Chapter 4 - THE STORAGE KEY
Paul froze. The fight left his body completely.
“Your sister?” I asked, looking at Lauren. “What does your sister have to do with my father’s watch?”
Lauren looked at me, tears spilling over her lashes. “My sister, Chloe. She vanished five years ago. The police said she ran away. Paul was the last person to see her. He was doing renovations on her apartment.”
The air in the room felt too thin to breathe. I looked at the man I had slept beside for twenty-six years, realizing I was looking at a complete stranger.
“Where did you get this, Paul?” Mr. Falcone asked, his tone devoid of any warmth.
“It’s just a coincidence,” Paul stammered. “A mistake at the engraver.”
I didn’t wait for his permission. I walked over to Paul, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat myself. My fingers brushed against cold metal. I pulled it out.
It was a brass key with a yellow plastic tag.
“Unit 42,” I read aloud. “Westside Storage.”
Paul lunged for me, but the guard slammed him back into the wall.
“I rented that unit for the business!” Paul shouted, genuine panic in his eyes now. “Marianne, don’t do this!”
Mr. Falcone stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. “Bring the car around,” he told his men. He looked at me, then at Lauren. “Ladies, I believe we have a storage unit to open.”
When we arrived at the bleak, industrial facility, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely fit the key into the padlock. When the metal door finally rolled up, the smell of damp cardboard hit us.
It wasn’t a business overflow unit. It was a makeshift living space.
On a small cot in the corner lay a child’s drawing of a house.
Lauren picked it up. “This is Chloe’s handwriting,” she gasped. “She was here.”
Then I saw what was hiding under the cot. A pair of small, scuffed sneakers.
May you like
“Mr. Falcone,” I whispered, pointing to the shadows.
A little boy, no older than four, stepped out into the light. He looked exactly like Paul.
