CHAPTER 2 — "He's Still Looking for the Boy."
Margaret's hands shook so violently the note slipped from her fingers.
It floated onto the kitchen table between the half-eaten sandwich and Ethan's empty glass of water.
Neither of them spoke.
Outside, the black SUV disappeared around the corner.
But the feeling it left behind stayed inside the house.
Like someone was still watching.
Ethan looked at the folded paper.
"What does it say?"
Margaret hesitated.
Every instinct told her to lie.
To protect him.
But after thirteen years of living with unanswered questions, she knew secrets had already stolen enough lives.
She slowly handed him the note.
He read it once.
Then again.
His face turned pale.
"I... I don't understand."
Margaret swallowed.
"Neither do I."
She stood abruptly and hurried to the front window.
The road was empty.
No children.
No neighbors.
No black SUV.
Only dust drifting across the afternoon heat.
Yet her heartbeat refused to slow.
That night, Ethan remained in the guest room.
It had once been Henry's nursery.
After the accident, Margaret had slowly transformed it into a small bedroom.
Not because she expected anyone to sleep there.
Because closing the door forever felt too much like burying her son twice.
She watched Ethan fall asleep within minutes.
Exhaustion always defeated fear in children who had spent too many nights without safety.
He curled onto one side.
One hand tucked beneath his cheek.
Exactly the way Henry had slept.
Margaret quietly closed the door.
Then walked into the attic.
Dust covered everything.
Boxes.
Christmas decorations.
Thomas's old fishing gear.
Baby clothes carefully folded into plastic containers.
Near the back sat a faded blue trunk she had not opened in years.
Inside were hospital records.
Insurance papers.
Newspaper clippings.
And one thick folder marked in Thomas's handwriting.
HENRY
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
Birth certificate.
Hospital bracelet.
Baby footprints.
Vaccination records.
Family photographs.
Then...
An envelope she had never noticed before.
Addressed simply:
"If anything happens to us."
Margaret frowned.
Thomas had never mentioned this.
She carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Maggie,
If you're reading this, something has gone terribly wrong.
I hope I'm just being paranoid.
But if I'm not...
Don't trust Sheriff Dalton.
Don't trust anyone connected to Briar Creek Development.
If they ever come asking about Henry...
Run.
There are things I discovered that powerful people would kill to keep hidden.
I can't explain everything here.
Just remember this:
Henry was never the target.
He was the witness.
Love,
Thomas
Margaret nearly collapsed.
Henry...
A six-month-old baby...
A witness?
That made no sense.
She reread the sentence five times.
Still impossible.
Unless...
Thomas hadn't meant Henry had seen something.
Unless someone believed the baby possessed something...
Or had been with someone...
Who mattered.
Her thoughts shattered when headlights swept across the living room walls.
A vehicle had stopped outside.
She quickly killed the lights.
Another pair of headlights joined the first.
Then another.
Three vehicles.
No sirens.
No police markings.
Just dark SUVs.
Someone knocked.
Not gently.
Three heavy blows.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Margaret didn't move.
Another knock.
Louder.
Then a calm male voice.
"Mrs. Collins?"
Silence.
"We know the boy is inside."
Margaret's blood froze.
She hadn't told anyone.
Not a single person.
How did they know?
The voice continued.
"We're from Child Protective Services."
No badge.
No paperwork.
No official vehicle.
Just darkness.
Margaret whispered to herself,
"They're lying."
Upstairs...
A floorboard creaked.
Ethan was awake.
Before she could stop him, he appeared halfway down the staircase.
"Who's there?"
The voice outside immediately changed.
Warm.
Friendly.
"Ethan?"
The boy froze.
His face lost all color.
Margaret noticed instantly.
"You know that voice?"
He nodded slowly.
Barely breathing.
"I've... heard him before."
"When?"
"In dreams."
Margaret stared.
Dreams?
"No..."
Ethan whispered.
"Not dreams."
His hands began shaking.
"They told me they were dreams."
Memories crashed into him all at once.
Bright white lights.
A long hallway.
People wearing medical masks.
Someone saying,
"Erase the name. Give him a new one."
Another voice...
Deep.
Cold.
Impossible to forget.
"As long as the child disappears, no one can ever prove what happened."
Ethan grabbed the railing to keep from falling.
His head pounded.
Fragments flashed through his mind.
Rain.
Water.
A crashed car.
A woman screaming his name.
Not Ethan.
Another name.
"Hen..."
His breathing quickened.
"H..."
Margaret rushed toward him.
"What is it?"
Tears streamed down the boy's face.
"I think..."
He clutched his head.
"I think..."
The man outside smiled.
He could hear everything through the old wooden door.
Quietly, he spoke into a hidden earpiece.
"The memory is returning."
A voice answered through static.
"Then don't let him leave that house alive."
The man slipped a silenced pistol beneath his jacket.
Inside...
Margaret suddenly remembered something Thomas had built years ago.
A hidden storm cellar.
With an exit leading into the woods behind the property.
She grabbed Ethan's hand.
"We're leaving."
"What about the front door?"
"We're never opening it."
Outside...
The stranger slowly counted backward.
"Three..."
Inside, Margaret pulled a dusty rug aside.
A narrow wooden hatch appeared beneath the kitchen floor.
"Two..."
She lifted it.
Cold air rushed upward.
"One..."
The front door exploded inward.
Men in black flooded into the house.
But the kitchen...
Was empty.
Only the swinging cellar hatch remained open.
May you like
The hunt had officially begun.
END OF CHAPTER 2
