Chapter 4 - THE VOICE OF A DEAD WOMAN
Nathan stared at the cassette as though it were a loaded weapon.
“Do you have anything that can play that?”
“My mother did.”
I found an old tape player in the bottom of the sewing box.
Nathan sat beside me on the floor.
Neither of us spoke.
I pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then my mother’s younger voice came through the speaker.
“Evelyn, you need to tell Samuel.”
A woman answered.
Nathan closed his eyes.
His mother.
Even through decades of distortion, her voice was clear.
“I tried.”
“What did he say?”
“He thinks Vincent would never betray him.”
Nathan flinched.
Evelyn continued.
“He’s wrong. Vincent has accounts Samuel doesn’t know about. Ships arriving under false manifests. Men being paid from companies that don’t exist.”
My mother whispered, “Go to the police.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel says at least two detectives are already being paid.”
Nathan looked at me.
Daniel.
My father.
The tape continued.
A man entered the room.
His voice was unfamiliar to me.
“Nobody followed me.”
Mom said, “Daniel?”
My heart stopped.
My father.
For the first time in my life, I was hearing his voice.
Daniel sounded frightened.
“Vincent knows Evelyn copied the records.”
Evelyn asked, “What about Samuel?”
“I’ll reach him.”
“And Nathan?”
A long silence.
Then my father said:
“Get Nathan out of the house tonight.”
Nathan’s eyes opened.
“What?”
The recording became chaotic.
Footsteps.
A door closing.
My mother whispering that someone was outside.
Then Daniel said something that made Nathan stand.
“Vincent isn’t just planning to kill Evelyn.”
Static crackled.
“He’s planning to kill the boy too.”
Nathan walked toward the window.
His face had gone completely white.
His mother had died that night.
Nathan had survived.
Until now, he had believed survival was luck.
The tape continued.
Mom’s voice returned.
“I’ll take Nathan.”
Evelyn interrupted.
“No. If Vincent sees you with him, he’ll kill you too.”
Then Daniel spoke.
“Hannah, take our daughter and disappear.”
My throat closed.
Our daughter.
Me.
A crashing sound exploded through the recording.
Someone shouted.
Then a gunshot.
I jumped.
Nathan turned.
The tape continued for seven terrible seconds.
Then the recording stopped.
But there was more.
On the opposite side, my mother had written another label.
IF NATHAN HEARS THIS, TELL HIM WHO FIRED THE SHOT.
I turned the tape over.
Beneath those words was one name.
May you like
HANNAH CARTER.
My mother had fired the gun that night.
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