Chapter 3
Andre reached the church office corridor just as a door slammed at the far end.
“Mom!” Marcus shouted.
No answer.
The hallway was narrow, lined with framed photographs of Christmas pageants and food drives. Lorraine’s heels struck the tile somewhere beyond the corner.
Andre ran.
He had never thought of his sixty-eight-year-old mother as fast. But fear could make people younger.
By the time he and Marcus reached the rear office, the outer door was swinging open.
Lorraine was gone.
Marcus stood beneath the security light, breathing hard.
“Her car.”
Andre looked across the lot.
The space beside the handicapped entrance was empty.
“She left.”
Marcus swore under his breath.
Andre pulled out his phone.
“Call the police.”
Marcus hesitated.
Andre stared at him.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t become him again.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Him?”
“The guy who needs one more explanation before doing the obvious thing.”
That hurt.
Andre saw it.
He did not take it back.
Marcus dialed.
While he spoke to dispatch, Andre went back to the main hall.
Most guests had begun leaving.
Rachel was gone with Noah.
The pastor, Reverend Harris, approached cautiously.
“Is everything all right?”
Andre almost laughed.
“No.”
Harris looked toward Marcus.
“I saw your mother leave through the back.”
“You have cameras?”
“In the common areas.”
“What about the office corridor?”
“Yes.”
“Can we see it?”
Harris hesitated.
Andre held up his injured hand.
“She assaulted me, and my nephew just said she hits him.”
That ended the hesitation.
Ten minutes later, they were in a small security room.
The footage showed Lorraine entering the rear office.
She stayed inside thirty-eight seconds.
Then she emerged carrying something under her coat.
Marcus leaned toward the screen.
“Zoom.”
The church volunteer operating the system tried.
The image blurred.
Still, the object was visible.
Rectangular.
About the size of a large notebook.
Andre felt cold.
“Blue?”
Marcus stared.
The cover flashed for half a second under the fluorescent light.
Dark blue.
Marcus shut his eyes.
“She had it here.”
Andre turned.
“What?”
Marcus pointed at the screen.
“Mom keeps church financial records sometimes. She’s been treasurer for twelve years.”
Harris shifted.
“Former treasurer.”
Both brothers looked at him.
“Former?”
The pastor cleared his throat.
“The finance committee asked Lorraine to step down two months ago.”
Marcus frowned.
“She never said that.”
“I assumed you knew.”
“Why?”
Harris looked uncomfortable.
“There were disagreements.”
Andre stepped closer.
“What kind?”
“Accounting.”
Marcus’s face hardened.
“Missing money?”
Harris shook his head quickly.
“No accusation was made.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Harris sighed.
“There were reimbursements that lacked documentation. Nothing enormous. Several thousand dollars.”
Andre looked at Marcus.
Lorraine did not need church money.
She owned a mortgage-free home, received a generous pension, and had inherited property from their father.
Unless money was not the point.
“What did she spend it on?” Andre asked.
“We don’t know.”
Harris folded his arms.
“She said they were family-support expenses authorized years earlier.”
Marcus frowned.
“Family support?”
“I never understood what she meant.”
The office door opened.
Two police officers entered.
What followed was slower than Andre wanted.
Questions.
Names.
Dates.
Noah’s statement repeated carefully.
Andre’s slap documented.
Photographs taken of the red mark along his cheek and the cut on his hand.
The officers explained that child-protection investigators would need to speak with Noah.
Marcus nodded mechanically.
Andre watched him.
His brother looked as though someone had removed the floor from beneath his life.
When one officer asked where Lorraine might go, Marcus gave her home address, her sister’s address, the church retreat cabin, and the name of an old friend.
Andre added the storage facility on Harper Road.
Marcus looked at him.
“Why there?”
“Dad’s furniture.”
“That unit closed years ago.”
“No.”
Andre remembered something.
“Mom asked me to move boxes there after Dad died.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
Marcus frowned.
“Dad died seven years ago.”
“I know.”
The officer wrote it down.
“What boxes?”
Andre tried to remember.
“Files. Photo albums. Old tax stuff.”
“Family records?” Marcus asked.
Andre looked at him.
Maybe.
At midnight, the brothers finally left the church.
Neither wanted to go home.
They ended up at a twenty-four-hour diner that had not changed since high school.
Marcus stared into black coffee.
Andre kept Elena’s letter in his jacket.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Then Marcus said, “I should have protected him.”
Andre looked up.
“Yes.”
Marcus flinched.
“I expected you to say I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know everything.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
Marcus nodded.
“I saw things.”
Andre stayed quiet.
“Mom would correct him constantly,” Marcus said. “What he ate. How he sat. Whether he cried.”
“You thought that was normal.”
“I thought it was annoying.”
“Different word.”
“I know.”
Marcus rubbed his face.
“After Elena died, I needed Mom.”
Andre’s anger softened slightly.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Marcus looked at him.
“I would wake up and not know how to make breakfast because Elena always did it. I couldn’t find Noah’s socks. I didn’t know the preschool password. I didn’t know which cup he liked. I felt like a stranger raising my own child.”
Andre listened.
“Mom stepped in. She knew everything. Meals. Laundry. Appointments. She made the world function.”
“And the price?”
Marcus looked down.
“I didn’t see it.”
“You saw me disappear.”
“I thought you chose to.”
Andre leaned back.
“That was convenient.”
“Yes.”
Marcus looked at him again.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Andre laughed.
“I did.”
“What?”
“Three times.”
“When?”
“The first month after the funeral.”
“I never got calls.”
“You blocked me.”
Marcus stared.
“I never blocked you.”
Andre’s expression changed.
Marcus immediately pulled out his phone.
He scrolled through settings.
Andre already knew the answer.
“My number is still blocked, isn’t it?”
Marcus’s face went white.
He turned the screen.
Andre’s contact was there.
Blocked.
Marcus whispered, “I didn’t do this.”
Andre felt no satisfaction.
Only exhaustion.
“Who had access to your phone?”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“Mom.”
The waitress arrived with pancakes neither man had ordered.
“Kitchen made extra,” she said. “You boys look like you need food.”
Andre smiled weakly.
“Thanks.”
When she left, Marcus stared at the plate.
“You remember when Mom used to make us finish everything?”
Andre nodded.
“Dad too.”
“No. Dad used to sneak food off our plates when she left.”
Andre looked up.
He remembered.
Their father had turned obedience into jokes.
“Rescue operation,” Andre said.
Marcus almost smiled.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
Andre thought of Noah.
“Did Mom make Noah finish food?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did she punish him?”
Marcus hesitated.
“What does that mean?”
“If he refused dinner, she said no dessert.”
“Anything else?”
Marcus did not answer.
Andre leaned forward.
“Marcus.”
“Once I saw him sitting at the table at ten at night.”
Andre went still.
“How old?”
“Five.”
“Why?”
“He wouldn’t eat peas.”
Andre stared.
“And you left him there?”
“I told Mom it was ridiculous.”
“What did you do?”
Marcus’s eyes filled.
“I went upstairs.”
Andre pushed away from the table.
“I can’t listen to this.”
“Andre.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t get to say you know.”
Marcus looked at him helplessly.
Andre stood.
“You were the father in the house.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that now like it pays a debt.”
Marcus’s jaw shook.
“I don’t know what else to say.”
Andre wanted to hurt him.
Not physically.
He wanted Marcus to feel one percent of the rage Andre had carried for three years.
Then his phone rang.
Rachel.
Andre answered immediately.
“Is Noah okay?”
Rachel’s voice was tight.
“He’s asleep.”
“What happened?”
“I found something.”
Andre sat down again.
“What?”
“In Noah’s backpack.”
Marcus leaned forward.
Rachel continued.
“A note.”
“What does it say?”
“She put it there.”
“Who?”
“Lorraine.”
Andre closed his eyes.
“Read it.”
Rachel did.
If Noah talks about Elena or Andre, redirect him immediately. Do not reward attention-seeking behavior. Marcus is emotionally fragile and cannot handle regression.
Andre gripped the phone.
“Is that all?”
“No.”
Rachel swallowed.
“There are dates.”
“What dates?”
“Times she says Noah ‘acted out’ after mentioning Elena.”
Marcus’s face collapsed.
Rachel continued.
“One entry says, ‘Cried over photograph. Dinner withheld until apology.’”
Andre stared at Marcus.
His brother stopped breathing.
Rachel’s voice cracked.
“There’s another.”
“Read it.”
“‘Asked for Andre after nightmare. Privilege removal successful. No breakfast next morning.’”
Marcus stood so fast the table shook.
Coffee spilled.
Andre grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To find her.”
“No.”
“She starved my son.”
“We need the note.”
Rachel said, “I photographed everything.”
“Good.”
Marcus pulled free.
Andre stood.
“Marcus.”
His brother looked at him with a rage Andre had never seen.
“I let her raise him.”
Andre lowered his voice.
“Then don’t make tonight worse.”
Marcus shook.
“Where would she go?”
Andre thought.
The blue notebook.
The storage unit.
Family records.
“Harper Road.”
Marcus understood.
They left cash on the table and drove.
The storage facility sat near the highway, rows of metal doors beneath security lights.
It was 12:47 a.m.
The gate was open.
“That’s not normal,” Andre said.
They drove to the unit Andre remembered.
Number 214.
The lock lay on the ground.
Cut.
Marcus reached for the handle.
Andre stopped him.
“Police.”
Marcus hated it.
But he called.
While they waited, Andre noticed something inside through the narrow gap beneath the door.
Light.
Flickering.
“Do you smell that?”
Marcus did.
Smoke.
Andre ran to the extinguisher box mounted near the office.
By the time they returned, smoke curled beneath the storage door.
Marcus pulled the handle.
Heat rolled outward.
Boxes were burning.
Andre sprayed blindly.
Marcus grabbed a second extinguisher from the next row.
Together they fought the flames until sirens arrived.
The fire department took over.
Twenty minutes later, half the contents were soaked.
Much had burned.
But not all.
A firefighter carried out a metal document box.
Its exterior was blackened.
The lock had melted.
Andre looked inside.
Photographs.
Bank statements.
School reports.
Old medical files.
And beneath them, protected by a plastic sleeve, a blue notebook.
Marcus stared.
“She didn’t get it.”
Andre reached toward the notebook.
The officer stopped him.
“Evidence.”
Andre nodded.
Then something else caught his eye.
A photograph near the top of the box.
He recognized himself.
He was seventeen.
Marcus was nineteen.
Their father stood between them.
Someone had written across the back.
ANDRE — CONTACT WITH FAMILY MUST BE LIMITED IF R. DIES.
Andre felt the air leave his lungs.
Marcus whispered, “R?”
Their father’s name had been Raymond.
Andre turned the photograph over again.
May you like
Beneath the sentence, in Lorraine’s handwriting, was a date.
Two weeks before Raymond’s fatal car accident.
