Chapter 2: The Photograph on the Floor
Eli picked up the photograph with both hands.
The old paper trembled between his fingers. He studied the smiling toddler, the woman's face, and the distinctive scar curving along the child's neck.
Then he turned the photograph over.
There was faded handwriting on the back.
My little boy, Adrian Jr. — his second birthday.
Eli read the words twice.
“Adrian Jr.?”” he whispered.
Adrian reached for the photograph, but Eli pulled it against his chest.
“Where did you get this?””
“My mother.””
“No. I mean, who is that woman?””
Adrian's gaze flickered toward the photograph.
“Her name was Vanessa.””
“Was?””
Adrian's jaw tightened.
“She's gone.””
Eli looked down at the woman's face again. She had a gentle smile, one arm wrapped around the toddler's waist.
For a moment, something stirred in his memory. A familiar perfume. A soft voice humming near a hospital bed. The sensation of tiny fingers holding his hand.
But the images vanished before he could grasp them.
Marcus approached with a fresh napkin.
“Mr. Blackwood, the manager wants to know whether we should close this section until the broken glass is cleared.””
“Tell him to wait,” Adrian replied.
Marcus looked at Eli, then at the photograph.
“Sir, is everything all right?””
“No.””
The answer came so quietly that Marcus almost missed it.
Adrian rose and pulled out a chair.
“Eli, sit down.””
Eli remained standing.
“Why?””
“Because I need to ask you some questions.””
“You said I could have a dollar.””
“I'll give you more than a dollar.””
“That's what rich people say when they want something.””
The words struck Adrian harder than the boy could have known.
He glanced at Marcus.
“Bring him a sandwich, some fruit, and water. Whatever he wants.””
Marcus hesitated.
“Of course, sir.””
“And don't put it on his tab.””
Marcus hurried inside.
Adrian turned back to Eli.
“How old are you?””
“Eleven.””
“When's your birthday?””
“November third.””
Adrian's face went pale.
His son's birthday had been November third.
“What year?””
Eli frowned.
“Why does that matter?””
“Please.””
“Two thousand fifteen.””
Adrian gripped the edge of the table.
The date matched.
The scar matched.
Even the boy's age matched.
But one question remained, a question he was terrified to ask because he already knew what the answer might mean.
“Did your mother ever tell you that you were adopted?””
Eli's expression changed instantly.
“No.””
“Did she ever tell you where you were born?””
“At Saint Catherine's Hospital.””
Adrian shut his eyes.
Saint Catherine's was where his son had been treated after the crash.
For a moment, the sounds of the café seemed to fade. He could still remember the hospital corridor, the smell of antiseptic, the doctor standing in front of him with a folder pressed against his chest.
We did everything we could.
Those words had destroyed him.
He opened his eyes again.
“Eli, what's your mother's full name?””
The boy hesitated.
“Danielle Carter.””
Adrian stared at him.
Danielle.
He knew that name.
Not from the hospital.
From eleven years ago, when a young nurse had approached him after the crash and insisted that something about the paperwork didn't make sense.
A nurse who had disappeared from the hospital before he could speak to her again.
Adrian swallowed.
“Where is Danielle now?””
“At home.””
“Where is home?””
Eli immediately stepped backward.
“You're not going to hurt her, are you?””
“No.””
“Because she told me rich men lie when they're scared.””
Adrian couldn't argue with that.
“I'm not going to hurt your mother,” he said.
“I need to talk to her.””
Eli shook his head.
“She doesn't talk about you.””
“About me?””
“My father.””
Adrian looked as if the boy had struck him.
Eli continued, his voice growing sharper.
“When I asked why I didn't have a dad, she said he had money, cars, and a big house. She said he knew I was alive and chose to leave me behind.””
“That isn't true.””
“How do you know?””
Adrian opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
How could he tell an eleven-year-old that he had spent years visiting a grave that might not belong to his son? How could he explain that every birthday, he had bought a small toy and placed it beside a photograph because he couldn't bear to let the world forget the child he believed he'd lost?
Instead, he said, “I thought my son was dead.””
Eli's face went still.
“Your son?””
Adrian nodded.
“I had a little boy. He disappeared after a car accident. The hospital told me he didn't survive.””
Eli looked down at the photograph.
Then he looked at his own hands.
“Maybe you're talking about somebody else.””
“Maybe,” Adrian whispered.
But neither man believed it.
Marcus returned carrying a tray with a sandwich, apple slices, and a bottle of water. He set it in front of Eli.
“Here you go, young man.””
Eli stared at the food.
His stomach growled loudly enough for Adrian to hear.
“Thank you,” Eli murmured.
He picked up the sandwich but didn't eat.
Adrian sat opposite him.
“You don't have to be afraid of me.””
Eli's eyes filled with tears, though he fought to keep them from falling.
“I'm not afraid of you.””
“Then what are you afraid of?””
Eli looked toward the street, where Adrian's black sedan gleamed in the sunlight.
“My mother said if anyone ever asked about the scar, I should run.””
Adrian went completely still.
“Why would she say that?””
Eli shook his head.
“She never told me.””
“Did she tell you who gave you the scar?””
“No.””
“Did she tell you what happened in the crash?””
Eli's sandwich lowered slowly.
“What crash?””
Adrian's heart hammered.
“You just told me you had surgery when you were little.””
“My mom said I was sick. She said doctors saved my life.””
Adrian leaned forward.
“Eli, listen to me. I need you to answer one more question.””
The boy looked at him.
Adrian's voice broke.
“Has your mother ever shown you a photograph of a man wearing a silver watch with a black face?””
Eli stopped breathing for a second.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“My mom keeps this in a box,” he whispered.
“I found it last week.””
He unfolded it.
It was a photograph of a younger Adrian standing beside a black car outside Saint Catherine's Hospital.
On his wrist was the same silver watch.
On the back, someone had written six words in red ink.
*HE MUST NEVER FIND HIS SON.*
Adrian stared at the message.
Then Eli looked up and whispered, “Sir, why would somebody write that?””
Before Adrian could answer, his phone rang.
May you like
The name on the screen made his blood run cold.
*DANIELLE CARTER.*
