Chapter 8 - The Fire at Hollow Creek Road
I wasn't allowed to go to the farmhouse.
Detective Whitmore made that clear.
And for the first time in my life, I didn't argue about being kept away from my father's property.
Emily was lying in a hospital bed.
Noah was asleep in a protected waiting room.
And someone had apparently set fire to the one place where the truth about our family might still be hidden.
I wanted to be everywhere.
But I couldn't.
So I stayed where I was needed.
Beside my wife.
That evening, Whitmore returned with information from the fire scene.
The blaze had started in the kitchen.
Firefighters had contained it before it spread through the entire house.
The front rooms were heavily damaged.
Smoke had filled the upstairs hallway.
But the rear bedroom—the room Emily had mentioned—was still standing.
I felt a small surge of hope.
“Did you find the journal?”
Whitmore shook her head.
“Investigators haven't been able to complete the search.”
“Why not?”
“The structure needs to be assessed before anyone enters certain sections.”
I nodded.
She sat down.
“Daniel, I need to ask about your father's death.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about it?”
“Was he ill before the stroke?”
I thought for a moment.
“He had high blood pressure.”
“Was he taking medication?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what?”
“Not all of it.”
“Did he ever complain about dizziness, confusion, or unusual symptoms before he died?”
I looked away.
My father's final weeks had been terrible.
He had become irritable.
Forgetful.
Exhausted.
He occasionally struggled to finish sentences.
My mother said the business stress was destroying him.
I remembered one afternoon when he sat in his office holding a pen and staring at a contract.
He told me he couldn't remember signing it.
I had laughed nervously.
I told him he needed a vacation.
He had looked at me with a strange expression.
“Danny,” he said, “there are things happening in this company I don't understand.”
I thought he was tired.
Now that memory made my stomach turn.
“He wasn't himself,” I told Whitmore.
She wrote something.
“What changed?”
“He became confused.”
“Anything else?”
“He was scared.”
I stopped.
Whitmore looked up.
“Scared of what?”
I swallowed.
“I didn't realize it then.”
“Tell me.”
“He thought someone had changed his documents.”
“What kind of documents?”
“Contracts.”
I felt tears rising.
“He told me he couldn't remember signing certain things.”
Whitmore nodded slowly.
“Did anyone accompany him to medical appointments?”
“My mother.”
“Anyone else?”
“Sometimes Robert.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“We've requested his medical records.”
My stomach tightened.
“You think someone hurt him?”
“I'm not drawing that conclusion.”
“But you're considering it.”
“We're investigating.”
I stared at her.
“My mother told me he died naturally.”
Whitmore's expression remained careful.
“A stroke can occur naturally.”
She paused.
“But financial evidence and witness statements may justify reviewing the circumstances.”
I pressed both hands against my face.
How many things had I accepted because my mother explained them?
How many times had I mistaken confidence for truth?
That night, after Noah fell asleep on a small hospital cot, I sat beside Emily.
She watched me quietly.
“You're thinking about your father.”
I nodded.
“He loved you,” she whispered.
I looked at her.
“He did.”
Emily smiled faintly.
“Remember when he came over after we brought Noah home?”
I managed a broken laugh.
“He brought a toolbox.”
“He said every new father needed to know how to fix a crib.”
“He fixed the nursery window too.”
Emily's eyes filled with tears.
“He was so proud of you.”
I looked away.
“He'd be ashamed of me now.”
“Daniel.”
I shook my head.
“I didn't protect you.”
Emily reached for my hand.
“You didn't know.”
“I should have.”
She waited.
I looked at her.
“I married the woman who helped imprison you.”
Emily's face tightened.
“I know.”
I swallowed.
“I let her live in our house.”
“I know.”
“She slept beside me while you were alone underground.”
Emily closed her eyes.
I immediately regretted saying it.
But I couldn't stop.
“I didn't believe Noah.”
She opened her eyes again.
“Daniel, listen to me.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Listen.”
Her voice was stronger than before.
“I need you to stop making my suffering about your punishment.”
I stared at her.
She drew a slow breath.
“I'm angry.”
My chest tightened.
“I'm hurt.”
“I know.”
“And I don't know how long it'll take before I can trust you again.”
I lowered my eyes.
“But right now, I need you to help me get our son through this.”
I nodded slowly.
She squeezed my hand.
“I can't survive eight months underground just to spend the rest of my life watching you destroy yourself.”
A sob escaped me.
Emily's own eyes filled.
“We can talk about us later.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
“Right now, we find out what happened.”
I wiped my face.
“And we make sure those people never get near Noah again.”
I squeezed her hand.
“I promise.”
For the first time that night, Emily looked relieved.
Then she glanced toward the window.
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“There was someone else.”
I frowned.
“In the cellar?”
She nodded.
“A man.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Pierce?”
“No.”
“Vale?”
“No.”
“Who?”
She looked troubled.
“I never saw his face clearly.”
I leaned forward.
“What do you remember?”
“His shoes.”
I frowned.
“His shoes?”
“Brown work boots.”
She swallowed.
“He came three times.”
“What did he do?”
“He checked the ventilation equipment.”
I remembered the small machine rattling near the ceiling.
“Was he a repairman?”
“I don't know.”
She looked at me.
“But once, when he thought I was asleep, he talked to someone on the phone.”
I waited.
“He said the woman downstairs knew too much.”
My chest tightened.
“Who was he talking to?”
“I don't know.”
She closed her eyes.
“But he mentioned Hollow Creek.”
I sat perfectly still.
“He said, ‘The same thing that happened at Hollow Creek can happen here.’”
I stared at her.
Emily opened her eyes.
“I didn't understand what that meant.”
Neither did I.
Not yet.
But something about those words felt much larger than our family.
A stolen property deal.
Forged signatures.
An abandoned industrial site.
A woman kept underground.
And possibly another victim.
I leaned closer.
“Did he say anything else?”
Emily nodded.
“One time he argued with Claire.”
“About what?”
“Money.”
I felt my pulse rise.
“She said the agreement wasn't what she'd been promised.”
“What did he say?”
Emily swallowed.
“He told her she was getting greedy.”
I waited.
“Then he said if she wanted more money, she could join the other woman.”
A cold feeling passed through me.
“What other woman?”
Emily looked frightened.
“I don't know.”
I stared at her.
Then my phone rang.
Robert.
I answered.
“What's wrong?”
He didn't greet me.
He was breathing hard.
“Danny, you need to turn on the news.”
My heart hammered.
“Why?”
“Because someone leaked the story.”
I stood.
“What story?”
“Emily.”
I looked toward her.
Robert continued.
“They're saying Mom held her captive.”
“That part's true.”
“Danny, that's not all.”
His voice cracked.
“They're showing a photograph of the old farmhouse.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
Robert took a shaky breath.
“Because firefighters found something in the basement.”
I closed my eyes.
“What did they find?”
May you like
There was a long silence.
Then Robert whispered, “Human remains.”
