Chapter 2
THE BOY AT THE BOTTOM
Mara's mother had been dead for eleven years, but her voice still knew how to make Mara obey.
“Don't let him out.”
The words slipped through the darkness beneath the stairs, soft as a whisper against skin.
Jonah kept his weapon trained on the basement.
“Who said that?”
Mara couldn't answer.
At the bottom of the steps, the small hand had disappeared. The candlelight still flickered, throwing a thin amber glow across the stone walls, but there was no sign of the boy who had spoken her name.
Then came the tapping.
Twice.
A pause.
Twice again.
Mara pressed her fingertips against the doorframe. The wood was cold enough to hurt.
“Eli?”
“Don't answer him,” Jonah said.
She turned toward him. “You heard that voice.”
“I heard something.”
“That was my brother.”
“You haven't seen your brother in eleven years.”
“Thank you. I'd almost forgotten.”
His jaw tightened. “Mara, listen to me. We don't know what's down there.”
“We know someone is down there.”
“Or someone wants us to think so.”
The old suspicion in his voice was familiar. It was the same suspicion that had followed her through police interviews, newspaper reports, and the slow death of her family's reputation. Mara had spent years hating Jonah for it.
Now, standing beside the open basement door, she was almost grateful.
At least one of them was still capable of doubting what they heard.
Almost.
From below came a soft scrape, followed by a sound that might have been a cough.
Then a boy whispered, “She brought someone.”
Mara's stomach tightened.
Jonah stepped forward. “Who are you talking about?”
A pause.
“You.”
The candle flame trembled.
Jonah looked at Mara.
She shook her head. She had no idea what it meant.
The boy spoke again.
“You shouldn't have brought him, Mara.”
“Why?”
“He knows what happened.”
Jonah's expression changed.
Only slightly. A narrowing of the eyes, a small tightening around his mouth.
But Mara saw it.
“Jonah?”
“Stay here.”
He moved toward the steps.
The boy laughed.
“That's what he said last time.”
Jonah stopped.
Mara felt the hall tilt beneath her feet.
“Last time?” she whispered.
There was no answer.
Jonah backed away from the staircase and lowered his weapon just enough to look toward the entrance hall.
“We're leaving,” he said.
“No.”
“That wasn't a question.”
“Then stop pretending it was one.”
“Mara, this is exactly how people get hurt. We don't know who or what is down there, and we don't know whether this house is structurally safe.”
“You think the house is the problem?”
“I think someone has been inside a property that should have been empty, and they've managed to convince you that your dead mother is talking to you through a basement door.”
The words struck harder than she expected.
Mara looked away.
He had a point. She hated that he had a point.
The telephone, the photograph, the altered report, the voice. Each could be explained separately. A prank. A forgery. A recording. A person with access to old records and an intimate knowledge of her childhood.
Together, they formed something much harder to dismiss.
“Fine,” she said. “We leave. We call for backup. We come back with lights and equipment and every police officer in Greywick.”
Jonah nodded once.
“But first,” she continued, “I want to know why you're afraid.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“I'm not afraid.”
“You stopped when he said you knew what happened.”
“I stopped because he was trying to provoke a reaction.”
“And did he?”
Jonah said nothing.
From the basement came a faint metallic click.
The candle went out.
Darkness swallowed the stairs.
Then the door began to close.
Slowly.
Without anyone touching it.
Jonah lunged forward and caught it before it shut. The movement was sudden enough to make Mara stumble backward.
“Get the flashlight,” he ordered.
She fumbled for her phone.
Its screen was black.
She pressed the side button. Nothing happened.
“Of course,” she muttered.
Jonah's flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the narrow staircase and the damp stone walls.
The door was still moving against his hand.
He pushed back.
For one strange second, the two forces seemed evenly matched.
Then something on the other side pulled.
Jonah stumbled forward.
Mara grabbed his coat.
Together, they forced the door shut.
The lock clicked.
Silence.
Jonah stood with one hand on the knob, breathing hard.
Mara stared at the keyhole.
A tiny strip of paper protruded from it.
She pulled it free.
The paper was folded into a narrow square, yellowed at the edges and damp to the touch. It smelled faintly of smoke.
Inside, someone had written three words.
HE IS NOT ELI.
Mara read them twice.
Then she looked at Jonah.
“Tell me you didn't put this here.”
“I didn't.”
“Did you know it was here?”
“No.”
She held the paper between them.
“Then what does it mean?”
Jonah took out his notebook and slipped the paper between its pages.
“It means we're calling for help.”
For once, Mara didn't argue.
They moved into the entrance hall, keeping the basement door in sight. Jonah used his mobile to contact the local station and request officers at Blackthorn House. He gave the address, described the possible intruder, and said nothing about the voice.
When he ended the call, Mara was studying the portraits.
“Do you remember the night Eli disappeared?” she asked.
Jonah slipped his phone into his pocket.
“Every detail I was given.”
“That's not what I asked.”
He followed her gaze to the staircase.
“I remember arriving here just after ten. I remember your father standing in the entrance hall. I remember you sitting on the floor beside the fireplace with a blanket around your shoulders.”
“What did I say?”
“You kept asking where your mother was.”
Mara's throat tightened.
“And?”
“And your father told us she had died.”
She turned toward him.
“Did you see her body?”
“No.”
“Did anyone?”
Jonah hesitated.
“Your father said the funeral arrangements had been made privately.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“I know.”
She stared at him, waiting for the rest.
It didn't come.
“Why didn't you investigate?”
“I was twenty-three. I was the junior officer on a case that had already been handled by people with more authority than I had. Your father had a solicitor, a doctor, and a death certificate. The police were told Evelyn had suffered a medical emergency.”
“And you believed them.”
“I believed there wasn't enough evidence to challenge them.”
“That's a very careful way of saying yes.”
“It's a very careful way of saying I was wrong.”
The admission left her without a reply.
Outside, an engine passed along the distant road. Its sound rose and faded, leaving the house even quieter than before.
Mara looked at the portrait of her mother.
Evelyn stood beside a tall window, one hand resting on the back of a chair. She wore a pale blue dress and the silver watch Mara had inherited after her death.
The watch on the portrait's wrist was identical to Mara's.
But there was something else.
Behind Evelyn, reflected in the window, stood a small figure.
A boy.
Mara stepped closer.
The photograph was old, its surface cloudy beneath the glass. She tilted her head, trying to make out the figure's face.
It was impossible to tell whether it was Eli or a trick of light.
Yet the figure had one hand raised.
Two fingers extended.
Two taps.
Mara reached for the frame.
“Don't touch it,” Jonah said.
She froze.
“Why?”
“Because the last time you touched something in this house, the basement door opened.”
“That is not how cause and effect works.”
“You're welcome to explain what just happened, then.”
She lowered her hand.
A sound came from the hall behind them.
The front door.
Three sharp knocks.
Jonah drew his weapon again.
“Police,” he called. “Identify yourself.”
A man's voice answered from outside.
“Reed? It's Daniel. Open up.”
Jonah relaxed slightly, but he did not put his weapon away.
He unlocked the door.
A uniformed officer stood on the step, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He was in his late twenties, with sandy hair and a face that looked too young to have learned how to hide what he was thinking.
“Sorry,” the officer said. “Road's a mess near the quarry. Took a while to get here.”
“Where's the second unit?”
“On the way.”
Jonah nodded toward the corridor.
“Possible intruder in the basement. We heard someone inside. The door is locked now, but it was open when we arrived.”
The officer looked past him.
His gaze landed on the basement door.
For a moment, he stopped moving.
Mara noticed.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
The officer blinked and shook his head.
“Nothing.”
Jonah turned to him. “Daniel.”
The officer looked at his superior.
“You said someone was inside?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see them?”
“No.”
The officer swallowed.
Mara stepped closer.
“You recognize the door.”
He gave a short, nervous laugh.
“It's a door.”
“Then why are you looking at it like that?”
Jonah moved between them.
“Enough. Daniel, take the entrance hall. Don't go near the basement until backup arrives.”
The officer nodded quickly and moved toward the front window.
Mara watched him go.
“Who is he?”
“Daniel Price. He's been with the station for four years.”
“Does he know about Eli?”
“Everyone in Greywick knows about Eli.”
“That's not what I meant.”
Jonah's expression darkened.
“Don't start interrogating my officers.”
“Then tell me what you're not telling me.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Before he could answer, a voice came from the basement.
Not Eli's.
A woman's voice.
Clear and calm.
“Thomas?”
Mara turned so quickly that her shoulder struck the wall.
Jonah raised his weapon.
The voice came again.
“Thomas, darling. You've brought the wrong child home.”
Daniel Price made a strangled noise from the window.
Mara looked at him.
The officer was staring at the basement door with tears running down his face.
“Daniel?”
He didn't answer.
His lips moved soundlessly, forming words she couldn't hear.
Then he crossed the hall, reached for the basement knob, and whispered, “I'm sorry.”
Jonah grabbed him before he could turn it.
“Price! What the hell are you doing?”
The officer fought him with surprising strength.
“Let me go!”
“Stand down!”
“You don't understand. She said she was waiting.”
Jonah forced him against the wall.
Daniel struggled once more, then went limp.
His face had gone gray.
Mara approached slowly.
“Who was waiting?”
The officer looked at her.
For a moment, she thought he might tell her everything.
Instead, he began to cry.
“She told me never to come back here,” he whispered. “She said if I ever came back, the house would remember me.”
Mara's skin prickled.
“Who told you that?”
Daniel closed his eyes.
From the basement came three slow knocks.
The officer flinched as if he had been struck.
Then he said a name.
“Evelyn.”
Mara stared at him.
“You knew my mother?”
Daniel opened his eyes.
“I was twelve when Eli disappeared.”
The words hung in the hall.
Jonah loosened his grip.
Mara felt as though the floor had dropped away beneath her.
“You were a child.”
Daniel nodded, his gaze fixed on the basement door.
“I lived two streets away. We used to play together. Me, Eli, you. Sometimes we'd come here after school.”
“I don't remember you.”
“I know.”
“Why not?”
His mouth trembled.
“Because the last time I saw you, you were standing at the top of those stairs with blood on your hands.”
Mara couldn't speak.
Jonah looked between them.
“Daniel, what exactly are you saying?”
The officer shook his head violently.
“I shouldn't have come.”
He pushed away from the wall and stumbled toward the front door.
Jonah caught his arm.
“Price, you're not going anywhere.”
“Please.”
“Tell me what happened that night.”
Daniel looked at Mara.
His eyes were wide with a terror so naked that she almost reached for him.
Then he whispered, “You asked me to help you bury something.”
The room went silent.
Mara heard the clock on the mantel ticking.
One second.
Two.
Three.
“I never asked you to bury anything.”
Daniel's gaze shifted to the basement.
“You don't remember.”
“No.”
“You don't remember what you did to him?”
Mara took a step back.
Jonah moved closer to her.
“Daniel, that's enough.”
But the officer was staring at Mara now, and his expression had changed. The fear remained, but something else had risen beneath it.
Pity.
“You were trying to save him,” he said. “I know that. You were only seventeen. You thought you could make it right.”
“Make what right?”
Daniel's lips parted.
Before he could answer, the telephone rang.
All three of them turned.
The black rotary telephone sat on a narrow table beneath the stairs.
Mara had left it in the living room.
She was certain of that.
The first ring echoed through the hall.
The second made Daniel cover his ears.
The third sent him to his knees.
“Don't answer it,” he begged. “Please, Mara. Whatever you hear, don't answer it.”
The ringing stopped.
Then the receiver lifted by itself.
A woman's voice filled the hall.
“Daniel, darling.”
The officer began to sob.
“You promised you wouldn't tell.”
A sharp crack split the air.
The telephone's receiver fell against the table.
Daniel screamed.
Jonah spun toward him, but the officer was already scrambling to his feet, clawing at his collar as though something invisible had tightened around his throat.
Mara grabbed his shoulders.
“Daniel! Look at me!”
His eyes rolled toward hers.
“I'm sorry,” he choked.
Then he looked past her.
His expression emptied.
“Mara,” he whispered, “she's behind you.”
Mara turned.
No one stood in the hall.
But the portrait of her mother had changed.
Evelyn was no longer standing beside the window.
She was facing the camera.
And in the reflection behind her, the boy was gone.
In his place stood Mara herself, seventeen years old, barefoot and covered in blood.
The glass cracked down the center.
A thin line of dust fell from the frame.
Then a photograph slid out from behind it and landed faceup on the floor.
Jonah picked it up.
Mara watched the color drain from his face.
“What is it?”
He didn't answer.
She snatched the photograph from his hand.
It showed the garden behind Blackthorn House, the old stone wall, and a patch of freshly turned earth beneath the dead apple tree.
Three figures stood beside it.
Mara.
Daniel.
And a woman in a pale blue dress.
Her mother.
On the back, in Evelyn's handwriting, were seven words.
WE BURIED THE WRONG CHILD THAT NIGHT.
Mara stared at the photograph.
From beneath the floorboards came two soft knocks.
Then two more.
And somewhere deep in the house, a boy began to laugh.