Chapter 2 - The Camera That Was Not Supposed to Work
Smoke filled the laundry room within seconds.
I pulled Noah into the hallway while Rosa rushed forward with a towel. She snatched the iron’s cord from the wall, wrapped the hot appliance, and carried it to the sink.
Vanessa stood beside the control panel.
Her hand was still pressed against the screen.
“What did you mean?” I asked Rosa. “You said the camera had been off.”
Rosa did not answer immediately.
She poured water over the towel. Steam rose around her hands.
“Mrs. Mercer asked me to disconnect it in April.”
“Why?”
“She said it made her uncomfortable.”
Vanessa gave a short laugh.
“That is not what happened.”
Rosa turned.
“You gave me a screwdriver and watched while I removed the wire.”
“Because it was malfunctioning.”
“You told Mr. Mercer it was still active.”
Vanessa looked at me.
“You know these devices. They turn themselves back on after updates.”
The control panel displayed a live image from above the laundry room door.
I could see myself holding Noah.
I could see Vanessa.
I could see Rosa.
In the corner of the screen, a small icon showed that the recording was being uploaded to our secured home server.
I opened the camera settings.
The device had been reactivated at 10:42 that morning.
Twenty-six minutes before I arrived.
The activation command had not come from inside the house.
It had been sent remotely by an administrator account.
My account.
Except I had not activated it.
“Who has my password?” I asked.
Vanessa shook her head.
“No one.”
“You do.”
“So does your assistant. So does the security company. So did Emily, probably.”
At the sound of my late wife’s name, Noah lifted his head.
Vanessa noticed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have brought her into this.”
“You bring her into everything,” Noah whispered.
“What?”
He hid his face again.
I carried him to his bedroom and locked the door behind us. Rosa followed with an ice pack and a first-aid kit.
Vanessa remained in the hallway.
“Daniel,” she called. “We need to talk privately.”
“We will.”
“You’re frightening him.”
I looked down at my son.
He was still trembling.
“No,” I said. “You did that.”
Her footsteps moved away.
Rosa closed the curtains while I examined Noah’s wrist. The mark was too straight to have come from a cabinet edge.
“What caused this?” I asked.
Noah looked toward the door.
“She can’t hear you.”
He shook his head.
I lowered my voice.
“Buddy, I need the truth.”
“She said you wouldn’t believe me.”
“I believe you.”
His eyes filled again.
“You didn’t before.”
There was no anger in his voice.
Only fact.
I had no defense.
“You’re right,” I said. “I should have listened. I am so sorry.”
Rosa knelt beside us.
“Noah, did Mrs. Mercer touch your wrist?”
He stared at the ice pack.
“She used the cord.”
My stomach turned.
“What cord?”
“The iron cord.”
Rosa covered her mouth.
I forced myself to remain calm.
“Did she burn you?”
“No.”
“Did she try?”
“She gets it hot and puts it close.”
“Has she done that before?”
He nodded.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
The answer destroyed something inside me.
He had told me in the language children use when direct words feel dangerous.
He had asked me not to leave.
He had complained of stomachaches before my trips.
He had wet the bed for the first time in years.
He had begun sleeping in long sleeves during warm weather.
I had responded with tutors, doctors, vitamins, and rules.
I had treated symptoms while leaving him with the cause.
A knock came from the door.
“Mr. Mercer,” Rosa said quietly, “someone is downstairs.”
I stood.
“Who?”
“I saw a car stop outside. A gray sedan.”
The doorbell rang once.
Then twice.
Vanessa called from the foyer.
“I’ll get it.”
Noah grabbed my hand.
“Don’t let her go downstairs.”
“Why?”
“She’ll give him the blue folder.”
I stared at him.
“What blue folder?”
“I don’t know. She said if anyone came while you were away, I had to stay upstairs.”
The front door opened below us.
A man’s voice entered the house.
Low.
Familiar.
“Did you get the signature?”
I left Noah with Rosa and ran toward the stairs.
By the time I reached the foyer, Vanessa stood alone beside the open door.
The gray sedan was already pulling away.
“What signature?” I asked.
May you like
She slowly turned to face me.
In her hand was an empty blue folder.
