Chapter 11 - THE CHILD BEHIND THE BLACK DOOR
Amanda ran toward the black door.
Richard called after her, but she could not slow down. The crying voice came again through the speakers, distorted by static yet carrying the same soft break Ethan’s voice made when he was frightened.
“Mom?”
She struck the door with both palms. “I’m here!”
No answer.
The door had no handle, only a recessed scanner shaped for a hand.
Lena reached them. “It reads vascular patterns. Only active subjects and handlers can open it.”
Amanda pressed her palm to the glass.
ACCESS DENIED.
Richard tried next.
ACCESS PARTIAL.
Ethan touched the scanner.
The system chimed.
SECONDARY SUBJECT RECOGNIZED.
Vivian’s face tightened.
Amanda saw it. “You knew.”
“I know the system is corrupted.”
“No. You know who is inside.”
The boy’s voice returned. “Ethan?”
Ethan looked up at the speaker. “Who are you?”
A pause.
Then: “I’m Noah.”
Amanda’s knees nearly failed.
She had chosen that name during her pregnancy. Richard had preferred Ethan. They joked that if they ever had a second son, he would be Noah.
Only three people knew.
Amanda.
Richard.
And Vivian, who had overheard them at dinner.
“You named him,” Amanda whispered.
Vivian’s expression remained cold, but tears brightened her eyes. “Names create attachment. He was not supposed to have one.”
Richard stepped toward her with Ethan in his arms. “You took our child.”
“You had one healthy son.”
“We had two.”
“One was neurologically unstable.”
“He was a baby.”
“He was an opportunity.”
Richard looked as though she had struck him.
Amanda lunged at Vivian, but Lena caught her around the waist.
“Open the door first,” Lena said. “Then destroy her.”
The directness steadied Amanda.
She turned back to the scanner. “It recognized Ethan as secondary. Who is primary?”
Lena looked at Richard.
He set Ethan down and pressed his palm again.
ACCESS PARTIAL.
A second scanner illuminated beside the first.
DUAL LINEAGE CONFIRMATION REQUIRED.
Amanda took Richard’s hand.
They pressed their palms simultaneously.
The system scanned them.
PATERNAL LINE ACCEPTED.
MATERNAL LINE ACCEPTED.
The black door opened three inches.
Cold white light spilled into the corridor.
Amanda pushed through.
Beyond it was not a nursery but a control suite overlooking several rooms. On the largest monitor sat a boy of about four and a half in a gray uniform. He had Amanda’s dark eyes, Richard’s jaw, and a small crescent-shaped birthmark beneath his left ear.
Ethan had the same mark beneath his right.
Amanda touched the screen.
“Noah.”
The boy was not in the room behind the glass. It was a live feed from another location.
“Where is he?”
Lena checked the data stream. “The signal is routed.”
Amanda pressed the intercom. “Noah, my name is Amanda.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“They show me your pictures.”
Amanda’s eyes filled. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
The boy looked beyond the camera as though someone had entered his room.
“I’m not supposed to say.”
Richard leaned toward the microphone. “Noah, I’m Richard.”
The child’s expression changed.
Not recognition.
Fear.
He moved away from the camera.
“You ring the bell.”
Richard closed his eyes.
Amanda gripped his arm. “He was made to watch.”
Vivian stepped into the control suite. “Noah was the control subject. Ethan was the environmental subject. Their responses were compared remotely.”
Amanda turned. “You broadcast this house to him?”
“For four years.”
Every argument. Every bedtime. Every moment Ethan called Richard Daddy. Noah had been watching from a room without parents.
Richard’s face collapsed under the knowledge.
Vivian continued, almost pleading now. “The research would have changed developmental medicine. Trauma could be anticipated before symptoms emerged. Behavior could be corrected before harm occurred.”
“You created the harm,” Lena said.
“A controlled amount.”
“There is no controlled amount of stealing a child.”
The monitor flickered.
A masked figure entered Noah’s room.
Amanda pressed the intercom. “Noah, listen to me. Hide.”
The boy looked toward the door.
The figure held a syringe.
Noah ran.
The feed shook as he struck the camera. For a second, the masked person’s sleeve filled the screen.
A symbol was embroidered on the cuff.
A wooden bird inside a circle.
The Hart emblem.
The feed cut to black.
Amanda turned slowly toward Lena.
“Gabriel said he was trying to find Noah.”
Lena’s face had gone pale. “Maybe he found him before we did.”
The central console chimed.
A file uploaded automatically from the severed feed.
VIDEO MESSAGE: SAMUEL HART.
Amanda opened it.
Her father appeared, older than in the chamber recording and standing in a room identical to Noah’s.
This recording was dated two days earlier.
May you like
Samuel looked into the camera.
“Amanda,” he said, “I have your son.”
