phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
A new message had arrived from an unknown number.
*Don't go to the estate. Your brother isn't the only one waiting for you.*
A second message followed.
A photograph of the abandoned Whitmore mansion.
Someone stood in the upstairs window.
Someone with my blue eyes.
May you like
And beneath the photograph were four words.
*Ask Adrian about the fire.*
