Chapter 5 - No Lights on the Water
Before anyone could move toward the stairs, Evelyn noticed the champagne glass Daniel had abandoned on the sideboard. His hands had left wet marks in the condensation. She remembered the day he first brought Nora home from the hospital, holding the newborn as if he was afraid to breathe too loudly. “She's the one good thing I've ever made,” he'd whispered. Evelyn had believed that kind of love was permanent. Now she watched her son refuse to meet her eyes and wondered how a promise could decay so quietly that nobody heard it break.
Helen touched her elbow. “Don't decide he's guilty of everything just because he's hiding something.”
“I'm not,” Evelyn answered. “I'm deciding his silence is no longer enough.”
A black speedboat glided alongside Second Chance as the sun touched the horizon. Its driver wore a cap pulled low. A second man held up a phone displaying a single sentence: HAND OVER THE CARD.
“Absolutely not,” Evelyn said.
Luis steered toward the harbor channel while Owen called the Coast Guard. Marcus filmed the speedboat from behind the tinted salon window. The driver tried twice to edge closer, then abandoned the attempt as harbor patrol lights appeared beyond the breakwater.
Sloane came running up the stairwell barefoot, her wet hair pinned in a crooked knot. “They've come for me.”
“Who?” Evelyn demanded.
Sloane stopped. “I don't know.”
Marcus held up the necklace. He had received it from Sloane's lawyer for documentation, and Sloane had signed a receipt. “Then tell us why you're afraid of this.”
Sloane lowered her eyes. “Because Daniel said it was the one thing she'd left behind.”
“Left behind where?”
She opened her mouth. Daniel stepped between them. “Not another word.”
Sloane shoved him aside. “You promised I'd never have to see that room again.”
Every head turned.
Daniel grabbed her hand. “You're upset. You're confused.”
“No,” she said. “I'm done being the only person who's scared.”
For one second Evelyn thought Sloane would finally tell the truth. Instead, her phone lit up. Her face drained of color. She showed Marcus the screen.
A photo filled it: a little girl asleep on a narrow cot beneath a wool blanket. Only her cheek and one small hand were visible. On the wall hung a child's drawing of three blue birds.
Beneath it: SPEAK AND SHE DISAPPEARS FOR GOOD.
Evelyn reached for the rail. She knew that drawing. Nora had painted it during a week in the hospital, insisting each bird stood for a person who loved her.
May you like
“She could be alive,” Helen whispered.
Sloane began to shake. “I never said she was dead.”
