Chapter 6: The Boxes in the Attic
I couldn't move.
The photograph shook between my fingers.
Helen.
My aunt.
The woman whose funeral I had attended twenty years earlier.
The woman who had supposedly died after a stroke.
The woman who had kissed my forehead at Christmas and told me I was the greatest gift she had ever received.
Alive.
At least, according to Claire.
“Where did you take this?”” I asked.
“Outside a café in Boston,” Claire replied.
“She contacted me through an old address. She said she wanted to explain what happened.””
“Why didn't you tell anyone?””
“Because I thought she was trying to manipulate me. Then she disappeared.””
I looked at Detective Harris.
“Can you verify this photograph?””
She took it carefully.
“We'll have someone examine it.””
I turned toward Evelyn.
“Did you know Helen was alive?””
My mother shook her head.
“No.””
“Are you sure?””
“Marcus, I watched her die.””
“What did you see?””
She stared at me.
“The hospital told us she had suffered a massive stroke. Richard handled the funeral arrangements. We received an urn because she had been cremated.””
Claire looked up sharply.
“An urn?””
Evelyn nodded.
“Why?””
Claire's face went pale.
“Because the woman who visited me had a scar beneath her left ear.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“Helen had surgery when she was young. I saw the scar when she leaned toward me.””
Evelyn slowly covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.””
I looked between them.
“What?””
My mother whispered:
“The woman in the photograph had a scar exactly there.””
Nobody spoke.
Detective Harris placed the photograph inside an evidence sleeve.
“I'm going to need copies of every document and photograph you have.””
She turned toward Claire.
“And you need to remain somewhere safe. We don't know who else may be involved.””
Claire nodded.
I approached her.
“I need to ask you something.””
She looked up.
“Anything.””
“Do you know who my biological father is?””
Her eyes filled.
“I was told it was a man named Thomas Bennett. He died before you were born.””
“Were you married?””
“No. But Thomas wanted to marry me. My mother didn't approve.””
“Why?””
Claire looked down.
“Because he was poor.””
She took a breath.
“Thomas worked as a mechanic. Margaret believed he would never provide the life she wanted for me. She told everyone he had abandoned us.””
“Did he?””
“No.””
Her voice broke.
“He came to the hospital every day after I gave birth. But the morning I was told you had died, he disappeared.””
I stared at her.
“Disappeared?””
“He left a note saying he was going to find you.””
She reached into her bedside drawer again.
This time, she produced a small envelope.
“I found this in my mother's belongings after she died.””
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph of a young man standing beside a motorcycle.
On the back were four words.
*For my son, someday.*
I looked at Claire.
“Do you have any idea where he went?””
She shook her head.
“No. But I kept searching.””
Detective Harris interrupted.
“Mr. Carter, I need you to come to the station tomorrow morning. We need a formal statement.””
I nodded.
Before leaving, I looked at Claire.
“I don't know what happens next.””
She reached for my hand.
“Neither do I.””
Her fingers closed around mine.
“But I've waited thirty years to tell you that I love you.””
I couldn't answer.
Not yet.
But I didn't pull away.
It was nearly midnight when we arrived home.
The house looked exactly as it had that morning.
White roses lined the entrance. Wedding gifts covered the dining table. A bottle of champagne stood unopened beside two crystal glasses.
My wedding photograph lay on the hallway console.
Vanessa and I smiled beneath a canopy of white flowers.
I picked up the frame.
For a moment, I considered throwing it against the wall.
Instead, I placed it facedown.
My mother stood behind me.
“I'm sorry.””
I turned.
“Stop apologizing for things you didn't do.””
She looked exhausted.
“I should have told you when I discovered the letter.””
“Maybe.””
“I thought I could protect you.””
I took her hand.
“You were my mother long before today. Nothing changes that.””
She began crying.
I pulled her into my arms.
For the first time since the rooftop incident, she allowed herself to collapse against me.
We stood there for a long time.
Then I remembered the boxes.
“The attic.””
Evelyn wiped her cheeks.
“I'll get the ladder.””
“No. You sit down.””
I found the ladder in the garage and carried it upstairs.
The attic smelled of cedar, dust, and old cardboard. Moonlight came through a small circular window.
My mother's old Christmas decorations sat beside boxes of family photographs.
At the far end was a wooden trunk.
I opened it.
Inside were twelve small silver boxes.
Each one had a different ribbon.
I recognized them immediately.
Helen had given me one every birthday from my first to my twelfth.
I lifted the first.
It contained a tiny silver spoon.
The second held a miniature watch.
The third contained a pressed flower.
The fourth held a handwritten note.
My darling Marcus,
One day, you will understand why I love you more than anyone else in this world.
I frowned.
The words seemed strange now.
I opened the fifth box.
Inside was a photograph of Helen holding me as a baby.
On the back, she had written:
*My son, even if the world calls you something else.*
I felt my stomach tighten.
The sixth box contained a small gold bracelet.
The seventh held a hospital identification band.
My hands went cold.
The band was old and yellowed.
It carried a date.
The same date as my birth.
But the name printed on it wasn't Marcus Carter.
It read:
*Baby Helen Cole.*
I stared at it.
“Mom!””
Evelyn rushed up the attic stairs.
“What happened?””
I held up the bracelet.
She looked at it.
Then she covered her mouth.
“Oh, Marcus.””
I turned toward her.
“Why does this say Helen Cole?””
She sat down heavily.
“I don't know.””
I opened the eighth box.
Inside was a folded document.
It was a copy of a birth registration.
The mother's name was Helen Cole.
The father's name was Richard Cole.
And the baby's name was Marcus.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
“This says Richard is my biological father.””
Evelyn looked as if someone had struck her.
“No.””
“Mom, it's right here.””
She took the document.
Her hands trembled.
“Richard and Helen were married, but Helen told everyone she couldn't have children.””
I looked at the papers again.
“Maybe she lied.””
My mother shook her head.
“Daniel would have known.””
I opened the ninth box.
Empty.
The tenth contained another note.
If you ever find the truth, don't believe the first document you see. Your father knew the truth was more complicated than anyone imagined.
I looked at the remaining two boxes.
One was locked.
The other contained a small silver key.
I tried it.
The lock clicked.
Inside the eleventh box was a photograph.
It showed my father, Daniel, standing beside Richard and Helen.
They were holding three newborn babies.
Three.
Not one.
I brought the photograph closer to the light.
On the back, three names had been written.
*Marcus. Michael. Matthew.*
My mother gasped.
“Those are triplets.””
I stared at her.
“Triplets?””
She nodded slowly.
“Your father never mentioned that.””
I turned the photograph over again.
Three babies.
Three bracelets.
And beneath the names was a sentence written in my father's handwriting.
*Only one of these boys came home.*
My heart hammered.
“What happened to the other two?””
My mother didn't answer.
I opened the final silver box.
Inside was a small cassette recorder and a folded piece of paper.
The note contained a single sentence.
Marcus, if you are listening to this, then Richard has finally come looking for what he lost.
I pressed the recorder's play button.
Static crackled.
Then my father's voice filled the attic.
“Marcus, my son. If you've found this, there is something you must know.””
He paused.
I heard him take a shaky breath.
“Richard Cole is not your biological father.””
My mother grabbed my arm.
The recording continued.
“But he knows which of the three babies was his.””
A loud crack sounded from the bottom of the stairs.
We both turned.
Someone had entered the house.
Then a man's voice called from downstairs.
“Evelyn? Marcus?””
I recognized it immediately.
Richard Cole.
And he wasn't alone.
A second voice followed.
“Don't let them open the last box.””
May you like
My blood ran cold.
Because the second voice belonged to Vanessa.
