Her voice barely rose above a whisper. Outside, the wind rattled the old windows. Somewhere upstairs, the floorboards creaked although no one was there. I looked toward the narrow blue door again. It stood at the end of the hallway like it had been waiting for this conversation all along. “What is inside it?” I asked quietly. Mrs. Voss didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly reached for her teacup. Her hands shook so badly that the spoon clinked against the porcelain. “I’ve asked myself that question every day for twenty-six years.” “You don’t know?” “Oh, I know.” She closed her eyes. “I simply wish I didn’t.” The room fell silent. Even the old radio had faded into static. Finally she looked back at me. “Promise me something.” “If I can.” “If anything happens to me…” She stopped. Her breathing became uneven. “…don’t let them empty this house.” I frowned. “You mean your children?” She nodded once.
“They won’t mourn me.” “They’ll search.” “For what?” Her eyes drifted toward the blue door again. “For the proof.” I stared at her. “What proof?” She swallowed. “The proof that they destroyed an innocent life.” A chill crawled across my shoulders. Before I could ask another question, someone knocked on the front door. Three slow knocks. Not loud. Not polite. Just… Deliberate. Mrs. Voss froze. Her face lost every trace of color. “No…” She whispered the word like a prayer. “They’re back.” I stood. “I’ll see who it is.” “No.” She grabbed my wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Don’t answer.” “But maybe it’s your neighbor.” “No.” Her breathing became faster. “They never knock.” The knocking came again. Three more slow knocks. Then silence.
I walked toward the hallway anyway. She followed as quickly as her cane allowed. “Merrick…” Her voice cracked. “Please.” I reached the window beside the front door instead. A black sedan sat beneath the maple tree across the street. Its headlights remained on. One man sat behind the steering wheel. Another stood on the porch. Tall. Gray coat. Black leather gloves. He wasn’t looking at the door. He was looking through the front windows. Watching. I pulled the curtain closed. “Do you know him?” Mrs. Voss nodded. “Bram.” “Your son?” “My oldest.” “But earlier—” “He wasn’t supposed to come tonight.” The knocking stopped. Instead, the doorknob turned. Once. Twice. Then stopped. Whoever stood outside had a key. Mrs. Voss’s breathing became frantic. “I changed the locks.” She whispered it to herself more than to me. “I changed them.” The handle turned again. Then footsteps moved across the porch. A car door opened.
The sedan drove away. Neither of us spoke for almost a minute. Finally I looked at her. “What was that about?” She lowered herself into the hallway chair. “They’re getting impatient.” “Because of the house?” “Because of what’s inside it.” I wanted to ask a hundred questions. Instead, I made tea. The kettle hissed. Steam filled the kitchen. When I returned with two cups, she seemed calmer. “I’m sorry.” “You don’t have to apologize.” “I do.” She accepted the tea. “You’ve become part of something that should have ended before you were born.” Those words stayed with me. Before you were born. I looked up. “What does that mean?” She stared into her tea. “My youngest son was twenty-seven.” I remembered the photographs. Lucan. The smiling young man whose pictures suddenly disappeared. “What happened to him?” Mrs. Voss remained silent for so long I thought she wouldn’t answer. Finally…
“He died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So was I.”
“Was it an accident?”
Her lips trembled.
“That’s what everyone believes.”
Something about the way she said it made the hairs rise on my neck.
“You don’t believe it?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead she stood.
Slowly.
Painfully.
She walked toward the hallway.
Toward the blue door.
For the first time since I’d met her, she stopped directly in front of it.
Her fingers rested lightly against the brass lock.
“I’ve opened this room only three times in twenty-six years.”
“Why?”
“Because every time I do…”
She smiled sadly.
“…I lose my son all over again.”
The hallway suddenly felt colder.
She reached into her sweater pocket.
From inside she pulled out an old brass key attached to faded blue ribbon.
My heart skipped.
She looked at the key for a long time.
Then closed her hand around it again.
“Not yet.”
She slipped it back into her pocket.
“I still need a little more time.”
The following Thursday arrived beneath heavy snow.
Philadelphia looked quieter than usual.
The sidewalks were white.
Tree branches sagged beneath fresh snow.
The bus was twenty minutes late.
When I finally reached Mrs. Voss’s house, fresh tire tracks crossed the driveway.
A black SUV.
The same one.
I hurried to the porch.
The front door stood open.
Voices echoed inside.
“…you’re running out of time.”
Calder.
“…Mother, enough of these games.”
Sabine.
“…where is the key?”
Another voice.
Bram.
I stepped inside.
The kitchen looked as though someone had searched every cabinet.
Drawers hung open.
Photographs covered the table.
Mrs. Voss stood beside the stove gripping her cane.
Sabine noticed me first.
“The maid is here.”
“I’m not a maid.”
She ignored me.
Calder pointed toward the hallway.
“We’re looking for something.”
“It isn’t yours,” Mrs. Voss answered.
“It belongs to the family.”
“I am the family.”
Sabine laughed.
“You won’t be for much longer.”
The words hit the room like broken glass.
Mrs. Voss’s face hardened.
“I buried your father.”
“I buried one son.”
“I will not bury my dignity.”
Bram stepped closer.
“Mother.”
His tone sounded softer than the others’.
“Please.”
“Just tell us where it is.”
“No.”
“Then we’re going to keep searching.”
“You’ll find nothing.”
Calder kicked open another cabinet.
Plates crashed onto the floor.
Something inside me snapped.
“Stop.”
Every head turned.
“You heard her.”
Calder smiled.
“I don’t remember asking your opinion.”
“You don’t have to.”
“This isn’t your house.”
“No.”
“But she’s asking you to leave.”
He stepped toward me.
For the first time, I realized how much larger he was.
“You’ve grown awfully brave for someone making twenty dollars a week.”
“I haven’t made twenty dollars.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“She hasn’t paid me once.”
The room went completely silent.
Sabine frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been coming here for months.”
“I’ve never been paid.”
Mrs. Voss looked down.
Calder stared between us.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Why would anyone work for free?”
I answered honestly.
“Because she needed someone.”
Something changed.
Not in Sabine.
Not in Calder.
In Bram.
He looked at his mother.
Then at me.
Then around the nearly empty kitchen.
His eyes settled on the refrigerator.
He opened it.
Two eggs.
Bread.
Milk.
Nothing else.
His expression slowly changed from irritation…
…to confusion.
“Mother…”
He looked at Sabine.
“You told me you were bringing groceries every week.”
Sabine didn’t answer.
He looked at Calder.
“You said the bank account covered everything.”
Calder’s jaw tightened.
Mrs. Voss quietly spoke.
“My groceries arrive every Thursday.”
She looked at me.
“They arrive in his backpack.”
Bram slowly closed the refrigerator.
For the first time since I’d met him…
…he looked ashamed.
[END OF PART 2]
