Chapter 10 - The Empty Room
Room 104 looked untouched.
That was the problem.
No broken lock. No forced window. No struggle.
Beatrice’s blanket was folded neatly on the bed.
Her shoes were gone.
On the pillow lay a single white rose.
Damian returned from Vermont with Evelyn by private medical transport and walked directly into the east wing.
His mother paused at the doorway to Room 104.
“Bea,” she whispered.
Damian looked at the security logs.
A nurse badge had opened the rear stairwell at 3:12 a.m.
The badge belonged to Tessa.
Tessa stared at the record.
“I was in Vermont.”
“I know.”
“So someone cloned it.”
“Or someone planned this before we left.”
Evelyn picked up the rose.
“She chose this.”
Damian turned. “What?”
“When Beatrice wanted me to know she was acting by choice, she left a rose.”
Tessa frowned. “You had a code?”
“We needed several.”
Damian felt anger rise again.
“How many secrets did everyone in this family have except me?”
Evelyn looked at him sadly.
“Enough to keep you alive.”
Damian laughed once. “That excuse is getting old.”
His mother flinched, and he immediately regretted the tone.
Tessa picked up Beatrice’s notebook from the bedside table.
Most pages contained confused fragments.
Then one sentence appeared again and again.
THE BOY IN THE WALLS.
Damian took the notebook.
“What boy?”
Evelyn’s face went still.
“No.”
“Mom?”
“There were service tunnels in the old house. You used to hide there.”
Damian remembered narrow passages behind the pantry, forgotten after renovations.
“Beatrice called me the boy in the walls.”
Tessa flipped another page.
There was a rough drawing of the estate.
A line ran from Room 104 to the old library.
Damian followed it with his finger.
They moved the library shelves and found a hidden latch behind a panel.
The wall opened inward.
Cold air came from the darkness.
Grant raised his flashlight.
Fresh footprints crossed the dust.
One set belonged to a small woman.
The other belonged to a man.
They followed the tunnel for fifty yards until it ended behind Damian’s childhood bedroom.
Inside the narrow space, someone had carved words into the plaster.
Damian shined the light across them.
BEATRICE MERCER, 1997.
Then beneath it, much newer:
ADRIAN KNOWS EVELYN IS ALIVE.
May you like
A final line had been scratched so hard the plaster had cracked.
HE IS COMING HOME TONIGHT.
