Chapter 8 - 72 BIRCH ROAD
Sarah did not go alone.
She simply made sure Dr. Voss believed she did.
Torres parked three blocks away.
Two unmarked vehicles waited farther down Birch Road.
Sarah wore a wire beneath her sweater.
Daniel remained at the hospital with Lily.
Birch Road was lined with small houses built in the 1950s.
Number 72 had pale siding and dead flowers in the yard.
The front door stood open.
Sarah entered.
“Dr. Voss?”
No response.
The house smelled abandoned.
Dust covered the furniture.
A glass of water sat on the kitchen table.
Fresh condensation ran down its side.
Someone was there.
Sarah heard movement upstairs.
She climbed slowly.
At the top was a hallway.
One bedroom door stood open.
Inside, a projector faced a blank wall.
A chair waited in the center of the room.
On the chair sat the red metal box.
Sarah stopped.
“Dr. Voss?”
A speaker clicked.
His voice filled the room.
“Sit down.”
Sarah looked toward the hidden wire beneath her sweater.
“Where are you?”
“Close enough.”
“You hurt my daughter.”
“No.”
“You were in the room.”
“Yes.”
“You left her unconscious.”
“I prevented worse.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to remember.”
The projector turned on.
An old home video appeared.
Sarah saw herself at age eight.
Emily at eleven.
Daniel at two.
Patricia sat on a sofa.
Robert stood behind the camera.
Emily was arguing.
“You can’t make her go.”
Patricia smiled.
“Sarah wants to go.”
Young Sarah looked terrified.
The adult Sarah watching the video began shaking.
The image changed.
Willow Ridge.
Young Sarah sat in the chair bolted to the floor.
Emily stood between Sarah and Robert.
“Stop!”
Robert shoved Emily aside.
Sarah remembered.
Not all at once.
Fragments.
Cold tile.
Bright lights.
Questions repeated until she stopped knowing which answers were true.
Patricia saying, Family comes first.
Voss asking, Who keeps you safe?
Robert saying, Wrong.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The recording shifted.
Emily alone with Voss.
“You know your parents cannot keep doing this,” he said.
Emily glared at him.
“Then stop them.”
“I don’t control them.”
“You work for them.”
“I work for the program.”
“What’s the difference?”
Voss paused.
“There shouldn’t be one.”
The video stopped.
Sarah whispered, “You helped them.”
Voss answered through the speaker.
“Yes.”
“How many children?”
No answer.
“How many?”
“Enough.”
“You wrote the reports.”
“Yes.”
“You tortured children.”
“I called it treatment.”
Sarah’s eyes filled with disgust.
“And now?”
“Now I call it what it was.”
“Why did you come back?”
“Because Robert restarted the program.”
“With Lily?”
“Lily was not the beginning.”
Sarah looked at the red box.
“Open it,” Voss said.
She lifted the lid.
Inside were memory cards, old photographs, and a small notebook.
Red leather.
The red book.
Sarah touched it.
“What is this?”
“The part your father would kill to recover.”
She opened the first page.
Names.
Judges.
Doctors.
Business owners.
Police officers.
Families.
Beside some names were children’s names.
Beside others were dollar amounts.
“What am I looking at?”
“A network.”
Sarah’s throat tightened.
“What kind of network?”
“Parents paid Willow Ridge to correct children who threatened family reputations. Sometimes the children were disobedient. Sometimes they knew about affairs, theft, fraud, abuse. Sometimes they were inconvenient heirs.”
Sarah looked at Emily’s name.
“What happened to her?”
Silence.
“Tell me.”
“Your parents requested a permanent disappearance.”
Sarah gripped the notebook.
“Did you kill her?”
“No.”
“Did my parents?”
“No.”
“Then where is she?”
“I arranged the transfer.”
“Where?”
“To another identity.”
Sarah’s breathing became shallow.
“You saved her?”
“I saved one child after helping destroy many.”
“What name?”
“I can’t tell you yet.”
Sarah stood.
“You brought me here to play games?”
“No.”
“Then tell me my sister’s name.”
“Your father has people listening to police channels. Your mother has people inside the hospital system. If I say the name before the network is exposed, Emily dies.”
Sarah’s blood went cold.
“She’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know who she is?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
Sarah covered her mouth.
“Does she know I’m alive?”
“Yes.”
“Why hasn’t she contacted me?”
“She tried.”
Sarah looked at the projector.
Voss displayed another image.
A stack of unopened envelopes.
Each addressed to Sarah.
Sarah recognized Patricia’s handwriting across the front of several.
RETURN TO SENDER.
Voss said, “Your mother intercepted them.”
Sarah felt tears slide down her face.
“How long?”
“Seventeen years.”
“Seventeen?”
“Emily began writing when she was sixteen.”
Sarah nearly collapsed.
The speaker crackled.
Then Voss’s voice changed.
“Sarah, listen carefully.”
“What?”
“Someone else just entered the house.”
Torres’s voice sounded faintly through Sarah’s earpiece.
Stay where you are.
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
Voss whispered through the speaker.
May you like
“It isn’t police.”
Then the lights went out.
