Chương 2
I took a step back.
My phone buzzed.
I nearly dropped it.
It was Officer Reyes.
"Where are you?"
I didn't answer.
"Claire, listen to me."
The way he said my name made me stop.
Not because he sounded angry.
Because he sounded afraid.
"How did you know I was here?"
A pause.
Then:
"Because I followed you."
I stared at the locked door.
"Why?"
"Because I knew you wouldn't listen."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"No."
His voice lowered.
"It doesn't."
The call ended before I could respond.
I stood there holding the phone, suddenly aware that I was no longer alone in the house.
Not because I heard someone.
Because Reyes had confirmed something worse.
Someone had expected me to come.
I walked downstairs faster than I had gone up.
The front door was still open.
The photograph was still on the table.
But the letter copy in my glove compartment was gone.
I ran outside.
My car was exactly where I left it.
The doors were locked.
The windows were closed.
I opened the trunk.
Nothing looked disturbed.
Then I noticed the small envelope sitting on the driver's seat.
My name was written across the front.
Not Claire.
Not Ms. Bennett.
Just my name.
The handwriting was Mara's.
I opened it with shaking fingers.
Inside was one sentence.
"Stop looking for me unless you are ready to learn why I left."
I read it three times.
Then I looked back at the mansion.
A light turned on in the locked room upstairs.
I stayed frozen in the driveway, staring at the glowing window until my eyes started to hurt.
The light did not move.
It simply remained there, a quiet confirmation that someone upstairs wanted me to know they were watching.
For eleven months, I had imagined every possible explanation for Mara's disappearance.
I imagined an accident.
I imagined that she had run away.
I imagined that someone had hurt her.
I had never imagined that she had left me a message telling me to stop searching.
The worst part was not the warning.
The worst part was that it sounded like her.
Mara had always been the person who believed the truth mattered more than comfort, even when the truth ruined everything.
She once quit a newspaper job because her editor removed three paragraphs from a story about a local contractor.
The missing paragraphs were about safety violations.
The contractor had donated money to the paper's parent company.
Mara called it corruption.
Her editor called it business.
She walked out anyway.
I remembered standing outside the office with her boxes while she complained that the problem with people was not that they lied.
It was that they eventually got tired of being angry about the lies.
At the time, I thought she was being dramatic.
Now I wondered if she had been preparing me.
The front door of the mansion creaked behind me.
I turned.
No one stood there.
But the door was slowly closing.
I crossed the distance in three steps and pushed it open again.
The empty hallway waited on the other side.
"Show yourself," I said.
My voice sounded less confident than I wanted.
A small sound came from somewhere deeper inside the house.
Not a footstep.
A drawer opening.
I entered again.
I hated that I did.
I hated that curiosity was stronger than fear.
But leaving had become impossible the moment I saw Mara's handwriting.
The person who left that note knew exactly how to pull me back.
They knew I would choose answers over safety.
The hallway led toward the back of the mansion where the rooms became darker.
The electricity seemed inconsistent.
Some lights worked.
Others flickered weakly or stayed dead.
I followed the sound until I reached a study with shelves covering every wall.
A man stood near the desk with his back facing me.
He was older, maybe in his sixties, wearing a gray sweater and holding a folder.
I stopped in the doorway.
"Who are you?"
The man turned slowly.
His face looked familiar.
Not because I had met him.
Because I had seen him before.
His photograph had been in the newspaper when Evelyn Ashford died.
Thomas Ashford.
The only surviving member of the family.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
I almost laughed.
"That seems to be everyone's favorite sentence today."
His eyes moved toward the envelope in my hand.
"Did she write that?"
"Who?"
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
"You know Mara."
Thomas placed the folder on the desk.
"I knew of her."
"That's not what I asked."
"No."
His voice was tired rather than defensive.
"I suppose it isn't."
I stepped farther into the room.
The air felt heavier there.
Not because of anything supernatural.
Because the room looked lived in.
Unlike the rest of the mansion, this place had not been abandoned.
There were coffee cups beside the desk.
Newspapers stacked in uneven piles.
A phone charger plugged into the wall.
Someone had been staying here.
"Why is this house open?"
Thomas looked toward the window.
"Because it was never really empty."
"Who has been here?"
He looked back at me.
"You came here looking for your sister."
"Yes."
"Then you already know the answer."
I tightened my grip on the envelope.
"I know nothing."
For a moment, something almost like pity crossed his face.
Then it disappeared.
"Mara found things she wasn't supposed to find."
"What things?"
"Things that made people uncomfortable."
"That's vague."
"It's also true."
I stepped closer.
"My sister disappeared because she found something here."
Thomas looked down.
"You still think disappearance is the worst thing that can happen to a person."
The sentence made my stomach tighten.
"What does that mean?"
He didn't respond immediately.
The silence stretched long enough that I heard the old clock on the wall ticking.
I hated that clock.
May you like
I hated the way normal sounds kept existing while my entire understanding of my sister shifted.
"Where is she?" I asked.
