Chapter 2: The Room Nobody Was Allowed to Enter
I didn't sleep that night.
At 11:40 p.m., I stood outside Elena's bedroom with the brass key in my hand.
The east corridor was dark except for the light coming from the chandelier at the far end. Rain tapped against the tall windows, and somewhere downstairs, the old grandfather clock chimed.
Vanessa had gone to her room after insisting that she needed time to explain everything.
I hadn't given her that time.
I had given her one instruction.
Stay away from the east corridor.
Now I stood alone in front of the door.
The brass handle was cold.
I inserted the key.
It turned.
The lock clicked.
And the door opened.
The smell hit me first.
Lavender.
Elena's perfume.
Not the faint scent of an old room that had been closed for years.
A fresh, unmistakable fragrance.
I stepped inside.
The bedside lamp was unplugged, but the room was strangely clean. The cream-colored curtains had been washed. The dressing table was dust-free. A small vase of white roses stood beside the mirror.
Fresh roses.
I walked farther inside.
Elena's wedding photograph was still on the bedside table.
I remembered that picture.
She had been laughing because the photographer had told me to smile, and I had refused.
She had whispered, "One day, Vincent, you'll be happy you have this picture.""
I had told her I would rather have a thousand more days with her than a thousand photographs.
Now I stood in the room where she had once slept and struggled to breathe.
“Why did you leave me, Elena?””
My voice sounded unfamiliar.
I walked toward the wardrobe.
The doors were closed.
I opened them.
Her dresses were still there.
The blue one she wore to our first anniversary dinner.
The black one I had bought her in Paris.
The pale yellow cardigan she wore when she was cold.
I touched the sleeve.
It was soft.
And it smelled like her.
Someone had been maintaining this wardrobe.
Someone had been keeping her clothes clean.
Someone had been inside this room recently.
I stepped away.
Then I noticed something on the dressing table.
A small glass jewelry box.
Inside was Elena's wedding ring.
I recognized the tiny scratch near the diamond. I had accidentally made it when we were moving into the mansion.
But there was something else inside the box.
A folded piece of paper.
I opened it.
If Vincent finds this room, don't let him trust Vanessa.
My stomach tightened.
I read it again.
The handwriting was Elena's.
There was no mistaking it.
I turned the paper over.
A second sentence had been written beneath the first.
The chest is not what she says it is.
I heard a floorboard creak behind me.
I turned.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
She was no longer wearing the red gown. She had changed into a white silk robe, and her hair was tied loosely behind her head.
“Vincent,” she said softly.
I folded the note.
“What are you doing here?””
“I heard you walking around.””
“You heard me?””
“This is my house too.””
I stared at her.
“Is it?””
Her expression hardened.
“Don't start.””
I held up the wedding ring.
“Why was this in here?””
Vanessa looked at it.
For a fraction of a second, something flashed across her face.
Then she shrugged.
“I kept it safe.””
“From whom?””
“From you, apparently.””
I took a step toward her.
“Why is Elena's bedroom being maintained?””
“Because I didn't want the staff disturbing it.””
“Why are there fresh roses?””
She looked toward the vase.
“I like flowers.””
“Those are Elena's favorite flowers.””
“Vincent, must everything be a crime scene?””
I placed the note on the dressing table.
“Read it.””
She glanced at the handwriting.
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
“You know this handwriting,” I said.
“Of course I do.””
“Then tell me why my wife wrote your name.””
Vanessa's eyes moved toward the door.
“Because she was sick.””
I went still.
“What?””
“She wasn't thinking clearly toward the end.””
“What end?””
“The end of your marriage.””
I felt something cold move through my chest.
“My marriage ended when you told me she died.””
Vanessa sighed.
“Vincent, I know this is difficult, but Elena was unstable. She was paranoid. She thought everyone was plotting against her.””
“Who told you that?””
“She told me herself.””
“Then why did she write that I shouldn't trust you?””
Vanessa's voice rose.
“Because she hated me!””
The words bounced off the walls.
I stared at her.
“Why?””
She pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“Because you trusted me. Because I was the one helping you run this household while she was constantly disappearing. She thought I was replacing her.””
“Were you?””
Vanessa said nothing.
I moved toward the dressing table.
A small drawer was slightly open.
Inside, I noticed a stack of envelopes.
All addressed to me.
My name was written across the front in Elena's handwriting.
Vincent Whitmore.
I pulled them out.
There were twelve.
Each one had a date.
The first was dated two months before Elena's supposed death.
The last was dated nearly a year afterward.
My throat tightened.
“Why are these here?””
Vanessa moved toward me.
“Don't touch those.””
I looked at her.
“Why?””
“They're personal.””
“They're addressed to me.””
“She wasn't well when she wrote them.””
I opened the first envelope.
Inside was a single page.
My love,
I know you believe I am safe. I know you believe Vanessa is helping me. But something is happening in this house, and I am afraid to tell you what it is.
I stopped reading.
Vanessa reached for the letter.
I pulled it away.
“Don't touch me.””
“Vincent, listen to me.””
I opened another.
You need to check the hospital records. Ask who signed the papers. Ask why nobody allowed you to see my body.
My hands went numb.
I looked up.
“Why wasn't I allowed to see her body?””
Vanessa's face went pale.
“You were sedated.””
“I was not.””
“You had a breakdown.””
“I asked to see my wife.””
“You weren't thinking clearly.””
“I was her husband!””
My voice cracked.
For seven years, I had carried the image of a closed coffin through every anniversary, every birthday, every lonely night.
I had buried an empty feeling without knowing it might have been a lie.
I stepped closer.
“Tell me what happened that night.””
Vanessa shook her head.
“I've told you a hundred times.””
“Tell me again.””
“She disappeared. The police found evidence near the river. They identified her belongings. The hospital confirmed—”
“Which hospital?””
She stopped.
I narrowed my eyes.
“Which hospital, Vanessa?””
She swallowed.
“St. Mary's.””
I pulled out my phone.
“Then I'll call them.””
“It's midnight!””
“I don't care.””
I dialed the number of the hospital administrator I knew through my business connections.
The call rang several times.
A tired male voice answered.
“St. Mary's Medical Records. How may I help you?””
“This is Vincent Whitmore. I need information about a patient named Elena Morgan, admitted seven years ago.””
There was a pause.
“Could you repeat the name?””
“Elena Morgan. She was supposedly declared dead.””
The man typed something.
Then he went silent.
“Sir?””
“Yes?””
“I'm not finding a death record under that name.””
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“Check again.””
“I'm checking the archived system.””
Vanessa stepped toward me.
“Vincent, hang up.””
I ignored her.
The administrator spoke again.
“Sir, I found an admission record.””
My heart hammered.
“What does it say?””
“It says Elena Morgan was admitted under a confidential patient designation.””
“Was she alive?””
Another pause.
“Yes, sir. According to this record, she was.””
I closed my eyes.
“On what date?””
“Seven years ago. The same night your wife was reported missing.””
I looked at Vanessa.
She was staring at the phone.
Her mouth had opened slightly.
The administrator continued.
“There's also a note indicating that a visitor requested her records be sealed.””
“Who?””
The man hesitated.
“I can't release that information without authorization.””
“I'm her husband.””
“I'm sorry, sir. The authorization was signed by someone listed as her legal representative.””
I looked at the screen.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me since I opened the bedroom door.
“Who signed it?””
The administrator paused.
Then he read the name.
“Vanessa Whitmore.””
I lowered the phone.
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Vanessa stepped forward.
“Vincent, I can explain.””
I stared at her.
“You signed my wife's medical records?””
“It's not what you think.””
“You told me she died.””
“I was protecting you!””
“From what?””
She opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
I turned toward the hallway.
“We're going to the hospital.””
She grabbed my arm.
“Not tonight.””
I pulled away.
“Don't ever touch me again.””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“You don't understand what Elena did.””
I stopped.
“What did Elena do?””
Vanessa looked toward the open wardrobe.
Then she whispered something I never expected to hear.
“She wasn't supposed to survive that night.””
My blood ran cold.
Before I could respond, a noise came from the corridor.
A soft metallic click.
I turned toward the door.
Someone was standing outside.
A woman.
Wearing a pale blue dress.
Her face was hidden by the darkness.
I took one step forward.
“Who's there?””
The figure moved.
And I heard a voice I had spent seven years believing I would never hear again.
“Vincent?””
My heart stopped.
The woman stepped into the light.
I knew that face.
I knew those eyes.
I knew the small scar above her left eyebrow.
“Elena?””
She looked at me.
Then at Vanessa.
And tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered.
Vanessa backed away.
“No.””
Elena took another step into the room.
“Vincent, you need to listen to me.””
I couldn't move.
My wife was standing in front of me.
Alive.
May you like
But before I could reach her, she said something that shattered the last piece of my understanding.
“Don't open that chest until you know what happened to our daughter.””
