Neither of them touched the suitcase.
For several seconds, Daniel and Eleanor simply stared at it.
The red case stood upright beside the chair, its handle extended, its wheels perfectly still. Nothing about it looked different except for the lock. A moment earlier, Eleanor remembered seeing both numbers aligned.
Now the mechanism had released.
Daniel slowly stood.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
He crouched beside the suitcase without opening it.
The airport continued moving around them.
A man hurried past with a briefcase.
A family gathered near a charging station.
A cleaner pushed a cart across the floor.
No one seemed interested in the two people sitting beside a red suitcase.
Daniel examined the lock.
“There are no scratches.”
“So?”
“So whoever opened it didn't force it.”
Eleanor looked frightened.
“Then how?”
“I don't know.”
The suitcase clicked again.
The lid lifted less than an inch.
Eleanor recoiled.
Daniel reached for it.
“Stay behind me.”
“It's my suitcase.”
“Which is exactly why you should stay back.”
He opened the lid.
Nothing exploded.
Nothing moved.
Clothes remained folded inside.
The gray coat.
Two dresses.
Shoes.
Toiletries.
The ordinary belongings of a woman who had expected to leave home for several weeks.
Daniel lifted the clothes one piece at a time.
Nothing.
Then he reached beneath the false bottom.
His fingers found a hard edge.
“There.”
Eleanor stepped closer.
“What is it?”
Daniel pulled out a thin wooden box.
It was no larger than a book.
A small brass plate was fixed to the lid.
314.
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“The key.”
Daniel took the brass key from the black envelope.
It fit perfectly.
The lock opened.
Inside was a blue notebook.
Eleanor stopped breathing.
Daniel did not touch it.
“That must be the notebook.”
She nodded.
“I thought it was gone.”
“Michael lied to you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
Daniel lifted the notebook carefully.
The cover was old and faded.
Several pages had been removed.
Others were filled with handwritten names, dates, account numbers, initials, and short notes.
Daniel turned the first few pages.
“Do you recognize these people?”
“Some.”
“Who?”
Eleanor pointed.
“That man was one of Robert's clients.”
Another name.
“His lawyer.”
Another.
“His accountant.”
Daniel looked at the dates.
Most entries were more than a decade old.
Then he reached a page dated six months before Robert died.
The handwriting changed.
The letters were darker.
The pressure of the pen was heavier.
At the bottom of the page was one sentence.
ROBERT KNOWS ABOUT THE SECOND ACCOUNT.
Daniel looked at Eleanor.
“What second account?”
“I don't know.”
He turned the page.
There was no explanation.
Only a series of initials.
R.H.
V.H.
M.W.
S.B.
Daniel pointed.
“Victor Hale. Michael Whitmore. Sarah Bell.”
Eleanor nodded.
“And Robert.”
Daniel looked at her.
“So all four were connected.”
“Yes.”
“Then Sarah's death matters.”
Eleanor sat down.
“She shouldn't be in that photograph.”
Daniel looked again.
“Maybe she isn't.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe someone is using old material.”
“To make me believe she's alive?”
“Exactly.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Why?”
“To make you go somewhere.”
“The garage.”
“Or somewhere else.”
Daniel turned another page.
A folded piece of paper slipped from the notebook.
He opened it.
There was a handwritten address.
No street name.
Only coordinates.
Eleanor stared.
“I know that place.”
“Where?”
“Robert's cabin.”
“You have a cabin?”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because after his death, Michael sold it.”
Daniel looked at the coordinates.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She pointed to the page.
“Robert used those coordinates for the cabin.”
Daniel frowned.
“But if Michael sold it—”
“He didn't.”
Eleanor's voice was quiet.
“What?”
“He told me he did.”
Daniel stared at her.
“How much of your son's life has been built around things he told you that weren't true?”
Eleanor flinched.
“Too much.”
The answer sounded like an admission.
Daniel closed the notebook.
“We need to leave the airport.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“If someone is watching you—”
“I know.”
“Then staying here isn't safer.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why no?”
“Because Michael told me not to trust Victor.”
Daniel waited.
“And Victor knows this airport.”
“So?”
“So if he expects me to leave, he will expect me to go somewhere familiar.”
Daniel understood.
“The cabin.”
She nodded.
“Then that's where they want you.”
“Or where Michael wants me to go.”
“You can't know that.”
“No.”
She looked at the notebook.
“But I can know what my son was trying to protect.”
Daniel checked the time.
His flight had departed without him.
For the first time, he seemed almost relieved.
“Do you have a car?”
“No.”
“I can rent one.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“You don't have to come.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
Daniel took a moment.
“My father disappeared when I was sixteen.”
Eleanor said nothing.
“He wasn't kidnapped. He wasn't murdered. He simply walked out one morning and never came back.”
“Did you find him?”
“No.”
“I'm sorry.”
Daniel looked at the notebook.
“When someone leaves behind a mystery, the people who remain spend years inventing answers.”
Eleanor's eyes softened.
“Sometimes answers are worse.”
“Probably.”
She closed the suitcase.
Before they could leave, Daniel noticed something under the chair.
A small white envelope.
He picked it up.
It had Eleanor's name written on it.
The handwriting was unfamiliar.
Inside was a photograph.
Eleanor looked at it.
Her hand immediately covered her mouth.
It showed Robert.
Not eleven years ago.
Recent.
Very recent.
He was standing beside a black car.
Older.
Thinner.
But unmistakably alive.
Daniel stared at the image.
“This can't be real.”
Eleanor's voice trembled.
“My husband died eleven years ago.”
The photograph had a date printed in the corner.
Two weeks earlier.
Daniel turned it over.
On the back was another sentence.
YOU WERE NEVER TOLD THE TRUTH ABOUT THE NIGHT ROBERT DIED.
Eleanor sat down hard.
For several moments, she couldn't speak.
Daniel crouched beside her.
“Do you recognize where this was taken?”
She nodded slowly.
“Where?”
“Outside our old house.”
“Your old house?”
“Yes.”
“Then whoever took this knew where you lived.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“No.”
“What?”
“They didn't just know.”
Her voice broke.
“They had been there.”
Daniel looked at the photograph again.
There was something in the background.
A window.
A curtain.
A child's bicycle leaning against a wall.
Daniel zoomed in.
“Wait.”
He enlarged the image.
Behind Robert was a small wooden birdhouse.
Eleanor stared.
“That was ours.”
“Was?”
“Michael built it when he was twelve.”
Daniel looked at the date again.
Two weeks earlier.
“Then Robert wasn't alone.”
“What?”
“There are two shadows.”
Eleanor leaned closer.
One shadow belonged to Robert.
The second belonged to someone standing just outside the frame.
Daniel's expression tightened.
The person was tall.
And holding something.
A cane.
Eleanor whispered, “Victor.”
“You're sure?”
“He used one after his accident.”
“What accident?”
“The accident that killed Sarah Bell.”
Daniel looked at her.
“You said Sarah died in a car accident.”
“Yes.”
“And Victor survived?”
“He walked with a cane afterward.”
Daniel slowly stood.
“Then whoever is sending these messages knows your husband's circle very well.”
Eleanor looked down at the notebook.
“Maybe they aren't trying to scare me.”
“What are they trying to do?”
“Make me remember.”
Daniel considered that.
Then he turned the photograph over again.
There was one final line written beneath the first.
BRING THE NOTEBOOK TO CABIN 314.
Eleanor looked at Daniel.
“We're going there.”
“No.”
She frowned.
“You just said—”
“I said we need to know what happened.”
Daniel held up the note.
“This is a trap.”
“Yes.”
“You're agreeing?”
“I know.”
“Then why go?”
Eleanor looked at the photograph of Robert.
“Because if my husband is alive, I need to know why he let me mourn him for eleven years.”
Daniel had no answer.
They packed the notebook into Eleanor's handbag.
The airport doors opened.
Warm afternoon air rushed inside.
They stepped toward the exit.
Then Eleanor stopped.
“Daniel.”
He turned.
She pointed toward the glass.
Across the terminal, a man in a dark coat was watching them.
He held a phone to his ear.
Daniel looked at him.
The man turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Daniel started after him.
Eleanor grabbed his sleeve.
“Don't.”
“Why?”
“Because that's exactly what he wants.”
Daniel stopped.
Her phone vibrated.
One final message appeared.
YOU'RE FINALLY GOING TO CABIN 314.
Eleanor stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
BUT DON'T BRING THE NOTEBOOK.
She slowly looked at Daniel.
They had already packed it.
Someone knew.
Someone was close enough to see them.
And suddenly the airport no longer seemed like the place they were trying to escape.
It seemed like the place they had already been surrounded.
Click Here to continue read next: PART4: The Drive Toward Cabin 314 Forced Eleanor to Confront the One Memory She Had Spent Eleven Years Trying Not to Believe
She Had Been Waiting Beside the Red Suitcase for Nearly an Hour When a Stranger Finally Asked Why She Was Crying
Part 3 of 16
