We sat around the dining table until after midnight.
The notebook remained open between us.
Nobody touched it.
The sentence Michael had written seemed to fill the entire room.
If they take Elena, they will come for Noah next.
Tyler finally broke the silence.
"How old were you when your mother disappeared?"
Noah looked down.
"Three."
"Do you remember her?"
"Not really."
He rubbed his forehead.
"I remember a smell."
I waited.
"Vanilla. She used to wear some kind of perfume."
His eyes remained fixed on the notebook.
"I remember a red sweater."
He laughed once, without humor.
"That's it."
I looked at the photograph of Elena.
She was young.
Dark-haired.
Her expression serious.
Michael stood beside her.
There was no obvious fear in either face.
But the photograph had been taken three days before everything changed.
Detective Harris arrived the following morning.
He brought another officer and several files.
"We found the property."
My stomach tightened.
"The Mercer property?"
He nodded.
"It hasn't been occupied for at least eight years."
"Then what's there?"
"Mostly empty buildings."
"Have you searched it?"
"Not yet."
Noah looked frustrated.
"Why not?"
"We need authorization."
Harris placed a photograph on the table.
A small house stood beyond a long gravel driveway.
The windows were boarded.
The roof sagged slightly.
Behind it was a detached garage.
Something about the place bothered me.
I couldn't explain why.
Then I saw the mailbox.
There was a faded number painted on the side.
It matched a number in Michael's notebook.
I pointed.
"That."
Harris looked closer.
"You recognize it?"
"No. But it's in his notes."
He photographed the notebook.
The numbers beside the address matched one of the dates.
Harris stood.
"Now we have a reason to look."
He left with the documents.
Noah paced the kitchen.
"I want to go."
"You shouldn't."
"Why?"
"Because if someone has been hiding evidence for twenty-one years, we don't know what we're walking into."
He looked at me.
"My father spent his whole life trying to keep me away from this."
"Exactly."
"I can't sit here anymore."
Tyler stepped between us.
"Then don't go alone."
I looked at both of them.
"Nobody is going anywhere until Harris tells us."
Noah shook his head.
"You sound like my father."
"Maybe he was right about some things."
That silenced him.
A few hours later, Harris called.
The search had begun.
They found boxes.
Old invoices.
Broken office equipment.
Nothing immediately connected to Elena.
Then an officer found a locked room in the back of the garage.
Inside was a filing cabinet.
One drawer contained old employee records.
Another contained financial documents.
And in the third was a folder bearing Michael's name.
Harris sent us a photograph.
The folder was dated twenty-one years earlier.
Noah stared at the screen.
"What does that mean?"
I didn't answer.
Harris called again.
"There is something you need to know."
His voice had changed.
"What?"
"Some of the documents concern your brother's investigation."
"How did they get there?"
"We don't know."
"Are they originals?"
"Some appear to be."
My heart sank.
Someone had been keeping copies of records connected to Michael's disappearance.
And that someone had been Daniel Mercer.
Harris continued.
"There is also a photograph."
I closed my eyes.
"Of what?"
"Michael."
My breath caught.
"Alive?"
"Yes."
Noah stood so quickly that his chair scraped the floor.
"When?"
Harris gave us the date.
It was eleven months after Michael disappeared.
Noah's face went white.
"That's impossible."
"It was taken in a parking lot."
"Where?"
Harris named a city several states away.
Michael had been alive.
Eleven months after the family believed he had vanished.
I sat down.
For twenty-one years, I had imagined the last day I saw my brother.
Apparently it wasn't the last day he was alive.
Noah looked at me.
"Why didn't anyone know?"
I couldn't answer.
Harris said they were examining the photograph for fingerprints and other evidence.
Then he added something that made my skin crawl.
"There's a second person in the photograph."
"Who?"
"We don't know yet."
He sent another image.
The quality was poor.
Michael stood beside a vehicle.
A woman was visible in the driver's seat.
Her face was turned away.
But the red sweater was unmistakable.
Noah stopped breathing.
"That's her."
I looked at him.
"Elena?"
He nodded.
"My mother."
The photograph had been taken eleven months after both disappearances.
Michael and Elena were alive.
Together.
And they were not alone.
A second vehicle was parked behind them.
Its driver was visible only as a dark shape.
Harris said they were trying to identify the license plate.
Noah stared at the image.
"My father told me she abandoned us."
I put my hand over his.
"He may have been trying to protect you."
"But why disappear together?"
That was the question.
And for the first time, I suspected the answer might be worse than we had imagined.
That evening, Harris returned to the Mercer property.
He called just before midnight.
"We found another room."
My pulse quickened.
"What was inside?"
"A bed."
"Anything else?"
"Children's things."
Noah stood beside me.
"What kind of things?"
Harris paused.
"There's a small wooden toy truck."
Noah's face changed.
"I had one."
"Are you sure?"
"My father gave it to me when I was little."
Harris was silent.
Then he said:
"There's also a photograph of you."
Noah stared at the phone.
"At what age?"
"About four."
He whispered something I couldn't hear.
Then Harris said the words none of us expected.
"That means your father wasn't hiding you from them."
I looked at Noah.
Harris continued.
"He was hiding the fact that you were somewhere they couldn't reach."
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: A Photograph Proved Michael and Elena Were Alive Long After Their Disappearance, but Someone Had Been Watching Noah From Childhood
The Boy My Son Brought Home Was Wearing Something I Had Buried With a Family Secret Twenty-One Years Ago
Part 6 of 20
