Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Attic
For three agonizing days, the image of Leo standing in that doorway haunted my every waking moment. I couldn't sleep; I couldn't eat. I told my husband nothing, knowing that the mere mention of Leo’s name would shatter the fragile, duct-taped peace we had managed to build in our household.
By Wednesday afternoon, the compulsion became too loud to ignore. I drove my car to the edge of the dead-end street, parking three blocks away to avoid drawing any attention. Walking down the narrow alley, my hands trembled inside my pockets. The neighborhood was eerily silent, save for the distant caw of crows circling a rusted tin roof.
When I reached the run-down house, the front windows were tightly shuttered with faded floral curtains. No sound came from inside. I crept around to the side of the house, my boots crunching softly on dry autumn leaves, looking for a way to understand what my eyes had witnessed.
At the back of the house stood an exterior wooden staircase leading up to a slanted attic loft door. It was old, held together by a simple metal latch rather than a heavy padlock. Driven by an overwhelming mixture of grief and fury, I climbed the creaking steps, my heart in my throat.
With shaking fingers, I lifted the metal latch and pushed the door open. A wave of stagnant air hit my face, carrying the scent of old paper, dust, and damp wood.
The attic was sparsely furnished—a single mattress on the floor, a small hot plate, and a cardboard box serving as a makeshift table. But what caught my breath in my throat was the entire far wall.
Hanging from thumb tacks across the wood-paneled wall were dozens of photographs, newspaper clippings, and hand-drawn maps. Right in the center was a large, glossy portrait of my son Caleb, smiling brightly the way he used to before that fateful night. Surrounding Caleb’s picture were printouts of the cemetery gates, aerial views of the town, and veterinary medical charts for a dog.
Before I could process the shrine before me, a floorboard creaked loudly behind my back.
May you like
I spun around, gasping. Leo was standing at the top of the attic stairs, clutching a plastic bag of groceries against his chest. His eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror as he stared at me, the plastic bag slipping from his fingers to hit the floor with a soft thud.
"Mrs. Davis..." he breathed, his voice trembling violently. "How... how did you find me?"
