Part 2 — The Suitcase I screamed. Not because there was blood. Not because there was a weapon. What I saw inside that suitcase was somehow worse. Photographs. Dozens of them. Some were old and faded. Others looked as though they had been taken only days earlier. I stared at the first one lying on top. It was a picture of Ethan.
He was standing outside a building I didn’t recognize, wearing the same dark coat he had on now. But Ethan wasn’t alone. Beside him stood a man. A man I had never seen before. I picked up the photograph with trembling fingers. “Who is this?” Ethan didn’t answer. I looked at the next photograph.
Then the next. And the next. The same man appeared in almost every one.
Sometimes he was standing beside Ethan.
Sometimes he was watching him from across a street.
And in one photograph, he was standing outside our house.
My house.
Taken from across the road.
My stomach dropped.
“When was this taken?”
Ethan finally spoke.
“Three months ago.”
I looked at him.
“Three months ago?”
He nodded.
“That man was watching us?”
“No.”
His voice was barely audible.
“He was watching me.”
The baby stirred in my arms.
I instinctively pulled the blanket tighter around the tiny body.
“Ethan, start explaining.”
He looked toward the locked front door.
Then toward the windows.
Only after he was certain we were alone did he speak.
“Dad didn’t throw me out because he wanted me to become a man.”
My heart stopped.
“What are you saying?”
Ethan swallowed.
“He threw me out because he knew I had found something.”
“What did you find?”
He reached into the suitcase again.
This time he pulled out a thick brown envelope.
It was sealed with red tape.
My name was written across the front.
MOM.
I stared at it.
“Why is my name on that?”
“Because I wanted you to know the truth.”
“Then tell me.”
“I tried.”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Remember the night before Dad kicked me out?”
I searched my memory.
Ethan had been unusually quiet that evening.
Richard had been angry about something, although I had never understood why.
“You came home late,” I whispered.
Ethan nodded.
“And Dad was waiting for you.”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
Ethan looked down.
“I had taken something from his office.”
A chill ran through me.
“What?”
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
Then another.
Then several more.
Bank records.
Names.
Dates.
Addresses.
I didn’t understand any of it.
Until I saw Richard’s signature.
My hands began to shake.
“No.”
Ethan watched my face.
“Mom…”
“No.”
I pushed the papers back toward him.
“This doesn’t prove anything.”
“It proves enough.”
“Your father has business accounts. Investments. He has always handled the finances.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you showing me this?”
“Because these aren’t business accounts.”
Silence filled the room.
The baby began to whimper softly.
I rocked him instinctively.
Ethan stared at the floor.
“Dad has been sending money to someone for years.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then how can you be sure?”
“Because I followed the payments.”
He looked at me.
“And every time the money was sent, someone disappeared.”
My breath caught.
“What do you mean, disappeared?”
Ethan reached into the suitcase again.
This time he pulled out a small black notebook.
He opened it to a page covered in handwriting.
Names.
Dates.
Locations.
At least twenty of them.
Some had red marks beside their names.
Others had question marks.
One name had been circled three times.
I leaned closer.
Then I saw it.
My own name.
My hands went numb.
“Why is my name here?”
Ethan didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at the newborn.
Then at me.
“Because you’re next.”
The words barely registered.
“What?”
“You’re next, Mom.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Dad knows I came here.”
“How?”
“Because he knew where I was before I reached the house.”
A terrible silence followed.
Then I heard something.
A car.
Slowly approaching outside.
Ethan’s face went white.
“Don’t move.”
I froze.
The car stopped.
Neither of us breathed.
A door opened outside.
Footsteps.
Someone was walking toward our front door.
Ethan grabbed the suitcase.
“Mom, listen to me.”