AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her heart thumped when she found the envelopes in her drawer. Quiet as a whisper, she slipped out of the bedroom and down the hall to her office, where she turned on the desk lamp. She slid her finger under the flap of one of the envelopes, then pulled out the single sheet of paper inside.
It was a birth certificate, just as she had expected. But it didn’t have the name Ella Jane Wander on it, it had the name Gabriela Jane Casillas, identical to the birth certificate Scott had removed from the safe. She blinked in confusion. This one should have been sealed.
She ripped open the other envelope and yanked out the sheet of paper inside.
Unable to locate birth certificate for individual requested: Ella Jane Wander.
That didn’t make sense. She double-checked the information she had provided, which was copied below. There was no mistake, she realized, her heart hammering in her chest.
Ella Jane Wander didn’t exist.
An hour later, she was still at the computer. She started by searching for the name of Ella’s (Gabriela’s?) birth mother: Kristina Casillas. That gave her too many search results to be useful. Kristina Casillas Ohio narrowed it down slightly, but she found nothing connected to the woman in the photograph on Ella’s nightstand. Kristina Casillas Obituary returned nothing helpful, either, just page after page of obituaries for various people with the last name Casillas.
Then a thought occurred to her: what if Kristina Casillas was still alive?
Scott had painted an unflattering picture of Kristina, the drug addict who wouldn’t let him see his daughter, always asking for money, dead of an overdose. Molly knew Scott, and she knew how deeply he felt his responsibility to his daughter. Was that responsibility strong enough to take his daughter from her mother and disappear?
It all clicked: the years Scott had spent living out of the Westfalia, traveling around the country, working odd jobs. His hermit-life after settling in Durango. His reluctance to be on social media. Had she married a man who had kidnapped his own daughter?
Ella’s birth certificate must be a forgery. And if Ella’s was a forgery, was Scott’s? Was his name even Scott at all?
Molly exhaled, sick at the thought of her husband lying to her. Not trusting her enough to tell the truth. Do I want to continue exploring this? she asked herself. She could still go back to bed, try to forget about it, and move on. If Scott had taken Ella from a neglectful mother, he had done the right thing. She couldn’t fault him as a father.
But the lying made her ill. Lies were poison; she knew that all too well from her marriage to Jake. Pressing her mouth into a thin, hard line, she tried one more search.
Kristina Casillas daughter kidnapped.
Less than a second later, the results appeared, and this time she had found something. Right at the top of the screen was a headline from a local news channel in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Murdered Clairton woman identified as 22-year-old Kristina Casillas, her 11-month-old daughter still missing
The dread in Molly’s stomach turned into something slimy, something slippery with panic. She clicked on the link and started to read, the words on the screen swimming as her eyes filled with tears, making it difficult to take in the information.
But one thing was clear: Scott’s lies went much deeper. Ella’s mother hadn’t died of an overdose. She was murdered.
thirty-three
Your wife is up late tonight, Sam. Her office window is the only light on in your house—well, except for the dim glow from the youngest girl’s window. Nightlight, I’m guessing.
Your bedroom light flicked off long ago. Your older girl’s window is dark, too, but it’s cracked open enough so that even from the street, I can hear an audiobook playing. Harry Potter, I think. For someone with a checkered past like yours, I’d expect better home security.
By the way, Sam, you should really shut your window if your wife is going to give you a blow job. I can’t be the only person in the neighborhood who heard that.
Now I’m sitting in my car across the street, watching. It’s comforting, knowing exactly where you are and what you’re doing. Makes it easier to remind myself to be patient.
Two weeks. Time is running out for me, which means time is running out for you, too, Sam.
Kristina’s sister shut down my chances of accessing the safe deposit box the easy way. Can’t say I wasn’t upset about it, especially after all that trouble I went to, hiring those kids to steal her wallet. She’s lucky she hasn’t been out running alone since then. Who knows what I might have done. That’s how angry I was.
But I’ve calmed myself now. I’m rethinking my options. Still keeping an eye on the sister, yes, but I think you’re my best bet.
The problem is this: if I confront you, will you give me the key? Even if I flat-out threaten you, there’s no guarantee. You have this hero complex, I remember that about you. You probably still consider yourself the good guy, the defender of the weak.
It’s laughable, after what you did to Kristina.
But knowing that about you makes me pretty certain: the best way to get what I want is to threaten the people you love.
thirty-four
