CHAPTER 2 THE BOY IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Nathaniel wrapped his shirt around his hand and struck the window with the fire extinguisher.
The glass did not break.
Open Door House had replaced most of the estate’s old security windows, but Miriam’s room had once belonged to Nathaniel’s father. The glass had been designed to withstand gunfire.
Smoke thickened near the ceiling.
Noah coughed.
Claire pulled him close and forced herself to remain calm.
“Where is the manual release?”
Nathaniel dropped beside the bed and reached beneath the wooden frame.
“There used to be one here.”
“Used to be?”
“My father installed private lockdown rooms throughout the estate.”
“You said the underground cells were gone.”
“They are.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Nathaniel looked at her.
“No. It wasn’t.”
His fingers found a small metal lever hidden beneath the floor molding.
He pulled.
The door opened.
Claire pushed Noah into the hallway before following him out.
Fire alarms finally activated. Staff members began guiding residents toward the courtyard. The chemical smoke had been concentrated only in Miriam’s room.
It had not been intended to kill them.
It had been intended to trap them long enough to hear the message.
By sunrise, federal investigators had sealed the estate.
The security breach had originated from an internal administrative account belonging to a former systems engineer who had died eight months earlier.
The recording of Miriam’s voice had been assembled from therapy sessions.
Miriam herself remained missing.
Claire stood in the operations room while technicians examined the Polaroid photograph.
Nathaniel had not left.
He also had not answered her question.
She turned toward him.
“Tell me about the boy.”
Nathaniel lowered his eyes.
“When I was seventeen, my father took me to a medical facility in Northern California.”
“Lighthouse Point?”
“No. Somewhere inland.”
“What did you see?”
“A boy sitting in a hallway. He had a hospital bracelet and a wooden boat.”
Noah looked up from the far side of the room.
“My boat?”
Claire’s attention shifted toward him.
The small wooden boat had belonged to Noah since early childhood. It had once contained a hidden tracker connected to Project Lighthouse.
“Where is it?” Claire asked.
“In my room.”
“Show me.”
They hurried upstairs.
Noah’s room appeared untouched.
His books remained stacked beside the bed. His shoes were beneath the desk. The blanket was folded back where he had left it.
But the wooden boat was gone.
Noah opened every drawer.
“I put it on the shelf last night.”
Nathaniel checked beneath the bed.
Claire searched the closet.
Nothing.
A technician entered.
“Mrs. Blackwood, we found an unauthorized wireless signal inside the building.”
“From where?”
The technician held up a tablet.
“It’s moving.”
“Moving where?”
“Toward us.”
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
A counselor approached carrying a white delivery box.
“This was left at the front gate.”
Claire did not touch it.
“Who brought it?”
“No one saw.”
The bomb squad examined the box before opening it.
Inside was Noah’s wooden boat.
A small green light blinked beneath its hull.
The tracker had been reactivated.
But it was not transmitting Noah’s location.
It was receiving seven separate signals.
One from each city where Open Door House operated.
Claire watched seven red points pulse across the digital map.
Portland.
Seattle.
San Francisco.
Denver.
Chicago.
Boston.
Washington, D.C.
Then an eighth point appeared.
It came from beneath the Pacific Ocean, twelve miles west of Lighthouse Point.
Nathaniel stared at the coordinates.
“That’s impossible.”
“What is there?” Claire asked.
“Nothing.”
The technician enlarged the map.
The signal appeared to originate nearly six hundred feet below sea level.
Noah picked up the Polaroid photograph.
He placed it beside the wooden boat.
“The boy has the same bracelet I had when I was little.”
Claire looked closer.
A faded number was visible beneath the boy’s wrist.
N-17.
Noah pulled up his sleeve.
On the inside of his right wrist was a thin white scar.
Claire had always believed it came from a childhood IV.
Noah touched it.
“My hospital bracelet said N-17.”
The room became silent.
Claire looked at Nathaniel.
“You told me Noah was born at St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
“He was.”
“Were you there?”
Nathaniel hesitated.
“Not for the delivery.”
“Did you see him immediately afterward?”
“No.”
“How long?”
“Two days.”
Claire felt the floor shift beneath her.
“Why?”
“Your father said there had been complications. He told me you needed rest.”
“My father was already involved with Project Lighthouse.”
“I didn’t understand that then.”
“You keep saying what you didn’t understand.”
“I know.”
Claire held up the photograph.
“Then tell me something you do understand.”
Nathaniel looked from the unknown boy to Noah.
“The child I saw at that facility wasn’t alone.”
“How many children were there?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many?”
Nathaniel’s voice lowered.
“At least twenty.”
The tracker inside the wooden boat emitted a sharp tone.
The eighth signal moved.
It was no longer beneath the ocean.
May you like
It was approaching Lighthouse Point.
And it was moving fast.
