Chapter 8 - The House by the Lake
Harbor House still existed.
Officially, it belonged to a private foundation registered in Delaware.
The owner was a shell company.
The shell company traced to another corporation.
That corporation traced nowhere.
Jonathan gave police coordinates.
Two hours north.
Lake Bellweather.
Alex rode with Grant in the lead SUV while state tactical officers followed.
Clara insisted on coming.
Doctors refused.
She nearly removed her own IV until Alex promised to call constantly.
“Bring her back,” Clara told him.
“I will.”
“And Arthur.”
“I will.”
“Alex.”
He looked at her.
“Don’t become what they trained you to become.”
The words stayed with him throughout the drive.
Harbor House stood behind rusted gates overlooking a black lake.
The main structure had been renovated.
New roof.
New security cameras.
Fresh gravel.
Not abandoned.
Grant raised binoculars.
“No visible guards.”
Alex stared at the building.
Fragments moved behind his eyes.
A dock.
Rain.
A boy hiding beneath stairs.
A woman singing somewhere upstairs.
His mother?
Not Teresa.
Another woman.
Rachel.
He pressed his palms against his temples.
“You okay?” Grant asked.
“I’ve been here.”
“I know.”
“No. I remember.”
“Enough to help?”
Alex looked toward a line of pine trees.
“There’s a service tunnel.”
Grant lowered the binoculars.
“How do you know?”
“I used it to escape.”
They found the entrance beneath an old drainage grate.
The tunnel smelled like wet concrete.
Tactical officers entered first.
Alex followed.
The passage opened beneath the house.
They climbed into a utility room.
Empty.
Then they heard a child crying.
Alex ran.
“Lily!”
“Daddy!”
He followed the voice down a corridor.
A locked door.
Alex kicked it once.
Twice.
The frame split.
Lily ran into his arms.
Arthur sat nearby in his wheelchair.
His lip was bleeding.
A man in medical scrubs lay unconscious on the floor.
Arthur pointed proudly at his cane.
Alex almost laughed.
“You hit him?”
Arthur nodded.
Grant searched the room.
“Clear.”
Alex held Lily tightly.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
“The nurse said Mommy wanted me.”
“And then?”
“Grandpa knew she was lying.”
Arthur nodded vigorously.
“They brought us here.”
“Who?”
Lily pointed toward the unconscious man.
“And a lady.”
“What lady?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did she look like?”
“Old.”
“How old?”
“Grandma old.”
Arthur made an angry sound.
“T-Ter—”
“Teresa?”
He shook his head.
“R-Rach…”
Alex froze.
“Rachel?”
Arthur’s eyes filled with tears.
Yes.
Alex slowly stood.
“Rachel Reed is here?”
Arthur nodded.
Grant radioed her team.
“Search every room.”
They found no woman.
But they found records.
Hundreds of boxes.
Videotapes.
Medical files.
Children’s drawings.
Photographs.
An entire history someone had failed to destroy.
In an upstairs bedroom, Alex found his own file.
SUBJECT 7.
ALEXANDER REED.
Inside was a photograph of a woman holding a newborn.
Rachel Reed.
His biological mother.
She looked about twenty-five.
Dark hair.
Soft smile.
On the back was a handwritten sentence.
Alexander, if they ever tell you I gave you away, they are lying.
Alex sat on the bed.
For several seconds, he could not move.
Grant entered.
“What did you find?”
He handed her the photograph.
She read the back.
“Jesus.”
“There’s more.”
A document beneath it was signed by Arthur Carter.
TRANSFER ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
Alex read every line.
Arthur had agreed to house Alexander temporarily while Rachel underwent psychiatric evaluation.
Temporary.
Six months.
But another document followed.
Permanent identity conversion authorized after biological parent classified unstable and unfit.
Signature:
Dr. Samuel Keene.
Alex whispered, “They stole me.”
Grant said nothing.
Another page contained payment authorization to Teresa.
Monthly stipend.
Then bonus payments tied to academic milestones.
College placement.
Hale Meridian employment.
Marriage stability.
Alex’s throat tightened.
Marriage.
He turned another page.
CLARA MASON - UNPLANNED ATTACHMENT.
Impact on subject stability: positive.
Recommendation: preserve relationship.
Alex stared.
Grant leaned over.
“They monitored Clara too.”
Next page.
CHILD LILY CARTER.
Second-generation observational potential: exceptional.
Alex stopped reading.
“No.”
Grant’s face hardened.
The house suddenly went dark.
Every light died.
A speaker crackled somewhere above them.
Then a woman’s voice filled the house.
“Alexander.”
Alex stood.
He knew the voice.
He had heard it in dreams his entire life.
The same woman singing upstairs.
“Alexander, if you want the truth about your mother, come to the dock alone.”
Grant grabbed his arm.
“You’re not going alone.”
The speaker came alive again.
“If police approach the dock, the archive burns.”
Alex looked out the window.
At the end of the long wooden dock stood a woman in a gray coat.
May you like
Waiting.
Holding a red gasoline can.
