Chapter 5 - The Voice on the Monitor
Arthur dismissed the overnight staff and changed every exterior lock.
He also hired a private security team, although he told Clara they were temporary.
Nothing felt temporary.
The red glass rose had been placed inside Leo’s crib while Clara and Arthur were downstairs. Rosa had been folding laundry in the adjoining room. Two security cameras covered the hallway, but both had stopped recording for exactly seven minutes.
At 9:42 p.m., the feed turned black.
At 9:49 p.m., it returned.
No alarm was triggered.
No door opened.
No window moved.
Yet the rose appeared beneath Leo’s hand.
Arthur sealed it in a plastic evidence bag.
Clara watched him.
“You think your mother did it.”
“I think she arranged it.”
“From outside the house?”
“She still knows the security system.”
“You changed the codes.”
“She helped install the original network.”
Clara looked toward the crib.
Leo slept peacefully.
“That means she planned this before she moved in.”
Arthur did not answer.
The next morning, he called Daniel Reeve, a private investigator who had once worked for Bennett Holdings. Reeve arrived wearing a gray coat and carrying a weathered leather case.
He was in his late fifties, with tired eyes and the patient manner of a man accustomed to frightened clients.
Arthur showed him the photograph, the glass rose, and the burned papers.
Reeve studied each item without interruption.
When Arthur finished, Reeve asked one question.
“What was your father’s relationship with Evelyn when you were a child?”
“They were married.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Arthur looked toward Clara.
“They fought.”
“About money?”
“Everything.”
“Did your father have affairs?”
“I don’t know.”
Reeve picked up the photograph.
“This woman wasn’t a nurse.”
“How can you tell?” Clara asked.
“Her clothing.”
“She’s wearing a sweater.”
“A cashmere sweater. Handmade. And that watch on her wrist was expensive, even thirty years ago. She wasn’t household staff.”
He turned the photograph toward the window.
“There’s writing beneath Evelyn’s hand.”
Arthur moved closer.
Near the white crib rail, faint letters had been scratched into the original image.
M and C.
“Margaret and Charles,” Clara said.
Reeve looked at her.
“Possibly.”
Arthur walked away.
“My father had a child with another woman.”
“That’s one possibility.”
“And my mother took the child.”
“Another possibility.”
“Then where is the child?”
Reeve placed the photograph into a clear sleeve.
“That’s what we need to determine.”
For three days, he searched quietly.
Arthur continued going to the office, but he came home earlier each night. Clara remained in the house with Leo and two guards stationed downstairs.
Evelyn did not call.
That silence felt more threatening than any argument.
On the fourth night, Clara woke at 2:17 a.m.
The baby monitor was making a low clicking sound.
She reached for it.
The screen showed Leo’s crib.
Empty.
Clara sat up so quickly that the blanket fell to the floor.
“Arthur.”
He woke at once.
“What?”
“Leo.”
They ran into the nursery.
Leo was asleep beneath his white blanket.
Clara touched his chest.
Warm.
Breathing.
Safe.
Arthur checked the room.
Nothing had changed.
Then the monitor spoke.
“Not yours.”
The voice was female.
Clara turned toward the dresser.
“Not yours,” it repeated.
Arthur grabbed the monitor and switched it off.
The voice continued.
“Not yours.”
He pulled the batteries out.
Silence.
Clara held Leo against her.
Arthur examined the device.
“There must be another power source.”
“There isn’t.”
The bedroom phone rang.
Both of them froze.
Arthur answered.
“Hello?”
Static.
Then a woman said, “Ask Evelyn what happened on October fourteenth.”
The line disconnected.
Arthur called security.
No one had entered the property.
The call could not be traced.
At sunrise, Reeve arrived.
He listened to the monitor recording three times.
“Do you recognize the voice?” Clara asked.
Arthur shook his head.
Reeve did not.
But when Rosa entered with coffee, the maid dropped the tray.
The cups shattered across the floor.
“You know it,” Clara said.
Rosa stared at the monitor.
“No.”
“Rosa.”
The maid began to cry.
“My mother worked here before me.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“When?”
“When you were a child.”
“What was her name?”
“Teresa Alvarez.”
“Did she know Margaret?”
Rosa nodded.
“My mother said there was a woman who came to the gates every year on the same date. October fourteenth. Mrs. Bennett would order everyone to close the curtains.”
Clara looked at Arthur.
“What did the woman want?”
“To see her daughter.”
Arthur’s hands tightened.
“Her daughter?”
Rosa covered her mouth.
“My mother told me never to repeat it.”
“Repeat what?”
“She said the baby in the nursery was a girl.”
Arthur turned toward the crib.
A white crib.
A crying baby.
A woman with a red bracelet.
“Where was I?” he asked.
Rosa looked at him with pity.
“My mother said you were there when they took her.”
“Who took her?”
“Your father.”
Arthur’s phone rang.
Reeve answered because Arthur did not move.
He listened for several seconds.
Then he ended the call.
“That was my contact at the county archive,” he said. “The court record from the burned fragment still exists on microfilm.”
Arthur looked at him.
“Whose custody case was it?”
Reeve hesitated.
“Not yours.”
He opened his case and removed a photocopied document.
At the top of the page was a child’s name.
Elena Margaret Vale.
Clara felt the room tilt.
“Where is she now?” Arthur asked.
Reeve looked toward Leo.
May you like
“According to the official record, she died in this house at eleven months old.”
From the monitor without batteries, a baby began to laugh.
