Chapter 2: The Room Behind the Garden
I didn't sleep that night.
At 2:17 a.m., I was still sitting at the kitchen table, turning the iron key over in my hands.
Rain tapped against the windows.
The house smelled faintly of old wood, coffee, and the lavender cleaning solution my father had always insisted on using.
His slippers were still beside the back door.
His reading glasses were on the kitchen counter.
A half-finished crossword puzzle remained folded beside his favorite chair.
Everything looked as though he might walk downstairs at any moment and ask why I was awake.
I ran my thumb over the brass tag.
*FOR EMILY. WHEN YOU'RE READY.*
I wondered how long he had been planning this.
And why he had waited until his death to tell me.
At 7:30 the next morning, someone knocked on the front door.
It was Vanessa.
She stood on the porch holding a cardboard box.
“Good morning,” she said.
I looked at the box.
“What is that?””
“Some of your things. Daniel thought it would help if you started packing.””
I stared at her.
“You've been inside the house?””
“Daniel has a key.””
“He doesn't have permission to remove anything.””
Vanessa sighed.
“Emily, please. We don't need another argument.””
She pushed the box toward me.
Inside were several framed photographs, two sweaters, a collection of books, and my father's old gardening gloves.
I recognized the gloves immediately.
The leather had been patched at the fingertips.
I had given them to him for his sixty-fifth birthday.
“Why are you taking his things?””
“They were in the hallway.””
“Those aren't Daniel's.””
Vanessa's expression changed.
“Look, I know you're upset. But Daniel is dealing with enough.””
I picked up the gloves.
“He wasn't here when Dad couldn't breathe.””
“That's not fair.””
“He wasn't here when Dad fell in the bathroom.””
Vanessa looked away.
“He has a career.””
“So did I.””
She pressed her lips together.
Then she said something that made my stomach tighten.
“Daniel has been trying to protect this family from what your father did.””
I slowly put the gloves back in the box.
“What did Dad do?””
Vanessa seemed to realize she had said too much.
“Nothing. Forget it.””
“Vanessa.””
She stepped backward.
“Ask your brother.””
Then she walked down the porch steps and drove away.
I stood in the doorway for several minutes.
What had my father done?
And why was Daniel so determined to keep me away from it?
I called Mr. Bennett.
He answered on the third ring.
“Emily?””
“I'm going to find the door.””
There was a pause.
“Are you certain?””
“Yes.””
“Then start with the garden shed. Your father mentioned it several times.””
I looked through the kitchen window.
At the far end of the garden stood a small brick building covered in climbing ivy.
When I was a child, Father had called it the potting shed.
But I had never seen him use it.
“Is that where it is?””
“I can't tell you more,” Mr. Bennett said.
“Your father wanted you to discover it yourself.””
I grabbed my coat.
The garden was soaked from the previous night's rain.
The grass pressed against my shoes as I crossed the lawn.
The shed stood behind an old apple tree, its red brick walls darkened by moisture.
I pulled at the handle.
Locked.
My heart began beating faster.
I took the iron key from my pocket.
It fit.
The lock turned with a loud metallic click.
The door creaked inward.
Dust floated through a narrow beam of sunlight.
At first, everything looked ordinary.
An old workbench.
Rusty gardening tools.
A broken wheelbarrow.
Several empty plant pots.
Then I noticed something strange.
The back wall was made of newer bricks.
They were slightly different in color from the rest.
And in the center was a small metal plate.
I stepped closer.
There was a keyhole.
My breath caught.
The iron key slid into it.
I turned.
Something clicked behind the wall.
A section of brick shifted inward, revealing a narrow wooden door.
I pulled it open.
Behind it was a staircase descending into darkness.
I found a light switch.
A yellow bulb flickered to life below.
I went down slowly, one hand against the damp stone wall.
At the bottom was a small room.
Not a storage closet.
Not a cellar.
A fully furnished office.
There was a wooden desk, two filing cabinets, a leather chair, and a large safe built into the far wall.
A framed photograph rested on the desk.
It showed my father standing beside a much younger man.
I recognized the younger man immediately.
It was Daniel.
But the photograph had been taken twenty years earlier, before Daniel had gone to university.
On the back, someone had written:
*The day we agreed to protect Emily.*
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Protect me from what?
I opened the top desk drawer.
Inside was a stack of envelopes tied with blue ribbon.
My name was written on the first one.
I opened it carefully.
My dearest Emily,
If you are reading this, it means I am no longer there to explain what happened. I know your brother has probably told you that this house belongs to him. I know he has probably made you feel like a visitor in the place where you grew up.
Please don't let him convince you that the truth is something you should be ashamed of.
There are things about this family that I should have told you years ago.
The first thing you need to understand is that the property was never supposed to belong to Daniel.
My hands went cold.
I read the next paragraph.
And the second thing is that the documents proving it are in the safe.
I looked toward the metal safe.
A combination lock sat beneath its handle.
I searched the desk for a code.
There was a small photograph of my mother, Margaret, who had died when I was seventeen.
On the back were three numbers.
0814.
Her birthday.
I entered them.
The safe opened.
Inside were property deeds, bank statements, legal agreements, and several old photographs.
But one document immediately caught my attention.
It was a copy of a property transfer dated eighteen years earlier.
My father had signed it.
So had Daniel.
At the bottom was another signature.
Mine.
I frowned.
I had been sixteen years old when that document was supposedly signed.
And I had no memory of ever seeing it.
I lifted the paper closer to the light.
The signature looked almost identical to mine.
Almost.
But there was something wrong with the date.
The document had been signed on August 14.
My mother's birthday.
The day we had spent at the hospital because she had collapsed.
I remembered that day clearly.
I had never left her bedside.
I heard footsteps above me.
Then the wooden door slammed.
I ran toward the stairs.
“Hello?””
No answer.
I climbed quickly.
The light in the shed was still on, but the door was locked from the outside.
Someone had locked me inside.
I grabbed the handle and pulled.
“Open the door!””
A voice came from outside.
Daniel.
“Stay where you are, Emily.””
I struck the door with my palm.
“Daniel! Open it!””
He didn't answer immediately.
May you like
Then I heard him say something that made my blood run cold.
“You were never supposed to find that room.””
