Seven Days Before My Wedding

Seven Days Before My Wedding - Chapter 8 — The Memory Beneath the House

Chapter 8 — The Memory Beneath the House

For several seconds, nobody moved.

The old house seemed to hold its breath with us.

My mother stood beside the broken window, staring at the place where the black car had disappeared.

Nathan was still holding my arm.

Neither of us spoke.

I was thinking about the voice.

The voice I had heard when I was eight.

The voice I had heard the night I died.

The same voice.

That couldn't be a coincidence.

"Emma."

Nathan's voice pulled me back.

I looked at him.

"You said you heard him here before."

"Yes."

"Are you certain?"

I nodded.

"I don't remember his face."

"But his voice?"

"I remember it."

My mother suddenly turned toward us.

"Then we need to leave."

I looked at her.

"Why?"

"Because this house isn't safe anymore."

"It hasn't been safe for years."

"You don't understand."

She walked toward the old desk.

She touched the photograph.

"The person who came here when you were eight wasn't working for Richard."

Nathan frowned.

"Then who was he?"

My mother hesitated.

"Someone above him."

The words made my stomach tighten.

"Above Richard?"

She nodded.

"Richard wasn't the mastermind."

"Then who was?"

"I don't know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

She looked exhausted.

"I spent three years trying to discover who was behind everything."

"And?"

"Every trail ended with Richard."

"Because he was protecting someone."

"Yes."

"Who?"

My mother stared at the scratched photograph.

"The man in the doorway."

I looked at the picture again.

The fifth person.

The face had been deliberately destroyed.

"Who was he?"

"I don't know."

"But you remember his voice?"

She closed her eyes.

"Yes."

"Was it the same voice?"

My mother looked at me.

"Yes."

A chill ran through me.

The same man had been present when I was eight.

The same man had been involved with my parents.

The same man had somehow been connected to my first death.

And now...

He knew I had returned.

Nathan picked up Elena's old phone.

"We need to find out who sent these messages."

I nodded.

"Can you unlock it?"

"No."

"Then we find someone who can."

"Daniel?"

"Yes."

Nathan looked at the screen.

"There's one problem."

"What?"

"The phone is still transmitting."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"It's connected to something."

"Can they track us?"

"Yes."

He immediately threw the phone onto the floor.

"Back."

I stepped away.

Nathan pulled his weapon.

"Down."

The phone suddenly vibrated.

Once.

Twice.

Then the screen went black.

A tiny red light appeared.

Nathan's expression changed.

"Get out!"

He grabbed me.

My mother ran toward the stairs.

We barely reached the front door when a loud explosion shook the house.

Glass shattered behind us.

The ceiling cracked.

Dust filled the air.

I fell.

Nathan pulled me up.

"Run!"

We ran outside.

The old house groaned behind us.

Part of the second floor collapsed.

My mother screamed.

I turned.

"Mom!"

Nathan grabbed me.

"Don't!"

"The house!"

"It's coming down."

We watched helplessly as the place where I had spent my childhood disappeared beneath smoke and dust.

My childhood.

My parents.

My memories.

Everything.

Gone.

Then I noticed something.

The explosion hadn't started upstairs.

It had come from beneath the house.

"The basement."

Nathan looked at me.

"What?"

"The explosion."

"It came from underneath."

He stared at the ruined house.

"You think there was something hidden down there."

I nodded.

"My father said the truth began here."

Nathan looked at me.

"Then we need to go back."

My mother grabbed his arm.

"No."

He turned.

"Why?"

"Because that's exactly what they want."

I looked at her.

"What?"

She whispered:

"They want us to find it."

We returned after sunrise.

The fire department had already arrived.

The house was badly damaged, but the basement had survived.

Nathan waited until the workers left.

Then we entered through the side.

The basement smelled of smoke.

The stairs were damaged.

We climbed down carefully.

At the bottom, I noticed something.

A metal door.

It hadn't been there in my memory.

Nathan examined it.

"Locked."

I touched the door.

Three circles.

The same symbol.

My father's seal.

I pulled the necklace from around my neck.

The pendant fit perfectly into the center.

Click.

The door opened.

Behind it was a narrow room.

There were no shelves.

No furniture.

Only one wooden box.

I opened it.

Inside was a blue ledger.

My heart stopped.

Nathan stared at it.

"The Blue Ledger."

I reached for it.

Then stopped.

There was a note on top.

My father's handwriting.

Emma,

If you found this, then you finally remembered.

My eyes filled with tears.

I opened the ledger.

The first pages contained financial records.

Names.

Dates.

Payments.

Companies.

Everything.

Then I reached the final section.

One page had been torn out.

The missing page.

Nathan looked at it.

"The page my father has."

I nodded.

Then I noticed something written beneath the torn section.

The name is not in the ledger.

I frowned.

"What?"

Nathan leaned closer.

The next sentence read:

The ledger only tells you where to look.

Then:

Look beneath the name of the first person who died.

My mother suddenly gasped.

"The first person."

I looked at her.

"Who?"

She whispered:

"Your grandmother."

I froze.

My grandmother.

The fifth person.

The woman who knew everything.

The woman whose death had been called an accident.

Another accident.

Another lie.

I turned the page.

There was one final line.

Her grave is empty.

My heart stopped.

"Mom..."

She looked at me.

"My grandmother isn't buried there."

She nodded.

"I know."

"Then where is she?"

My mother didn't answer.

Nathan did.

"Alive."

I stared at him.

"What?"

He looked at my mother.

"Isn't she?"

My mother closed her eyes.

Then whispered:

"Yes."

The room became silent.

My grandmother was alive.

My mother was alive.

And both women had been hidden from me.

For years.

I looked at the ledger.

Suddenly, the words seemed different.

This wasn't a financial record.

It was a map.

A map leading to the people who had survived.

And perhaps...

to the person who had orchestrated everything.

I turned the page again.

A location had been written in red.

St. Helena Clinic.

Nathan read it.

"That's an abandoned psychiatric hospital."

My mother shook her head.

"No."

"What?"

"It's not abandoned."

She looked terrified.

"It's where your grandmother has been hiding."