Chapter 15 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Rebecca and Evelyn escaped through the rear gate.
They did not return to Hart House.
Instead, they drove to a small motel outside the city.
Claire arrived two hours later.
She carried a bag.
Rebecca looked at her.
“Where is Mom?”
Claire began crying.
“She disappeared.”
Rebecca stood.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
“Her phone is off.”
“Did Dad take her?”
“I don't know.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
Everything was collapsing again.
She looked at the photograph of Thomas.
Then at the flash drive.
Then at the second deed.
For three years she had believed Grandma's death had ended the family's secrets.
Instead, it had only begun a countdown.
Claire sat across from her.
“I found one more thing.”
She opened her bag.
Inside was Grandma's old journal.
Rebecca took it.
The first pages contained ordinary memories.
Family dinners.
Birthdays.
Rebecca's childhood.
Thomas's arguments.
Claire's school years.
Then the entries changed.
The final pages were written only weeks before Grandma died.
One sentence appeared repeatedly.
He came back.
Rebecca turned the page.
He came back again.
Another page.
This time she did not write a name.
She wrote:
The man who claims to be Thomas is not the only person who knows where the evidence is.
Rebecca stared.
Claire whispered:
“What does that mean?”
Rebecca turned the page.
The final entry contained only one line.
When Rebecca returns, give her the house.
Then another.
Give her the deed.
Then another.
Give her the key.
Then, at the very bottom:
Never give her the evidence.
Rebecca looked at Evelyn.
“Why?”
Evelyn said nothing.
Rebecca turned another page.
A photograph fell out.
It was the same woman from the cemetery photograph.
Eleanor.
But this time, she was standing beside someone.
Rebecca stared at the man.
Her breath caught.
It was Thomas.
But that wasn't what frightened her.
Standing beside Thomas was Harold.
Rebecca looked at the date.
It was taken six months after Thomas supposedly disappeared.
Claire covered her mouth.
“That means Dad lied.”
Rebecca nodded.
But there was one more detail.
Written on the back of the photograph were the words:
We were never working against each other.
Rebecca's eyes widened.
A phone began ringing.
Not Rebecca's.
Not Claire's.
Evelyn's.
Evelyn stared at the screen.
Rebecca watched her answer.
“Hello?”
A man's voice came through.
Rebecca could hear only a few words.
“She's found the photograph.”
Evelyn's face turned pale.
The voice continued.
“Bring her to the house.”
Evelyn slowly lowered the phone.
Rebecca stood.
“Who was that?”
Evelyn looked at her.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered:
“Thomas.”
Rebecca's heart pounded.
“Where is he?”
Evelyn looked toward the window.
“He's at Hart House.”
Rebecca stared.
“That is impossible.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
Then she placed a final envelope on the table.
Rebecca opened it.
Inside was a photograph taken that morning.
Hart House.
The front porch.
And Thomas standing at the door.
Alive.
Beside him stood Harold.
But Harold was supposed to be in custody.
Rebecca stared at the photograph.
Then she noticed someone else visible through the living room window.
A woman.
She was holding the flash drive.
Rebecca recognized her.
Margaret.
Her mother.
Rebecca's hands began to shake.
Claire whispered:
“Mom has the evidence.”
Rebecca looked at the house in the photograph.
Then at the three people inside it.
For years, she had believed the family had been divided into victims and villains.
Now she wasn't sure who belonged on either side.
Her phone suddenly vibrated.
One new message.
Come home, Rebecca.
There is something Grandma never told you.
Rebecca stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
Come alone.
Then a third.
And this time, the sender's name appeared.
Thomas Hart.
Rebecca slowly looked toward the window.
Far away, beyond the motel parking lot, a black car was waiting.
Its headlights switched on.
And inside the car, someone raised a hand against the glass.
Rebecca couldn't see the face.
But she knew one thing.
The person had been watching her for a very long time.
She reached for the brass key.
The story was not over.
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The house was waiting.
And somewhere inside it was the one secret Grandma had died protecting.
