CHAPTER 2 — The Child They Erased
The next morning...
I drove to the address listed on the birth certificate.
Marissa Vale.
A quiet neighborhood two hours outside Chicago.
The small white house looked abandoned.
The mailbox overflowed.
Windows were boarded.
Grass reached my knees.
An elderly neighbor watched me from across the street.
When I showed her Marissa's picture...
She crossed herself.
"You shouldn't ask about that woman."
"Why?"
"Because she's dead."
The words struck like ice.
"When?"
"Almost six years ago."
"A car accident."
My heartbeat slowed.
Nathan's son would've been only...
One year old.
"What happened to her little boy?"
The woman frowned.
"No little boy."
"I never saw a child."
Impossible.
The birth certificate clearly existed.
Nathan had signed legal documents acknowledging him.
So where had the boy gone?
As I turned back toward my car...
A tiny voice spoke behind me.
"You're looking for Noah."
I spun around.
A little girl stood holding a bicycle.
Maybe eight years old.
Freckles.
Bright green eyes.
She pointed toward the woods.
"My mommy told me never to say his name."
"But the scary lady took him."
Every muscle in my body tightened.
"What scary lady?"
The girl answered without hesitation.
"The lady with pearls."
My heart nearly stopped.
Eleanor.
The child continued.
"She said Noah had to disappear forever."
Then...
She reached into her pocket.
"I found this the day they left."
She handed me a small silver pendant.
Engraved inside...
N.B.
Nathan Bennett.
I drove home shaking.
When I arrived...
The police were waiting outside.
One detective approached.
"Mrs. Hart?"
"Yes."
"We're investigating your husband's death."
I stared.
"I thought it was a heart attack."
The detective exchanged a look with his partner.
"It was reported as one."
He paused.
"But toxicology found something they missed."
"What?"
The detective took a deep breath.
"Someone had been slowly poisoning your husband for months."
The world tilted.
"Who?"
"We don't know."
"Yet."
As the detectives left...
I noticed a black SUV parked across the street.
Its windows were too dark to see inside.
It had been there...
For over an hour.
Watching my house.
Watching my son.
Watching...
Me.
That evening...
The SUV disappeared.
But something else appeared instead.
A plain brown envelope slid beneath my front door.
No stamp.
No address.
Only six handwritten words.
STOP SEARCHING... OR YOUR BABY DIES.
Inside...
There was one photograph.
A frightened seven-year-old boy.
Alive.
Standing beside Eleanor Bennett.
May you like
The date on the back...
Was yesterday.
