Chapter 2

Two bodies in one day.

Our house became a crime scene twice over.

Detective Morris looked at my dad, his expression a mixture of pity and suspicion.

"I need to see that note, Mr. Hughes."

My dad, Matthew, walked into the garage. He ignored the police officers and the paramedics. He picked up the folded piece of paper from the passenger seat.

He read it.

I watched him closely. His big, strong hands, the hands of a construction foreman, started to tremble.

His face turned as white as my grandpa' s had.

He didn't make a sound.

He just stood there, the life draining out of him.

My mom, Maria, rushed to his side.

"Matthew, what is it? What does it say? Let me see."

She reached for the note, her fingers desperate.

"No."

His voice was flat, empty.

He folded the note and shoved it deep into his pocket.

"You can' t see it. No one can."

Detective Morris stepped forward. "Mr. Hughes, that note is evidence. I have to insist."

"No," my dad repeated, his voice harder now. "It' s a family matter."

He turned and walked back into the house, a ghost in his own home.

From that moment on, a wall of silence went up.

My dad forbade us from ever speaking Jayden' s name again.

He started drinking.

He would sit in his armchair all day, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, staring at nothing.

He refused to talk to the police. He refused to talk to my mom. He refused to talk to me.

The house, once filled with Jayden' s music and my mom' s laughter, became a tomb.

The silence was heavier than any sound.

A few days later, I found my mom trying to get the note.

My dad was passed out drunk in his chair, the whiskey bottle empty on the floor beside him.

My mom, her face streaked with tears, was carefully, quietly, trying to get her hand into his pocket.

She was shaking so badly she could barely do it.

Finally, her fingers closed around the paper.

She pulled it out, her breath catching in her throat.

She unfolded it.

Her eyes scanned the single line of text.

The reaction was instant and horrifying.

Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a scream that turned into a choked sob.

Her body convulsed.

I thought she was going to faint.

But she didn't.

She looked at me, her eyes wide with a terror so profound it didn't seem human.

"Caleb," she whispered, her voice a fragile, broken thing. "You must never know. Never."

Then, before I could react, she did the unthinkable.

She put the piece of paper in her mouth.

She started chewing.

Her face was twisted in disgust and despair, but she forced herself to swallow.

She swallowed the note. She destroyed the evidence. She consumed the secret.

At that exact moment, my father' s eyes flickered open.

He wasn' t as drunk as we thought.

He looked at my mother, at her tear-stained face and the last corner of paper disappearing into her mouth.

A cold, cruel smile touched his lips.

"Now you' re in hell with me," he said.