Chapter 3 - The Girl in the Red Coat
Claire wanted to leave immediately.
Detective Quinn refused.
“If Sophie is the child named in those documents, we approach this carefully.”
“She’s my daughter.”
“She may be.”
Claire turned on her.
“She is.”
Quinn did not flinch.
“And if she is, she is also a seven-year-old child who has spent her entire life believing someone else is her family.”
The words hurt because they were true.
Claire sank into a chair in the manor library.
Ethan stood at the fireplace.
Neither had spoken for several minutes.
Finally, Claire looked at him.
“You’ve met her.”
Ethan turned.
“Who?”
“Sophie.”
He hesitated.
That hesitation answered her.
“How many times?”
“Claire—”
“How many times have you seen her?”
“Maybe twenty.”
She stared.
Twenty.
While Claire had spent years grieving a dead child, Ethan had stood in rooms with a little girl who might be their daughter.
He had heard her laugh.
He had seen her grow.
He had probably watched her open Christmas presents.
Something irrational and terrible rose inside Claire.
“You knew her.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You held her?”
Ethan’s expression crumpled slightly.
“Once.”
Claire stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.
“When?”
“She was three.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“She fell asleep at a family picnic.”
Claire could barely look at him.
“Did she look like me?”
“I never thought about it.”
“Think now.”
He closed his eyes.
Claire waited.
When Ethan opened them, guilt was written across his face.
“Yes.”
One word.
It nearly broke her.
“How did you not see it?”
“Because I believed Rose was dead.”
His voice rose for the first time.
“Because I watched a doctor tell us her heart stopped.”
“Because I held you while you screamed.”
“Because my mother arranged a funeral.”
“Because I spent seven years hating myself for not being able to save either of you.”
Claire froze.
“Either of us?”
Ethan looked away.
She understood.
“You thought I left because of you.”
“You left a letter.”
“No.”
Claire’s voice was flat.
“I didn’t.”
He turned back.
“What?”
“I never wrote you a letter.”
Ethan stared.
Claire walked toward him.
“What did it say?”
He did not answer.
“Ethan.”
His face looked suddenly younger.
“It said you couldn’t stay in that house.”
Claire swallowed.
“That part would have been true.”
“It said every room reminded you of Rose.”
Her eyes burned.
“What else?”
“It said seeing me made it worse.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“What else?”
“That you blamed me.”
Her eyes opened.
“I never blamed you.”
“You wrote that if I loved you, I wouldn’t look for you.”
“I didn’t write any of it.”
Ethan stared at her as if the floor had vanished beneath him.
“My mother gave me the letter.”
“Of course she did.”
He walked away.
Then he turned and struck the edge of the desk with his palm.
A lamp rattled.
Claire flinched.
Ethan immediately stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head.
He stared at the floor.
“For seven years, I thought you hated me.”
“For seven years, I thought you let her throw me away.”
Neither spoke.
Detective Quinn returned.
“I spoke to a judge.”
Claire straightened.
“We’re not doing a midnight raid on Ruth Gray’s house.”
“Why?”
“Because we have documents that may be forged.”
“They aren’t.”
“We still need confirmation.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Two officers are watching the property.”
Claire hated the answer.
Quinn continued.
“No one enters or leaves without us knowing.”
“And tomorrow?”
“We request DNA testing through an emergency court order.”
Ethan stepped forward.
“What if my aunt tries to run?”
“Then she won’t get far.”
Claire wrapped her arms around herself.
“Does Ruth know?”
Quinn looked at her.
“That is the question.”
At 6:12 the next morning, the answer became more complicated.
Ruth Gray disappeared.
The officers watching her house saw no one leave through the front or back doors.
At 5:47 a.m., they discovered a basement exit leading into a wooded area.
A car had been waiting on an access road.
Ruth was gone.
Sophie was gone with her.
Claire learned this from Quinn while standing in the manor kitchen.
The cup in her hand shattered on the floor.
“No.”
“Claire.”
“No.”
Ethan moved toward her.
She backed away.
“This is what happened last time.”
“What?”
“Everyone tells me to wait.”
Her voice shook.
“Everyone tells me professionals are handling it.”
“Everyone tells me I need to calm down.”
“And then my child disappears.”
Quinn remained calm.
“We have a regional alert.”
“She could be anywhere.”
“We have her vehicle information.”
“She left in another vehicle.”
“We have cameras on the surrounding roads.”
Claire grabbed her coat.
Ethan stepped in front of her.
“Where are you going?”
“To Ruth’s house.”
“Why?”
“Because I am not sitting here.”
He watched her.
Then he picked up his own coat.
“I’m coming.”
Ruth Gray lived in a modest white farmhouse surrounded by maple trees.
It was nothing like Ashford Manor.
There were flowerpots on the porch.
A bicycle leaned against the garage.
A child’s chalk drawings covered part of the driveway.
Claire stopped beside one.
A crooked family of three stood beneath a yellow sun.
One figure was labeled GRANDMA.
Another was ME.
The third was a dog.
Claire pressed her lips together.
Ethan stood behind her.
“She’s real.”
Claire whispered it.
“I know.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You don’t understand.”
“For seven years, Rose existed only in my head.”
“She never got older.”
“She was always a newborn.”
“Now there are drawings.”
“A bicycle.”
“She has favorite colors.”
“She probably hates vegetables.”
“She has nightmares.”
“She has friends.”
“She’s been living an entire life while I was mourning her.”
Ethan’s eyes shone.
“So was I.”
Claire looked away.
Inside the farmhouse, police searched every room.
Quinn allowed Claire and Ethan into the living room after investigators finished photographing it.
Family photographs covered a shelf.
Claire stopped in front of one.
A girl with dark brown hair smiled at the camera.
She had Ethan’s eyes.
Claire’s chin.
And beneath her left ear was a small crescent-shaped birthmark.
Claire’s legs gave way.
Ethan caught her.
She did not pull away.
Not this time.
“That’s her.”
Her voice broke.
“That’s my baby.”
Ethan stared at the photograph.
A tear slid down his face.
Neither moved.
Quinn approached quietly.
“We found something.”
She led them upstairs.
Sophie’s bedroom had pale green walls.
Books lined one shelf.
Stars had been painted on the ceiling.
A stuffed rabbit sat on the bed.
Claire stopped in the doorway.
It hurt more than the hospital.
Because this room contained seven years of things she had missed.
On the desk lay a notebook.
Quinn wore gloves as she opened it.
Most pages contained childish drawings.
Animals.
Flowers.
A castle.
Then Quinn reached the final page.
A woman had been drawn in blue crayon.
The woman had long brown hair.
Beside her stood a man in black.
Between them was a little girl.
Above the picture, Sophie had written five words.
THE FAMILY FROM MY DREAM.
Claire stared.
Ethan looked at her.
“That could mean anything.”
But his voice did not sound convinced.
Quinn turned another page.
There was writing on the back.
Grandma says the lady is not real.
Claire stopped breathing.
Quinn looked toward the door.
“Was Sophie ever shown photographs of Claire?”
Ethan shook his head.
“Not that I know of.”
Claire touched the edge of the desk.
Then an officer called from downstairs.
“Detective.”
Quinn left.
Claire stayed beside the notebook.
Ethan moved around the bedroom.
He stopped near the closet.
“What is that?”
A small digital camera sat behind a stack of books.
Claire picked it up.
The battery was nearly dead.
Ethan switched it on.
There were dozens of photographs.
The dog.
The garden.
Birthday cakes.
Ruth sleeping on a sofa.
Then video files.
Claire opened the newest.
The recording was from the previous night.
Sophie had apparently placed the camera on her desk.
Ruth stood in the bedroom doorway.
Her face was pale.
“Pack your backpack.”
Sophie sounded confused.
“Why?”
“We’re taking a trip.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Is Grandma Eleanor coming?”
Ruth froze.
Claire looked at Ethan.
The video continued.
“No.”
“Did she call again?”
Ruth walked toward the camera.
“Who told you she called?”
“I heard you.”
“What did you hear?”
Sophie hesitated.
“You said Claire came back.”
Claire gripped Ethan’s arm.
Ruth’s voice became sharp.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“Who’s Claire?”
No answer.
Sophie continued.
“Is she the lady in my dream?”
Ruth stared at the child.
Then she whispered something.
Claire replayed it.
This time, they heard clearly.
“Oh God.”
Ruth sat on the edge of the bed.
“Sophie.”
“Yes?”
“If anyone asks, I am your grandmother.”
“You are my grandmother.”
“And your mother was my daughter, Lily.”
“I know.”
“And she died when you were a baby.”
“I know.”
Ruth started crying.
Sophie stepped closer.
“Grandma?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Ruth covered her face.
Claire leaned toward the screen.
“Say it.”
Ruth lowered her hands.
“I should have told you.”
The bedroom doorbell rang loudly somewhere downstairs.
Ruth jumped.
The video image shook as Sophie grabbed the camera.
“What?”
Sophie whispered.
Ruth looked toward the hallway.
Her expression turned to terror.
“Stay here.”
She left the room.
Sophie carried the camera toward the stairs.
The video became dark and shaky.
Voices came from below.
One belonged to Ruth.
The other belonged to a man.
Claire stopped the video.
She looked at Ethan.
“Do you recognize him?”
Ethan nodded slowly.
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“Who?”
He looked at her.
May you like
“Dr. Marcus Vale.”
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