CHAPTER 8 — THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
CHAPTER 8 — THE MAN WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD
The man who was supposed to be dead called me at 2:17 in the morning.
Not my brother.
Not Thomas.
My father.
I stared at the phone until it stopped ringing.
Then it rang again.
Celeste was standing across the library, pale and motionless.
Marcus had already drawn his weapon.
My mother was asleep upstairs.
Delia was with her.
Nobody spoke.
The phone rang a third time.
I answered.
"Hello?"
Silence.
Then a familiar voice.
"Elias."
I closed my eyes.
I had heard that voice in old recordings.
In childhood memories.
In dreams.
But never like this.
"Dad?"
A long pause.
Then:
"Don't call me that."
My throat tightened.
"Where are you?"
"Not somewhere you can reach."
"Why?"
"Because if you find me too soon, people die."
I stood.
"People are already dying."
"I know."
"Ewan is alive."
Another silence.
"I know."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know."
I almost laughed.
"You don't know?"
"I know where he was."
"Where?"
"St. Agnes."
The abandoned hospital.
My mother's warning returned.
"Is he still there?"
"No."
"Who took him?"
"I don't know."
I tightened my grip on the phone.
"Then tell me something useful."
He breathed slowly.
"Your wedding."
"What about it?"
"Do not cancel it."
I looked at Celeste.
"We're keeping it."
"Good."
"But we're changing the contract."
Silence.
"You found it."
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Enough."
He sighed.
"Then you know what Thomas wants."
"He's not the only one."
My father was quiet.
"Who else?"
"Victor Hale."
Another pause.
"Victor is compromised."
"I know."
"How?"
"I have his financial records."
My father laughed softly.
"Then you're finally becoming your own man."
I hated the pride I heard in his voice.
"You don't get to say that."
"I know."
"You abandoned us."
"I saved you."
"You let us believe you were dead."
"Because I had to."
"You let me bury you."
"I know."
"You let me think I failed you."
My father's voice softened.
"That was the hardest thing I ever did."
I turned away.
Celeste watched me.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because if Thomas knew you knew I was alive, he would have killed you."
"He almost did anyway."
"That's why I'm calling now."
I looked at the clock.
"What changed?"
"Your mother woke up."
I froze.
"How do you know?"
"Because someone told me."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"No."
He paused.
"But you should believe what comes next."
I waited.
"Thomas isn't the only person inside your house."
I looked around the library.
Marcus immediately understood.
"Who?"
"Someone close to you."
"Victor?"
"No."
"Celeste?"
"No."
"Marcus?"
My father went silent.
That silence was enough.
I looked at Marcus.
He stared back.
"Then who?"
My father said:
"Your mother's doctor."
Dr. Vale.
The man who had created my false medical history.
I felt cold.
"He's inside the house."
"Not now."
"What does that mean?"
"He was there when your mother stopped speaking."
I remembered the medical records.
"Did he poison her?"
"Not directly."
"What did he do?"
"He administered something that left her conscious but unable to communicate."
I looked toward the ceiling.
"Can she recover?"
"She already is."
"Because the drug wore off?"
"No."
"Then why?"
"Because Delia found the antidote."
I looked at Celeste.
She nodded.
"How long?"
"Four years."
My father continued:
"Your mother has been awake for most of that time."
I couldn't speak.
"She heard everything."
The room seemed to shrink.
"She heard me."
"Yes."
"All these years?"
"Yes."
I sat down.
Every conversation.
Every confession.
Every time I'd cried beside her bed.
She had heard me.
I pressed my hand against my face.
"Why didn't she respond?"
"Because Dr. Vale warned her that if she did, you would die."
I closed my eyes.
My father continued.
"Thomas had people watching the house."
"Then why did Delia stay?"
"Because your mother trusted her."
"Who is Delia really?"
My father hesitated.
"Someone your mother saved."
"From whom?"
"From me."
I looked at the phone.
"What?"
"That's a story for another time."
"No."
"Elias—"
"You're going to tell me everything."
Silence.
Then my father said:
"Delia was my informant."
I froze.
"What?"
"She worked inside Thomas's organization."
"She was spying for you?"
"Yes."
"Then why did she become a nurse?"
"Because your mother needed someone she could trust."
I looked toward the ceiling.
Everything about Delia suddenly made sense.
Her calm.
Her knowledge.
The way she moved through the house.
The way she knew exactly when something was wrong.
She had never been simply a nurse.
She had been protecting my mother.
And possibly me.
My father spoke again.
"There's something else."
"What?"
"Celeste's father knows I'm alive."
Celeste stiffened.
"What?"
I looked at her.
My father continued.
"He has known for three years."
Her face went white.
"That's impossible."
"He knows."
She stepped closer.
"Dad?"
My father went silent.
Then Celeste whispered:
"Is that you?"
I held out the phone.
She took it.
For several seconds she couldn't speak.
Then:
"You knew."
Her voice cracked.
"You knew he was alive."
The person on the phone said something too quiet for me to hear.
Celeste's expression changed.
She began to cry.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
A pause.
Then she whispered:
"I was trying to get out."
She ended the call.
I looked at her.
"What did he say?"
She stared at the phone.
"That my father has been working for Thomas for twelve years."
I wasn't surprised.
"What else?"
She looked at me.
"He said your father isn't the man we should fear."
"Who then?"
She swallowed.
"My father."
At dawn, we left the estate.
Not publicly.
Three vehicles.
Different routes.
No uniforms.
No obvious security.
My mother stayed behind with Delia.
Marcus drove.
Celeste sat beside me in the back.
Neither of us spoke for several minutes.
Then she said:
"I lied to you."
"I know."
"About more than the contract."
I looked at her.
"What now?"
"I knew your father was alive."
"Since when?"
"Three years ago."
"How?"
"My father showed me."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
"He wanted me to know who I was really marrying."
"Your father?"
"Yes."
"Then why did you continue?"
"Because I was afraid."
I looked out the window.
"Of him?"
"Of everyone."
She lowered her voice.
"I thought if I married you, I could protect my family."
"You mean yourself."
"At first."
She paused.
"Then I met you."
I looked at her.
"And?"
"I started wanting the wrong thing."
"What?"
"A life."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"With you."
I didn't answer.
She looked away.
"I know I don't deserve your forgiveness."
"No."
"I know."
"But I need you to understand something."
She turned toward me.
"I don't know if I love you."
Her eyes lowered.
"But I know I don't want you dead."
She nodded.
"That's enough for now."
We reached the abandoned St. Agnes facility at 7:40.
The building stood behind a rusted gate.
Broken windows.
Overgrown grounds.
No sign of life.
Marcus checked the perimeter.
"Clear."
We entered.
The corridors smelled of dust and damp concrete.
I walked slowly.
My brother had been here.
Maybe yesterday.
Maybe weeks ago.
We found the old administrative office.
A desk.
A broken computer.
Several folders.
Then Marcus found a bloodstain.
Fresh.
I crouched beside it.
"Ewan?"
No answer.
A sound came from upstairs.
We moved.
Slowly.
At the end of the corridor was a room with a steel door.
The lock was broken.
Inside was a chair.
A camera.
A glass of water.
And a message on the wall.
HE WAS NEVER HERE.
Celeste stared at it.
"This is a trap."
I nodded.
Marcus found something beneath the chair.
A photograph.
I picked it up.
It showed my father.
Standing outside this very building.
But the date was yesterday.
I turned it over.
Three words.
COME TO THE DOCKS.
Pier 44.
The place where Ewan supposedly died.
The place where the fire had started.
The place where my family had buried its secrets.
My phone rang.
This time, I knew the number.
My father.
I answered.
"You're at St. Agnes."
"Yes."
"You shouldn't be."
"Why?"
"Because Ewan was never kept there."
"Then where?"
"Pier 44."
I looked at Marcus.
"Why would you send me there?"
"I didn't."
"Then who?"
Silence.
I heard breathing.
Then my father said:
"Thomas."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Celeste whispered:
"He wants you there."
"I know."
"Then don't go."
I looked at her.
"We have to."
"No."
"Why?"
She stepped closer.
"Because this is exactly what Ewan warned you about."
She pointed at the photograph.
"The fire. The contract. The wedding. The false medical records."
Her voice trembled.
"All of it is designed to make you move exactly where they want."
I looked at her.
"Then what would you do?"
She stared at me.
"Nothing."
"What?"
"Make them come to us."
I considered it.
Then Marcus spoke.
"Too late."
We turned.
He was looking out the broken window.
Three black vehicles had stopped outside the gate.
Men were getting out.
Armed.
I looked at Celeste.
She whispered:
"Thomas."
I shook my head.
"No."
"Then who?"
I watched the first man step from the vehicle.
He looked directly toward the building.
Then he raised a phone.
Mine rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
The man outside spoke.
"Mr. Moretti."
"Who are you?"
"You've been looking for your father."
I stared through the glass.
"Where is he?"
The man smiled.
"With your brother."
My heart stopped.
"Put him on."
A pause.
Then a voice came through the phone.
"Elias?"
Ewan.
Alive.
I closed my eyes.
"Where are you?"
"Pier 44."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Who has you?"
Silence.
Then Ewan whispered:
"Nobody."
I frowned.
"What?"
"I came here myself."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to show you something."
"What?"
His voice became quiet.
"The man who started the fire."
I looked at the men outside.
"Ewan, where is Dad?"
A long pause.
Then:
"He's standing right beside me."
I couldn't breathe.
My father.
Alive.
Beside my brother.
Then Ewan said something that made every hair on my arms rise.
"Elias..."
"What?"
"Don't trust Dad."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone.
Celeste whispered:
"What happened?"
I looked at her.
Then at Marcus.
"My brother just told me not to trust my father."
Marcus's expression hardened.
Outside, the armed men began moving toward the building.
And somewhere across Chicago, two men who were supposed to be dead were waiting for me at the place where my family had buried the truth.
One of them had saved my life.
The other might have destroyed it.
May you like
And I no longer knew which was which.
END OF CHAPTER 8
