Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN ON THE RECORDING
The front door downstairs opened.
Dominic didn’t move.
Neither did Vanessa.
The tiny recorder remained in his hand, its screen glowing between his fingers while the voice of his dead wife seemed to hang in Sophie’s bedroom.
Thirty-seven recordings had been hidden inside the stuffed rabbit, several made during the same hours as Sophie’s worst episodes. And on the newest file, Vanessa’s voice had told the little girl to drink something before another woman said Vanessa had lied about the night she died.
Emma felt Sophie tighten her grip on her sleeve.
“Dominic,” Vanessa whispered.
He looked at her.
“Who is downstairs?”
Vanessa’s face changed.
That was enough.
Dominic crossed the room.
Vanessa grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
Emma expected anger.
Instead Dominic looked down at his sister’s hand until Vanessa slowly released him.
“You have five seconds,” he said.
Vanessa swallowed.
“She called me this afternoon.”
“Who?”
A man appeared in the bedroom doorway.
He was in his late fifties, gray-haired, rain darkening the shoulders of an expensive wool coat. He stopped when he saw Dominic.
Then Vanessa.
Then Sophie crouched beside Emma.
His expression fell.
“Vanessa,” he said quietly. “What did you do?”
Dominic turned.
“Dr. Mercer.”
Emma knew the name.
Samuel Mercer had been the Bellini family physician for nearly twenty years. His photograph hung beside Dominic’s father’s in the medical foundation downtown.
Dominic’s voice stayed controlled.
“Why are you in my house?”
Mercer looked at Vanessa again.
“She said Sophie was having another episode.”
“No.”
Dominic raised the recorder.
“She said something else.”
Vanessa closed her eyes.
Mercer’s gaze landed on the device.
All color left his face.
That terrified Emma more than surprise would have.
Mercer knew what it was.
Dominic saw that too.
“You recognize this?”
Mercer slowly removed his coat.
“I recognize the recorder.”
“Why?”
“It belonged to Elena.”
Silence.
Sophie’s mother.
Dominic’s wife.
The woman who had died eighteen months earlier when her car went through a guardrail on a rain-slicked road outside Bryn Mawr.
Dominic looked at the recorder as though it had become something alive.
“That was Elena?”
“Yes.”
“The second voice?”
“Yes.”
Dominic turned toward Vanessa.
“You knew?”
Vanessa’s chin trembled once.
“Yes.”
The admission struck harder than denial.
Dominic walked toward her.
Emma had seen dangerous men before.
She had cleaned hospital rooms after shootings, watched police officers stand beside beds while men with tattoos stared back without blinking.
Dominic was different.
His anger did not expand.
It narrowed.
“You let me bury my wife,” he said.
Vanessa’s eyes filled.
“She was dead.”
“Then explain her voice.”
“The recording is old.”
That stopped him.
Mercer stepped forward carefully.
“Elena made recordings before the accident.”
“Why?”
Neither answered.
Dominic laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“Everybody in this room seems to know things about my wife except me.”
Sophie suddenly whispered, “Red coat.”
Everyone looked at her.
Dominic’s anger disappeared instantly.
He lowered himself.
“What, sweetheart?”
Sophie pressed against Emma.
“Mommy’s red coat.”
Vanessa went rigid.
Emma noticed.
So did Dominic.
“What about Mommy’s coat?”
Sophie covered her mouth.
Vanessa whispered, “Don’t push her.”
Dominic slowly looked up.
“That is the first sensible thing you’ve said tonight.”
He returned his attention to Sophie.
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
Sophie stared at the floor.
Then she pointed toward her closet.
Emma stood.
Inside were tiny dresses, shoes lined carefully on shelves, winter sweaters, two school uniforms.
At the back hung a child-size red coat.
Dominic frowned.
“That isn’t Elena’s.”
“No,” Emma said.
Sophie shook her head.
“Mommy coat.”
She pointed higher.
Emma saw a garment bag resting on the top shelf.
Vanessa moved.
Dominic blocked her without even looking.
Emma pulled the bag down.
Dust covered the zipper.
Inside was a woman’s red wool coat.
Beautiful.
Expensive.
One sleeve was torn near the cuff.
Dominic touched it.
His face softened.
“Elena wore this the last night I saw her.”
Vanessa looked away.
Emma checked the pockets.
One was empty.
The other contained a small silver bracelet.
A child’s bracelet.
Three tiny stars.
Dominic stared at it.
“Sophie’s.”
Sophie touched her wrist unconsciously.
Vanessa whispered, “Dominic, please.”
He looked at his sister.
“You told me Elena left the house alone that night.”
“She did.”
“You told me Sophie was asleep.”
“She was.”
Sophie made a sound.
Not crying.
A sharp little breath.
Emma crouched beside her.
“You don’t have to remember.”
But Sophie whispered, “Car.”
Dominic froze.
“What car?”
The child squeezed Emma’s fingers.
“Aunt Nessa’s car.”
Vanessa backed into the dresser.
“No.”
Sophie looked up.
“You were there.”
“Sophie—”
“You yelled.”
Vanessa’s face collapsed.
Dominic rose slowly.
“You took my six-year-old daughter out that night?”
“She was four.”
The correction slipped out.
Everyone heard it.
Dominic stepped closer.
“You took my four-year-old daughter out the night her mother died?”
Vanessa began crying.
Not theatrically.
Quietly.
Like someone whose strength had finally failed.
“I was trying to bring her home.”
“Elena?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
Vanessa pressed a hand against her mouth.
Mercer spoke.
“Dominic.”
“Don’t.”
“There’s something you need to understand.”
Dominic turned on him.
“I have been understanding everyone for eighteen months.”
His voice finally rose.
Sophie flinched.
Dominic stopped instantly.
Regret crossed his face.
He knelt and lowered his voice.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
Sophie studied him.
Then she touched the tattoo on his wrist.
“You mad at me?”
Dominic closed his eyes.
Emma saw something break inside him.
“Never.”
Sophie nodded uncertainly.
Emma looked toward Mercer.
“What was Vanessa giving her?”
Everyone turned.
The sweet medicinal smell still clung to the rabbit.
Mercer’s face tightened.
Vanessa answered.
“Hydroxyzine.”
Dominic stared.
“You medicated my daughter without telling me?”
“It was prescribed.”
“By whom?”
Mercer raised his hand slightly.
“Me.”
Dominic went still.
Mercer continued before he could speak.
“Low dose. For severe anxiety. It can make children sleepy, but Vanessa was never supposed to give it without notifying you.”
Dominic looked at Vanessa.
“Why did you?”
Her answer came barely above a whisper.
“Because she started remembering.”
The room changed.
Emma felt it.
Dominic did too.
“Remembering what?”
Vanessa looked at Sophie.
Then at the red coat.
“The bridge.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
“Elena died on Mill Creek Road.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“No.”
Mercer closed his eyes.
Dominic stared at both of them.
“What bridge?”
Vanessa began to speak.
Sophie suddenly pulled away from Emma and ran to the little desk beside the window.
She opened a drawer.
Inside were crayons and folded paper.
She pulled out a drawing.
Crude figures.
A black car.
Rain.
A red coat.
Three people standing beside a stone bridge.
Emma saw a little girl drawn beneath a yellow umbrella.
Beside her stood a woman in red.
Beside the woman stood another figure.
Tall.
Black clothes.
Sophie carried the page to Dominic.
He took it carefully.
“Who is this?”
He pointed to the tall figure.
Sophie’s lip trembled.
“The man Mommy was scared of.”
Vanessa whispered, “Sophie, honey—”
Dominic silenced her with a look.
He pointed to the figure again.
“Did you know him?”
Sophie nodded.
Dominic’s face tightened.
“Who was he?”
The little girl looked directly at her father.
Then she said the last name Dominic expected.
“Uncle Michael.”
Dominic stopped breathing.
Emma looked between them.
There had been no Michael mentioned anywhere in the house.
No photographs.
No stories.
Nothing.
Dominic’s hand lowered.
“My brother Michael died sixteen years ago.”
May you like
Sophie shook her head.
“He told Mommy that too.”
