Chapter 2: The Man Beneath the Floorboards
For three seconds, I couldn't understand the words I'd heard.
Your mother is starting to ask questions.
The stranger knew about me. He knew Mrs. Patterson had spoken to me, or he had learned enough to suspect that my questions were becoming a problem.
And he was sitting on my daughter's bed as though he belonged there.
I pressed my forehead against the carpet.
The room smelled of dust, old wood, and the man's boots. Beneath those smells was something sharp and chemical, like the cleaner used in hospital hallways.
His phone vibrated.
He answered without getting up.
"Yeah.""
A pause.
"No, she's not here.""
Another pause.
"I said she's not here.""
His voice hardened.
"Listen to me. I know what I saw yesterday. If she told her mother anything, we have a problem.""
My nails dug into my palms.
Yesterday.
He had been here yesterday.
Mrs. Patterson hadn't imagined the vehicle. Someone really had entered my home while I was at work.
The man stood, and the mattress lifted.
His boots crossed the room.
I watched them stop beside Maya's desk.
A drawer opened.
Paper rustled.
"Where did you put it?"" he muttered.
Another drawer slammed shut.
"Come on, kid.""
He moved to the closet.
The door scraped across the floor, and hangers rattled as he searched through Maya's clothes.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to crawl out and demand to know who he was, what he was doing in my daughter's bedroom, and why he was talking as if she owed him something.
But I couldn't risk it.
Not until I understood whether he was armed, whether someone else was downstairs, or whether Maya was somewhere in the house.
The closet door shut.
His boots returned to the bed.
Then he crouched.
I saw the shadow of his hand reach toward the floor.
My entire body went rigid.
His fingers brushed the hanging edge of the bedspread.
One more inch, and he would see me.
"Where are you hiding it?"" he whispered.
He wasn't talking to me.
He was talking to Maya.
A sharp knock sounded downstairs.
The man straightened immediately.
"Who is it?"" a woman's voice called from the front entrance.
He swore under his breath.
Then he crossed the room and pulled the bedroom door shut.
I heard him descend the stairs quickly.
A lock clicked.
"You're early," he said.
The woman replied, "You said to come before noon.""
"I said I'd call you.""
"And I told you I couldn't keep waiting.""
Their voices faded toward the kitchen.
I could no longer hear every word, but fragments drifted up through the floor.
"...the girl...""
"...school...""
"...money...""
Then the woman's voice rose.
"You promised her she wouldn't have to do this forever.""
The man answered too quietly for me to understand.
I reached into my pocket for my phone.
My fingers trembled against the screen.
I had no idea whether to call the police immediately or wait until I could get out of the house. If the man heard me, he might return upstairs before anyone arrived.
I opened the emergency dial screen.
Then I heard Maya's name.
"She said her mother was going to find out," the woman said.
The man laughed without humor.
"Then maybe her mother should mind her own business.""
A chair scraped.
I pressed the phone against my chest.
For one wild moment, I thought about Daniel. He was the only person who might come immediately without asking questions, but he lived nearly two hours away.
I couldn't wait for him.
I had to get out.
I slowly shifted onto my side.
The bed frame was low, but there was enough room to crawl toward the footboard. If I could reach the hallway, I could slip down the stairs while they were distracted.
I moved an inch.
The carpet scratched my elbow.
Another inch.
Then my phone vibrated.
A notification lit the screen.
The man stopped talking downstairs.
Silence spread through the house.
My stomach dropped.
"Did you hear that?"" the woman asked.
"Probably the television.""
"The television is off.""
A chair scraped backward.
Footsteps crossed the kitchen.
I shut my eyes.
The stairs creaked again.
He was coming back.
I pushed myself farther beneath the bed, even though there was nowhere left to go.
The bedroom door opened.
His boots appeared in front of me.
He stood there for a long time.
Then he spoke into his phone.
"Something's wrong.""
A pause.
"No. I don't know where she is.""
He stepped closer to the bed.
I could see the mud dried along the edge of his sole.
"Listen carefully," he said.
"If the girl has told anyone, we're all in trouble.""
My heart hammered so violently that I was sure he could hear it.
He crouched.
This time, he lifted the bedspread.
Light spilled across the carpet.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.
His hand reached beneath the bed.
Then the woman shouted from downstairs.
"Mark! You need to see this!""
He jerked upright.
"What?""
"Now!""
He let the bedspread fall and hurried away.
The door slammed.
I remained motionless until the footsteps disappeared.
Then I crawled out.
My knees nearly buckled when I stood.
I rushed to the bedroom door and listened.
The voices were coming from the kitchen.
I crept down the hallway and peered through the stair railing.
The man stood beside the table. He was in his late thirties or early forties, with broad shoulders, dark hair, and a pale scar running from his left ear toward his jaw.
The woman beside him was younger, perhaps thirty, wearing a gray coat and holding a thick brown envelope.
She had placed several photographs on the table.
I couldn't see them clearly.
Mark picked one up.
"Where did you get these?""
"From the place you told me to check.""
His jaw tightened.
"Did anyone see you?""
"No.""
"Are you sure?""
She slapped the table.
"Stop asking me the same question!""
He grabbed her wrist.
"Keep your voice down.""
She tried to pull away.
"Don't touch me.""
He released her.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
Then she pointed at the photographs.
"You said the records were gone. They're not. Someone kept copies.""
Mark's face changed.
"What kind of copies?""
"Enough to cause trouble.""
He looked toward the stairs.
"Where's Maya?""
"I thought she was with you.""
"She isn't.""
The woman swallowed.
"Then where is she?""
"I don't know.""
She gathered the photographs with shaking hands.
"Mark, if that girl talks, everything falls apart.""
He leaned toward her.
"She won't talk.""
"You can't know that.""
His voice became dangerously quiet.
"Because if she does, I'll make sure she understands what happens to people who break agreements.""
My stomach twisted.
An agreement?
What agreement could a thirteen-year-old possibly have with a man like him?
The woman looked toward the stairs again.
"I don't like this. We should stop.""
"Stop?"" He laughed.
"You think stopping makes this disappear?""
He snatched the brown envelope from her hands.
"You signed the papers. You took the money. You're in this as much as I am.""
Her face went white.
"Don't say that.""
"Why? Afraid someone might hear?""
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the kitchen.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Mark caught her by the shoulders and shoved her backward against the refrigerator.
"Do that again," he whispered, "and you'll regret it.""
She stared at him, breathing hard.
I had seen enough.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and began typing a message to the police. My fingers were clumsy, and I had to erase the same sentence twice.
Stranger in my home. Threatening my daughter. Need help.
Before I could send it, a floorboard creaked beneath my foot.
The woman looked up.
Her eyes met mine through the railing.
For one terrible second, we stared at each other.
Then she screamed.
"Mark! Upstairs!""
I ran.
I sprinted toward Maya's room, slammed the door, and locked it.
The handle rattled almost immediately.
"Open the door!"" Mark shouted.
I backed away.
"Who are you?"" I yelled.
"Get out of my house!""
A heavy blow struck the door.
The frame shuddered.
"Renee," the woman called from the hallway, her voice suddenly desperate.
"Please. You need to listen to me.""
I grabbed the desk lamp.
"Stay away from me!""
"Your daughter is in danger!""
Mark struck the door again.
"Shut up!""
The woman ignored him.
"Renee, if you call the police, tell them to look at the school records. Tell them to find the original file.""
"What file?"" I shouted.
Silence.
Then she said, "The file that proves Maya isn't the only child they've been lying about.""
My grip tightened around the lamp.
"What are you talking about?""
The door handle stopped moving.
For a moment, I heard nothing but my own ragged breathing.
Then Mark spoke through the wood.
"Renee, listen to me. You don't understand what your daughter has gotten herself into.""
I looked toward Maya's desk.
A corner of paper protruded from beneath her mathematics workbook.
I hadn't noticed it earlier.
I moved toward it, never taking my eyes off the door.
The woman spoke again.
"Ask your daughter what happened at the clinic.""
The hallway went silent.
Even Mark stopped pounding.
I pulled the paper free.
It was a printed photograph.
Maya stood in front of a brick building, wearing her blue school sweatshirt. Beside her was a little girl I had never seen before.
The younger child looked frightened.
And standing behind them, with one hand resting on Maya's shoulder, was Mark.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a date.
Three months earlier.
May you like
Below it were six words.
The first payment was made today.
