The rental car smelled faintly of disinfectant and old coffee.
Daniel drove with both hands on the steering wheel, eyes moving constantly between the road and the mirrors. Eleanor sat beside him with the blue notebook pressed against her knees.
For nearly twenty minutes, neither spoke.
The city thinned around them.
Glass buildings gave way to warehouses, then low houses, then stretches of trees. The airport disappeared behind them. Every few minutes Daniel checked the rearview mirror.
A dark sedan remained three cars behind.
“It's been there since the airport,” he said.
Eleanor didn't turn.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Could be coincidence.”
“It could.”
They drove another mile.
The sedan stayed behind them.
Eleanor finally looked.
“I know that car.”
Daniel's hands tightened.
“Whose?”
“Victor's.”
“Are you certain?”
“I've seen it before.”
Daniel changed lanes.
The sedan followed.
He changed again.
So did the sedan.
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“Keep driving.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but the cabin.”
Daniel glanced at her.
“You changed your mind?”
“No.”
She looked at the notebook.
“I'm trying to remember something.”
“What?”
“The night Robert died.”
“You said you were told he had a heart attack.”
“I was.”
“Where did it happen?”
“At home.”
“Who found him?”
“I did.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Tell me.”
Eleanor stared through the windshield.
“He was in his study.”
“Was the door locked?”
“No.”
“Did you call emergency services?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else arrive?”
“Victor.”
“Why?”
“He said Robert had called him.”
Daniel frowned.
“That never made sense?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Robert hated making phone calls late at night.”
“Yet Victor came.”
“Yes.”
“And what did he say?”
“That Robert had been worried.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
Daniel looked at the road.
“And Michael?”
“He arrived twenty minutes later.”
“From where?”
“University.”
“Did he see his father?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Eleanor's fingers tightened around the notebook.
“He said something strange.”
“What?”
“He asked me whether Robert had left a blue notebook.”
Daniel looked at her.
“You didn't tell him about it?”
“No.”
“Then how did he know?”
“I don't know.”
The dark sedan remained behind them.
Daniel increased speed.
Eleanor opened the notebook.
“There's something here.”
“What?”
She turned several pages.
A date.
The day Robert died.
Next to it was a single line.
M.W. KNOWS.
Daniel stared.
“Michael knew.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Or Robert thought he knew.”
“There's a difference.”
“Yes.”
She turned another page.
A second note appeared.
DO NOT TELL ELEANOR.
Daniel's expression hardened.
“Who wrote that?”
Eleanor examined the handwriting.
“Robert.”
“How can you tell?”
“He crossed his sevens like this.”
She pointed.
“I used to tease him about it.”
Daniel looked ahead.
“So Robert deliberately kept you out.”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
They drove in silence again.
The sedan suddenly disappeared around a bend.
Daniel checked the mirror.
Nothing.
“Where did it go?”
“I don't know.”
He slowed.
“That's worse.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“You're learning.”
A few minutes later, they reached a narrow road bordered by tall trees.
The navigation screen announced that they were approaching their destination.
Eleanor stared ahead.
“I remember this.”
“Your cabin?”
“Yes.”
They turned onto a gravel road.
The trees opened.
A small wooden building stood at the end of the drive.
Its windows were dark.
The front door was closed.
Daniel stopped the car.
Neither moved.
“Does anyone have a key?” he asked.
“I do.”
She took one from her handbag.
Daniel stared at it.
“You kept it?”
“I never knew why.”
They got out.
The air smelled of pine and damp earth.
Eleanor approached the door.
Her hand shook as she inserted the key.
It turned.
The door opened.
Dust floated in the thin light.
The cabin looked abandoned.
But not untouched.
A cup sat on the kitchen counter.
Still clean.
A newspaper lay folded beside it.
The date was yesterday.
Daniel stopped.
“Someone's been here.”
Eleanor nodded.
On the wall hung a photograph of Robert.
Young.
Smiling.
Standing beside Michael.
Eleanor touched the frame.
“He loved this place.”
Daniel walked toward the bedroom.
“Don't go far.”
A floorboard creaked.
Eleanor turned.
“Daniel?”
No answer.
She followed him.
The bedroom was empty.
The bed had been made.
A drawer stood open.
Inside was a stack of old letters.
Daniel picked up the top one.
The envelope was addressed to Eleanor.
But it had never been mailed.
She opened it.
The handwriting was Robert's.
Eleanor,
If you're reading this, then something has gone wrong.
She stopped.
Daniel waited.
She continued.
I need you to understand that Michael was never responsible for what happened to me.
Eleanor's breathing changed.
She read the next line.
He believed he was protecting you.
Then another.
But he made one mistake.
Eleanor looked up.
“What mistake?”
Daniel took the letter.
The next sentence answered it.
He trusted Victor.
Eleanor sat on the bed.
For eleven years, she had believed her husband died because his heart failed.
Now she was reading his own words telling her that someone had deceived their son.
Daniel kept reading.
Victor knows about the second account. He will tell Michael that the money is gone. It isn't. The records are hidden where no one would think to look.
Daniel looked at the notebook.
“Where?”
The letter continued.
The answer is in the place Eleanor has always believed was empty.
Daniel frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Eleanor stared at the room.
Then her eyes moved toward the fireplace.
“My father gave Robert an old clock.”
“What about it?”
“It stopped working.”
“Was it here?”
“Yes.”
She walked toward the fireplace.
The clock was still there.
Dust covered its wooden frame.
Eleanor lifted it.
A small compartment opened behind it.
Inside was a key.
Daniel took it.
Another number was engraved on the metal.
314.
Eleanor looked at him.
“That's the same number.”
“No.”
“What?”
Daniel turned the key over.
There was a tiny engraving.
Not 314.
A three.
A dash.
A fourteen.
“It's a date.”
Eleanor's face changed.
“March fourteenth.”
“What happened on March fourteenth?”
She searched her memory.
Then she whispered, “Robert's last business meeting.”
Daniel stared at her.
“With Victor?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At a hotel.”
“Which hotel?”
Eleanor couldn't answer.
She looked at the letter again.
At the bottom, Robert had written one final sentence.
DON'T TRUST THE MAN WHO TELLS YOU HE'S TRYING TO HELP.
A sound came from outside.
Gravel crunching beneath tires.
Daniel moved toward the window.
The dark sedan had arrived.
He pulled back the curtain only slightly.
Victor Hale stepped out.
He was older than Eleanor remembered.
His hair was almost completely gray.
And he carried a black cane.
Eleanor saw him through the glass.
Her face went rigid.
“He found us.”
Daniel lowered the curtain.
“Back door?”
“Kitchen.”
“Go.”
She grabbed the notebook.
Daniel reached for the bedroom door.
Then someone knocked.
Three slow knocks.
Eleanor froze.
Victor's voice came through the cabin.
“Eleanor.”
She closed her eyes.
He knocked again.
“I know you're inside.”
Daniel whispered, “Don't answer.”
Victor spoke more softly.
“I know about the notebook.”
Eleanor looked at Daniel.
Then Victor added:
“And I know Michael called you.”
Daniel's expression changed.
A third sound came from outside.
Not a knock.
A car door slamming.
Someone else had arrived.
Eleanor moved toward the window.
Daniel caught her arm.
“Don't.”
She whispered, “There's another person.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Victor's voice came again.
“Eleanor, you have five minutes.”
“For what?” she called before Daniel could stop her.
Silence.
Then Victor answered.
“For your son to stay alive.”
Eleanor went still.
Daniel looked at her.
Victor continued.
“Bring me the notebook.”
Eleanor held it against her chest.
“And if I don't?”
Victor's voice became almost gentle.
“Then you will finally learn what happened to Robert.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Daniel whispered, “He's lying.”
Eleanor looked toward the front door.
“No.”
She opened the notebook.
A loose page fell from between the entries.
She picked it up.
It contained a name.
Not Victor.
Not Michael.
Not Sarah.
Her own.
Underneath it was a date.
Tomorrow.
Daniel stared at the page.
“Why would your name be there?”
Eleanor's face had gone pale.
“I don't know.”
Then she noticed something else.
At the bottom of the page, in Robert's handwriting, were four words.
SHE MUST REMEMBER THE FIRE.
Eleanor dropped the paper.
A memory struck her so suddenly she had to grip the table.
Smoke.
A broken window.
Michael shouting.
Robert bleeding.
And Victor standing in the doorway.
She gasped.
Daniel caught her before she fell.
“What happened?”
Eleanor stared at him.
“I remember.”
Outside, Victor knocked once.
Eleanor looked toward the door.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Robert didn't die in his study.”
Daniel froze.
“He was already injured when I found him.”
“Then where?”
Eleanor looked at the fireplace.
“The cabin.”
Daniel stared at her.
“What?”
“He wasn't dead.”
A heavy silence followed.
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears.
“I saw him here.”
Daniel whispered, “Eleven years ago?”
She nodded.
“He told me to run.”
“Why don't you remember?”
Eleanor looked toward the door.
“Because someone hit me.”
The front door handle began to turn.
Daniel pulled the notebook from her hands.
“Then we're not giving this to Victor.”
Eleanor wiped her face.
“No.”
The handle turned again.
This time, the lock began to break.
Daniel looked toward the back door.
“Ready?”
Eleanor nodded.
Then a man's voice came from outside the cabin.
Not Victor.
A voice she had heard only minutes ago through the telephone.
“Mom?”
Eleanor stopped breathing.
Michael.
Alive.
And standing somewhere outside.
Click Here to continue read next: PART5: Michael Appeared at the Cabin Door Alive, but His First Warning Forced Eleanor to Question the Memory She Had Just Recovered
She Had Been Waiting Beside the Red Suitcase for Nearly an Hour When a Stranger Finally Asked Why She Was Crying
Part 4 of 16
