Chapter 7: The Name in the File
The sound upstairs came again.
A slow creak.
Then a soft thud.
Nobody breathed.
Dad looked toward the staircase.
“Isaiah, stay here.””
Isaiah shook his head.
“No.””
“Isaiah.””
“I’m not letting you go up there alone.””
Derek stepped forward.
“I’ll go.””
Dad turned on him.
“This is my house.””
Derek stopped.
“I wasn't trying to—”
“I know what you were trying to do.””
Dad started toward the stairs.
I grabbed his arm.
“Dad.””
He looked at me.
“What?””
“What if someone is actually up there?””
His expression hardened.
“Then we'll find out who.””
Vanessa suddenly whispered, “Don't.””
Dad stopped.
“Why?””
She stared at the staircase.
“Because nobody should be upstairs.””
Derek's face changed.
“What did you do?””
Vanessa shook her head.
“Nothing.””
“Vanessa,” Dad said, “start talking.””
“I didn't put anyone up there.””
“Then why are you scared?””
She didn't answer.
A second later, something fell upstairs.
A heavy crash.
Isaiah jumped.
Dad immediately moved.
I followed.
The hallway upstairs was dimmer than the kitchen, the sunlight broken into long stripes across the carpet.
Dad checked my bedroom first.
Empty.
The bed was untouched.
The closet door stood open.
He checked Isaiah's room.
Empty.
Then the guest room.
Nothing.
“Where is everybody?”” Isaiah whispered.
Dad turned.
“Nobody's here.””
Derek shook his head.
“Someone was.””
I looked at the floor.
There was a trail of tiny wet footprints.
They led from the bathroom toward the hallway.
My heart started pounding.
“Dad.””
He crouched.
The footprints were fresh.
Isaiah whispered, “Maybe they went downstairs.””
Derek looked toward the bathroom.
“No.””
He walked over.
The bathroom door was open.
Inside, a window stood raised three inches.
The screen had been cut.
Dad stared.
“Someone came through here.””
I stepped closer.
“Why?””
Nobody answered.
Then Isaiah noticed something beneath the window.
A small black USB drive.
He picked it up.
“What's this?””
Derek's face went pale.
“Don't touch it.””
Isaiah froze.
“Why?””
“Because I know what that is.””
Dad took it from him.
“What?””
Derek looked at Vanessa.
“She gave me one just like it.””
Vanessa's eyes widened.
“No.””
“Yes.””
“When?””
“Three days ago.””
Dad looked at Vanessa.
“You gave Derek a USB drive?””
“I didn't.””
Derek stared at her.
“You did.””
“I never saw you three days ago.””
“You sent it to my apartment.””
Vanessa's mouth opened.
“I don't have your address.””
“You've had it for twenty years.””
Dad looked between them.
“What's on it?””
Derek hesitated.
“Hospital records.””
I felt my stomach twist.
“About my mother?””
“Yes.””
Dad looked at the USB.
“Let's go downstairs.””
We returned to the kitchen.
Dad connected the drive to his laptop.
A folder appeared.
*REED FAMILY — 1998*
My hands went cold.
There were dozens of files.
Medical reports.
Hospital invoices.
Birth records.
Scanned photographs.
And one video.
Dad clicked it.
The screen showed a hospital hallway.
My mother was sitting in a chair.
She looked exhausted.
Pregnant.
Very pregnant.
I covered my mouth.
“That was before I was born.””
Derek nodded.
My mother looked toward the camera.
Then someone stepped into frame.
Vanessa's sister.
I had seen her once at a funeral years ago.
My mother's face changed when she saw her.
She stood.
“What are you doing here?””
The recording had no sound.
But the body language was clear.
They were arguing.
My mother pointed toward her stomach.
Then toward a hospital room.
Her sister shook her head.
Suddenly, another person entered the frame.
A man.
I leaned closer.
Derek whispered, “That's Dr. Collins.””
Dad looked at him.
“Who?””
“He was the doctor who handled the delivery.””
“Why would he be talking to Vanessa's sister?””
Derek didn't answer.
The video continued.
My mother handed something to Dr. Collins.
A document.
He looked at it.
Then he looked toward Vanessa's sister.
She nodded.
My mother suddenly grabbed the document back.
She began shaking her head.
The screen went black.
“What the hell was that?”” Dad asked.
Derek rubbed his forehead.
“I don't know.””
I stared at the screen.
“Play the next file.””
Dad clicked.
A scanned document appeared.
It was a hospital incident report.
My mother's name.
The date of my birth.
And a handwritten note.
*Mother requested paternity testing. Request denied by attending physician.*
Dad's face hardened.
“Denied?””
Derek leaned toward the screen.
“That's not what happened.””
“What happened?””
“Your mother told me the hospital agreed to the test.””
“Then why does this say denied?””
Derek scrolled.
There was another note.
*Patient became distressed. Family member requested privacy.*
Dad turned toward Vanessa.
“Who requested privacy?””
Vanessa looked sick.
“My sister.””
“Why?””
“I don't know.””
“You expect me to believe that?””
“I was not there.””
Derek pointed at the screen.
“Your sister was.””
Dad stared at him.
“How do you know?””
“Because I saw her.””
“When?””
“The night Nia was born.””
I looked at Derek.
“You were there?””
He nodded.
“I waited outside.””
“Why?””
“Your mother told me she'd meet me after the birth.””
“What happened?””
“She never came.””
Dad looked at him.
“She didn't want you there.””
“No.””
Derek shook his head.
“She was afraid.””
“Of you?””
“Of someone else.””
I remembered the note.
*The danger isn't Derek.*
I looked at Vanessa.
“Your sister.””
Vanessa closed her eyes.
“Yes.””
The word barely came out.
Dad stepped closer.
“What did she do?””
“I don't know.””
“You know something.””
Vanessa's voice broke.
“She threatened my sister.””
“With what?””
“I don't know.””
“Vanessa.””
“She said if my sister told anyone about the paternity test, she'd lose her job.””
Derek stared.
“That's why the report disappeared.””
Vanessa nodded.
“Your sister took it.””
“Why?””
“She said she was protecting the hospital.””
Dad laughed bitterly.
“Protecting the hospital?””
Vanessa shook her head.
“No.””
“Then what?””
Vanessa looked at me.
“She was protecting a doctor.””
Dr. Collins.
The room went silent.
I stared at the laptop.
“Why?””
Vanessa whispered, “Because Dr. Collins was taking money.””
“From who?””
“I don't know.””
Derek suddenly looked toward the window.
“Wait.””
“What?”” Dad asked.
Derek stood.
“Who else knew about the paternity test?””
Vanessa hesitated.
“My sister.””
“Your sister is dead.””
“Yes.””
“Dr. Collins?””
“He died six years ago.””
“Then who is left?””
Nobody answered.
Isaiah looked at the laptop.
“Maybe the files aren't the only thing on the drive.””
Dad looked at him.
“What do you mean?””
Isaiah clicked the folder properties.
“There are hidden files.””
Derek stepped closer.
“How many?””
“Four.””
Isaiah opened the first.
A photograph appeared.
My mother.
Holding me as a newborn.
Her face was exhausted but happy.
Someone stood behind her.
Dad.
Then another person.
Derek.
I stared.
“Why are both of them there?””
Dad shook his head.
“I wasn't in that room.””
Derek said quietly, “Neither was I.””
Isaiah opened the second hidden file.
A scanned envelope.
Addressed to *Marcus Reed*.
Date: two weeks before my mother's death.
Dad's breathing stopped.
He clicked the third.
A typed statement appeared.
*I know what happened to my daughter.*
My mother's name was underneath.
I read the first line.
*Marcus, if you receive this, do not trust anyone who tells you my death was an accident.*
Dad whispered, “Oh God.””
The next line appeared.
*The person who caused it has been close to our family for years.*
I looked at Vanessa.
She was crying.
Dad kept reading.
Then he stopped.
“What?””
I leaned closer.
At the bottom of the document was a name.
Not Vanessa.
Not her sister.
Not Derek.
It was someone else.
Someone whose presence in our lives had always seemed harmless.
Dad whispered the name.
“Raymond.””
I frowned.
“Who is Raymond?””
Vanessa looked up sharply.
“My sister's husband.””
Derek's face drained of color.
“He's alive?””
“Yes.””
“And he lives where?””
Vanessa didn't answer.
Dad looked at her.
“Where?””
She swallowed.
“In the house next door.””
A car door slammed outside.
Everyone turned toward the window.
A man's voice called from the driveway.
“Marcus?””
Dad stepped toward the blinds.
Then stopped.
May you like
Because the voice belonged to Raymond.
And he was standing outside our front door holding a gun.