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It takes me a bit to get it unlocked, then I lift the lid.
Inside are folders stuffed with old newspaper clippings, articles, and data on random people.
“This must be where he keeps his files for his old cases,” I mumble as I fan through the papers, feeling mildly disappointed.
I’m uncertain what I thought I was going to find in here, but part of me was hoping something would carry the answer to all my problems. I guess that was kind of stupid of me. If I’ve learned one thing in this life, it’s that nothing is that easy …
A photo of my mom falls out of one of the folders. I pick it up and examine it. She’s sitting in a coffee shop, reading a newspaper, and wearing yoga pants and a pink tank top.
Strange. Usually, Mom was decked out in dark colors, boots, and a leather jacket. And she always wore her hair down in wild waves. However, in the photo, her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail. In fact, if it weren’t for her face, I wouldn’t have recognized her. But even her face looks different, with more wrinkles than I remember.
“When was this taken?” I mumble as I grab the file the photo fell out of.
Inside are stacks of photos of my mom doing ordinary things—eating dinner in a house with some guy, walking down the sidewalk, sitting in the park. What’s even more odd is that, from the angle the photos were taken, I’m guessing my mom wasn’t aware she was being photographed. In fact, if it were just some random woman in the photos, I’d assume my dad took these while he was working a case and doing surveillance on someone.
I take out the rest of the items that are inside the folder: a list of addresses and a passport that belongs to my mom, except her last name isn’t listed as Harlyton. It’s listed as Averly, which isn’t even my mom’s maiden name.
What the hell is going on? Where the hell did this passport come from? Why the hell does my dad have these photos? Who took them? And, when were they taken?
My thoughts stray back to the woman I saw in the SUV earlier today. She looked so much like my mom … but my mom died in a car accident—that much I know.
Don’t I?
I can’t help thinking about the lack of memories I have of when my mom passed away, how the only things I can recall are some guys showing up and taking me.
What if she really didn’t die? The only reason I ever thought she was dead is because Dad told me she was. I can’t remember going to a funeral, can’t remember anything about her death, other than the sound of the crash and what my dad told me happened.
But, why would my dad pretend she died? And, where is she?
“No, there’s no way she could still be alive. I’d know if she was. She’d be here if she was.” I shake my head. “These photos had to be taken before she died … Maybe my dad thought she was cheating on him or something and tailed her.”
I glance at the photo again. Sure, my mom looks older in it, but perhaps my memories are messed up. It’s not like I have the greatest track record with my memories.
Still, I can’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, my mom didn’t die in that crash. Maybe my dad lied about her death. But, if that’s the case, then where the hell has she been all these years?
And why did she abandon us?
51
HADLEY
I allowmyself about ten minutes of sitting on the floor before I pull myself together. I stuff the photos, the passport, and the list of addresses back into the folder and take it with me as I leave the room. Then I go into my bedroom where I stuff the file underneath my mattress before heading to check on Payton.
“Get yourself together,” I mutter as I make my way down the hallway toward Payton’s shut bedroom door. “You’ve got to be strong right now. For them.”
By the time I reach her bedroom door, I’ve gotten myself under control, at least enough that I appear composed.
“Payton!” I call out, banging on the door. The music is cranked up so loudly that the floor vibrates. “Open up!”
Nothing.
A bit of panic flickers inside me as I try the doorknob.
Locked.
I pluck the hairpin from my pocket and work on picking the lock. I get it unlocked in record time and shove open the door. My gaze skims the small bedroom, the unmade beds, and the clothes covering the shaggy carpet, and my panic skyrockets.
Payton is nowhere to be seen and the window is open.
