Chapter 6 - THE VOICE IN THE DARK
The workshop went completely black.
For one second, nobody moved.
Then the hidden door slammed shut behind us.
The officer drew his flashlight.
“Stay where you are.”
A hard metallic click came from the hallway.
The officer rushed toward the door.
It would not open.
“Someone locked it from the other side.”
Mr. Harris reached for his phone.
“No signal.”
I checked mine.
The screen showed one bar, then none.
A faint smell entered the room.
Sharp.
Chemical.
The officer lifted his head.
“Gas.”
My chest tightened.
“From where?”
He swept the flashlight across the floor.
A thin white vapor was creeping beneath the wall near the staircase.
“Cover your mouths.”
Mr. Harris pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
The officer kicked the hidden door.
It shook but did not open.
“Police.”
“Open the door.”
No answer came.
I turned back toward the camera.
Mom’s face remained frozen on the small screen.
Her unfinished warning stared at us from the darkness.
Vanessa was in this house.
A light flashed beneath one of the shelves.
Red.
Then green.
A tiny electronic device had been taped to the wall.
The officer moved closer.
“Motion sensor.”
“For what?”
Before he could answer, a speaker crackled overhead.
Vanessa’s voice filled the room.
“Emily.”
My blood went cold.
“Can you hear me?”
I looked at the ceiling.
“Vanessa.”
Mr. Harris stared upward.
“You need to unlock this door.”
She laughed softly.
“You always did love giving orders, Harold.”
The officer raised his voice.
“This is Officer Daniel Cole.”
“You are unlawfully confining three people.”
“Open the door immediately.”
“Officer Cole.”
Vanessa sounded almost cheerful.
“I suggest you spend less time talking and more time looking for another exit.”
The gas continued spreading.
My eyes began to burn.
“You followed us,” I said.
“I didn’t have to.”
“You installed cameras.”
“Mom installed cameras.”
“I simply learned how to use them.”
“You broke into the room before us.”
“No.”
Her answer came too quickly.
“Then how did you know we were here?”
“Because you are predictable.”
“You found the key.”
“You opened the room.”
“You played the video.”
“And now you believe another one of Mom’s confused stories.”
Mr. Harris coughed.
“Turn off the gas.”
“Why?”
“So Emily can drag my name through another courtroom?”
“You tried to kill Dad.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Silence followed.
The officer looked at me.
Mr. Harris stopped coughing.
Vanessa finally answered.
“You don’t know anything about Dad.”
“I know you were here the night he died.”
“That proves nothing.”
“You lied about being in California.”
“I changed my flight.”
“Why?”
“Because he asked me to come.”
“Why would he do that?”
“To apologize.”
“For what?”
“For choosing you.”
Her voice sharpened.
“Dad always chose you.”
“He taught you to build things.”
“He took you fishing.”
“He gave you the workshop.”
“I got birthday cards with checks inside.”
“That is not true.”
“It is exactly true.”
“He loved both of us.”
“No.”
“He tolerated me.”
“He worshipped you.”
I could hear the old resentment in her voice.
Not the polished resentment of a grown woman.
The raw jealousy of a twelve-year-old girl who had never forgiven anyone for not making her the center of every room.
“What happened that night?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Mom said Dad discovered what you were doing.”
“She was sick.”
“She was not sick when Dad died.”
Vanessa did not answer.
My lungs began to ache.
Officer Cole crouched beside the shelves.
“There has to be ventilation.”
He pushed against the wall.
One panel shifted.
Behind it was a narrow metal grate.
He pulled at it with both hands.
The screws held firm.
Mr. Harris sank onto the chair.
“I can’t breathe.”
I knelt beside him.
“Stay awake.”
He looked at me through watering eyes.
“There is something I never told you.”
“Not now.”
“Your father called me that night.”
My heart stopped.
“What did he say?”
“He said Vanessa had stolen from the Lakeview account.”
“How much?”
“Not money.”
“What did she steal?”
“Shares.”
The speaker crackled again.
“Harold.”
Vanessa’s voice was no longer calm.
“You should stop talking.”
Mr. Harris looked toward the ceiling.
“You forged Arthur’s authorization.”
“Stop.”
“You tried to transfer control of the trust.”
“Shut up.”
“He caught you.”
A loud bang struck the wall behind us.
The hidden speaker cut out.
Officer Cole forced his fingers behind the vent.
The metal bent slightly.
I helped him pull.
One screw tore free.
Cold air entered.
“Again,” he said.
We pulled until the grate broke loose.
Behind it was a narrow maintenance passage.
Barely wide enough for one person.
Officer Cole shone his light inside.
“It leads downward.”
“Go,” I said.
“You first.”
“What about Mr. Harris?”
“We’ll carry him.”
The passage was steep and covered in dust.
I crawled ahead on my hands and knees.
Behind me, Officer Cole dragged Mr. Harris while trying to keep his own head low.
The chemical smell weakened as we descended.
After several feet, the tunnel ended at a wooden panel.
I pushed.
It opened behind the shelves in Dad’s workshop.
We spilled onto the concrete floor.
The main door stood open.
A shadow moved outside.
Officer Cole drew his weapon.
“Police.”
A woman ran across the yard.
I recognized the cream trench coat.
“Vanessa.”
She reached a black SUV parked near the trees.
Officer Cole followed.
The engine roared.
The SUV shot backward, spraying gravel.
Then it sped toward the road.
Officer Cole radioed the license plate.
I stayed beside Mr. Harris.
He was coughing but conscious.
“Did Dad call you before he died?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he say Vanessa was with him?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“Because when I arrived, she was gone.”
“That does not answer me.”
“He was dead.”
“You still should have told them.”
“I did.”
“You did?”
“The detective said there was no evidence of a crime.”
“What about the stolen shares?”
“Arthur had not finished explaining.”
“Did he leave anything behind?”
Mr. Harris closed his eyes.
“One sentence.”
“What sentence?”
“He said, ‘The watch was never broken.’”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
But I did.
The first lie Vanessa ever told about me.
Dad’s watch.
The betrayal that started everything.
I ran toward the house.
In Mom’s bedroom, I opened the bottom drawer of her dresser.
Dad’s old watch had been stored inside a velvet box for years.
The glass face was cracked.
The hands were frozen at 9:14.
I lifted it.
Something rattled inside.
On the back, beneath years of scratches, a thin seam circled the metal casing.
May you like
The watch had never been broken.
It had been hiding something.
