Chapter 2 - The Muddy Clue
The photograph was bent at the edges, waterlogged and dried into a warped, fragile wafer. Eleanor reached down with trembling fingers, easing it from Lily’s tight grip. The paper was stiff, smelling distinctly of damp earth and river silt.
On the surface of the image was a young woman with sharp, dark eyes, cradling an infant wrapped in hospital blankets. The background was not an affluent maternity ward; it was the interior of a dilapidated cabin, its pine walls rotting and bare. Across the white margin at the bottom, someone had scribbled an old date in black ink—twenty-seven years ago—followed by three initials: R.E.S.
""Where did you find this, sweetheart?"" Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking beneath the rising static of panic.
Lily snuffled, her small chest hitching as she pointed a small, shoe-scuffed foot toward the open patio doors. ""Beneath the stone lantern in the garden... the dog was digging. It was inside a metal tin.""
Richard lunged forward, his dress shoes squeaking violently against the waxed timber. ""Give that to me, Eleanor! That is not for your eyes, nor this spoiled bastard's!""
Julian moved before his father could cross the Persian rug. With an athletic grace honed by years of tension, Julian stepped between his wife and his father. He grabbed Richard’s outstretched wrist, halting the older man’s charge with a crack of bone and leather. Julian’s grip was brutal.
""Do not take another step toward my family,"" Julian warned, his voice a low, lethal hum that vibrated through the room.
""You foolish boy,"" Richard sneered, trying to wrench his arm free but finding Julian’s fingers locked around him like iron cuffs. ""You think you're protecting your daughter? You have no idea what that piece of filth paper represents. Look at the date, Julian. Look at who held the pen!""
Out in the driveway, the high-pitched wail of two police cruisers cut through the suburban calm, tearing the evening apart. Red and blue strobes flared through the front bay windows, casting frantic, pulsing colors across the crystal chandelier.
Julian glanced back over his shoulder toward Eleanor. Eleanor was staring at the initials on the photograph, her lips parted in sudden, horrifying recognition.
May you like
""Richard,"" Eleanor breathed, her eyes widening until the whites showed completely around her irises. ""This isn't Julian’s baby picture. This is the child that went missing from the harbor docks in ninety-nine.""
Richard’s face drained of every drop of blood, turning a sickly, translucent gray just as heavy fists banged three times against the front door.
