The Fourth Name

Chapter Three: The Night Nobody Remembered

Vivienne Hartwell called Alexander Blackwood before breakfast.

He answered after four rings.

"You're calling early."

"I have a question."

"That usually means trouble."

"Then you should be worried."

She glanced at the photograph on her desk. Four children stood beside the garden fountain, smiling as though nothing in the world could ever separate them.

Three faces were familiar.

The fourth belonged to a girl she was only beginning to remember.

"Alexander, what happened the night Isabelle disappeared?"

Silence.

Vivienne tightened her grip on the phone.

"You told me her name. Adrian confirmed she was our friend. My father recognized her. Now I want to know what happened."

"Who told you about that night?"

"So it happened."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't deny it either."

He exhaled slowly.

"Where are you?"

"At home."

"Stay there. I'll come over."

"I'm perfectly capable of asking questions without supervision."

"I know."

"Then why are you coming?"

"Because you deserve more than answers over the phone."

He ended the call before she could respond.

Vivienne stared at her screen.

For someone who claimed she deserved answers, Alexander had a remarkable talent for deciding when she would receive them.

Still, he hadn't told her to stop asking.

That was something, at least.

---

Alexander found her in the garden forty minutes later.

He stood beside the old fountain, watching the water spill over its weathered stone edges.

Vivienne approached him.

"You could have waited inside."

"I wanted to see this place."

"Why?"

His gaze moved toward the fountain.

"This is where the photograph was taken."

She stopped beside him.

"What do you remember about Isabelle?"

"Her laugh. Her stubbornness. The way she always insisted on finishing whatever she started."

A faint smile touched his face.

"She once spent an entire afternoon trying to convince Adrian that a broken garden chair was a perfectly good throne."

Vivienne laughed despite herself.

"I can imagine Adrian arguing with her."

"He argued with everyone."

"Still does."

Alexander smiled briefly, but the expression faded when he looked at her again.

"Why are you asking me this now?"

"Because I can't keep living with pieces of a life everyone else seems to remember better than I do."

His expression softened.

"Vivienne—"

"And please don't tell me to be careful. I've heard that enough from everyone."

He fell quiet before nodding toward the stone bench beneath the oak tree.

"Sit down. I'll tell you what I remember."

She sat.

Alexander joined her a moment later.

"Both our families were here one evening. There was a gathering inside the house. We stayed outside while the adults talked."

"All four of us?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"I remember an argument. Isabelle was upset about something, and she left the garden."

"Alone?"

"Yes."

"And nobody followed her?"

"I did."

Vivienne turned toward him.

"You followed her?"

"I saw her leave. I went after her, but I couldn't find her."

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know."

She searched his face.

"Did you tell anyone?"

"Of course. We searched the grounds. The adults became involved, and after that, everything changed."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I was a child, Vivienne. I wasn't told everything that happened afterward."

"But you knew she was gone."

"Yes."

"And you never told me what you remembered?"

His jaw tightened.

"You weren't exactly asking me about her."

"Because I couldn't remember her!"

"I know."

His quiet response stopped her.

For the first time, she noticed the exhaustion beneath his composure. He wasn't simply irritated by her questions. Something about that night still hurt him.

"Did I have anything to do with what happened?" she asked.

"No."

The answer came immediately.

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because I know you."

"You knew me when we were children. You don't know everything about me now."

"Perhaps not." He looked down at his hands. "But I know you wouldn't deliberately hurt someone you loved."

Her chest tightened.

She wanted to ask whether he was talking about Isabelle.

Instead, she asked, "Did you love her?"

Alexander met her eyes.

"Yes. She was our friend. She mattered to all of us."

"Then why does it feel like everyone has agreed to pretend she never existed?"

"Because remembering her became difficult."

"That's not an explanation."

"No. It's the truth I have."

Vivienne looked away, frustrated by how little he could tell her.

Then Alexander spoke again.

"There's something else."

She turned back.

"After that night, you came to me. You were frightened, and you asked me to promise you something."

"What?"

"That I wouldn't let anyone force you to talk about what happened until you were ready."

Vivienne stared at him.

"Why would I ask you that?"

"I don't know. You kept saying you didn't want to remember."

A strange sensation passed through her.

For one fleeting second, she saw a garden at night. A girl's hand slipped from hers. Someone called out, but the voice seemed to come from far away.

Then the image vanished.

Vivienne gripped the edge of the bench.

Alexander leaned toward her.

"What is it?"

"I remembered something."

His expression changed.

"What did you see?"

"I'm not sure."

She closed her eyes, trying to recover the fragment.

One sentence remained.

Don't let them take her.

When she opened her eyes, Alexander was watching her with an expression she couldn't understand.

"Do you know what that means?" she asked.

He looked away.

"No."

She didn't believe him.

Before she could challenge him, her phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

You asked Alexander about that night.

A second message appeared.

Now ask him why Isabelle trusted him more than anyone else.

Vivienne's stomach tightened.

Alexander read the messages over her shoulder.

"Whoever is sending these knows about our childhood," he said.

"Apparently, they know things you won't tell me."

"Vivienne, don't respond to them."

"Why? Are you afraid of what they'll say?"

"I'm afraid they'll tell you something without giving you the whole truth."

She took her phone back.

"Then give me the truth yourself."

"I can't give you what I don't remember."

It was the first answer he'd given her that sounded completely honest.

That frightened her more than his silence.

---

That evening, Vivienne returned to her bedroom and examined the photograph again.

She turned it over, running her fingers along the damaged edge.

The missing strip at the bottom had bothered her since she found it. Now she wondered whether the photograph had been altered for a reason beyond removing names.

Holding it beneath her desk lamp, she noticed faint marks pressed into the paper.

Someone had written on another sheet while the photograph lay beneath it.

The words were incomplete, but two remained visible.

Find her.

Vivienne stared at them.

Who had written the message?

And who had they been trying to find?

Her phone vibrated again.

This time, the unknown sender had attached a photograph.

Vivienne opened it.

The image showed the garden fountain at night. Four children stood beside it, their faces clearer than those in the faded photograph on her desk.

She recognized herself.

Alexander.

Adrian.

And Isabelle.

The girl stood between Vivienne and Alexander, holding both their hands.

On her wrist was a thin silver bracelet.

Vivienne leaned closer to the screen.

She knew that bracelet.

She had seen it recently, somewhere inside her own home.

She couldn't immediately remember where, but the sight of it stirred a faint, uncomfortable feeling in her chest.

A final message appeared beneath the photograph.

Your father kept something that belonged to Isabelle. Ask him why.

Vivienne read it twice.

Her father had recognized Isabelle's face.

He had reacted to her name.

And now someone was telling her that he possessed something connected to the girl everyone refused to discuss.

She glanced toward the door.

For years, Hartwell House had been the one place where she never questioned whether she belonged.

Now even its familiar rooms seemed to hold secrets she had never been allowed to see.

Vivienne picked up her phone and enlarged the photograph.

The bracelet was unmistakable.

She remembered seeing it inside a locked display case in her father's study.

Her pulse quickened.

Why would Richard Hartwell keep Isabelle's bracelet?

And why had he never mentioned it?

She could call Alexander. She could ask Adrian. She could wait until morning and pretend that patience was the same as caution.

But she had spent too long allowing other people to decide which questions she was permitted to ask.

Not tonight.

Vivienne slipped the phone into her pocket and left her bedroom.

At the end of the corridor, the door to her father's study stood closed.

A thin line of light showed beneath it.

Her father was still awake.

Good.

She walked toward the door, already knowing what she would ask.

This time, she wouldn't accept another vague answer.

She was going to find out why Isabelle's bracelet was locked away in her father's study—and what else he had kept from her.

Vivienne raised her hand and knocked.