Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER SHE FORGOT
The road to St. Agnes wound through dense woods that had long since swallowed the edges of the abandoned property.
Manon sat in the back of Laurent's patrol car, clutching the photograph so tightly that its corners had begun to bend.
The boy's name was Elias.
She whispered it silently.
Elias.
Again.
Elias.
The name stirred something deep inside her memory.
A child's laughter.
A whispered promise.
Two small hands pressed together beneath a blanket.
Then darkness.
Manon closed her eyes.
For one terrifying second, she smelled smoke.
Not ordinary wood smoke.
Something sharper.
Chemicals.
Burning plastic.
She opened her eyes with a gasp.
Bennett turned from the passenger seat.
“What did you remember?”
“Nothing.”
“Manon—”
“I said nothing.”
But she was lying.
And she knew he could tell.
The patrol car passed through a rusted gate.
Ahead, the remains of St. Agnes stood beneath a gray October sky.
Most of the original building had been demolished.
Only the old chapel remained.
Its windows were boarded.
Its stone walls were covered in ivy.
A bell tower leaned slightly to one side.
Police vehicles surrounded the black sedan near the entrance.
Officers searched the woods.
A helicopter circled overhead.
Manon climbed out before Laurent had fully stopped.
“Noah!”
Her voice echoed through the trees.
“Noah!”
Nobody answered.
She ran toward the chapel.
Laurent caught her arm.
“We have to clear the building first.”
“My son could be inside!”
“And if someone is waiting with a weapon, you walking through that door won't help him.”
She hated that he was right.
Bennett approached the chapel steps.
He stood motionless, staring at the entrance.
“Twenty-three years,” he murmured.
Laurent glanced at him.
“What?”
“I haven't been back here in twenty-three years.”
“Why?”
Bennett's expression darkened.
“Because the last time I came, someone told me that if I ever returned, my daughter would disappear.”
Manon stared at him.
“You have a daughter?”
Bennett nodded.
“Her name is Rachel. She lives in Oregon now. She has two children.”
“Did you believe the threat?”
“I had just watched eleven children vanish from a building that was supposedly under police protection.”
He looked toward the chapel.
“Yes, Manon. I believed it.”
An officer emerged from the entrance.
“Inspector! We've found something.”
They hurried inside.
The chapel smelled of damp stone and old wood.
Dust drifted through narrow beams of sunlight.
At the far end, beneath a cracked stained-glass window, stood a folding table.
On it sat a small blue backpack.
Noah's backpack.
Manon rushed forward.
She opened it.
His lunchbox.
His math workbook.
A drawing of a dinosaur wearing sunglasses.
And a folded piece of paper.
She unfolded it.
Written in Noah's careful handwriting were six words.
MOM, I'M OKAY. TRUST THE MAN.
Manon's eyes filled with tears.
Laurent examined the note.
“Could he have written this under pressure?”
“Of course he could!”
Bennett looked around the chapel.
“Someone wanted us to find it.”
Laurent nodded.
“But why bring us here?”
A soft metallic sound came from behind the altar.
Everyone turned.
One of the officers drew his weapon.
“Police! Come out!”
Nothing.
Then the sound came again.
A faint scraping.
Bennett stepped forward.
“There's an old service entrance behind that wall.”
Laurent signaled his officers.
They moved the altar aside.
Behind it was a narrow wooden door.
Locked.
An officer forced it open.
Cold air rushed into the chapel.
A staircase descended into darkness.
At the bottom, they discovered a room that should not have existed.
Steel cabinets lined the walls.
A medical examination table stood beneath a broken light fixture.
There were children's height markings on the wall.
Dates.
Initials.
Numbers.
Manon stared at them.
She remembered this room.
Not clearly.
But enough.
She remembered sitting on that examination table.
She remembered a woman in a white coat.
And a little boy crying.
“Don't take him,” she whispered.
Laurent turned.
“What?”
Manon stepped toward the wall.
Her fingers traced two sets of initials carved into the plaster.
M + E
Beneath them was a childish drawing of a house.
A sun.
Two stick figures holding hands.
And a promise.
WE GO HOME TOGETHER.
Manon's legs gave way.
Bennett caught her before she fell.
“I remember him,” she whispered.
The old officer's eyes widened.
“Elias?”
She nodded.
“He was my little brother.”
A sudden noise came from the far corner.
A cabinet door shifted.
Laurent raised his weapon.
“Come out. Hands where I can see them.”
A man slowly emerged.
He appeared to be in his early thirties.
Thin.
Exhausted.
A fresh cut marked his cheek.
Around his wrist was a faded blue identification bracelet.
Manon stared at him.
The man's eyes filled with tears.
“Hello, Manny.”
Nobody had called her Manny since childhood.
Her breath caught.
“Elias?”
He nodded.
For one extraordinary moment, the years between them seemed to disappear.
She saw the little boy from the photograph.
The brother she had forgotten.
The child she had promised never to leave.
Then she remembered Noah.
“Where's my son?”
Elias looked toward Laurent.
“You need to get him away from here.”
Manon stepped closer.
“Where is he?”
Elias swallowed.
“He's safe for now.”
“FOR NOW?”
“Listen to me. The woman who took him isn't the person you should fear.”
“Then who is?”
Elias looked at Officer Bennett.
His expression changed.
“You.”
The room fell silent.
Bennett took a step backward.
Elias raised a trembling hand.
“You were there the night they separated us.”
Bennett's face went pale.
Elias continued.
“You helped them.”
Manon turned toward the old policeman.
“No.”
Bennett shook his head.
“It's not what you think.”
Elias reached into his jacket.
He removed an old photograph.
In it, a younger Samuel Bennett stood beside three men in front of St. Agnes.
One was Mayor Hale's father.
Another was the hospital director.
And the third wore a white doctor's coat.
On the back was a handwritten message.
TRANSFER APPROVED. ELEVEN CHILDREN. NO SURVIVORS TO BE RECORDED.
Manon stared at Bennett.
For the first time, the man who had promised to protect her looked like someone she should have feared all along.
May you like
Then Elias whispered:
“Ask him what happened to the other nine children.”
