My nine-year-old son brought a shivering Golden Retriever puppy home from the edge of our gated community's perimeter fence.
I returned to my home under cover of darkness, the weight of the forged document pressing down on me. Marcus had not only covered up Julian’s supposed death, he had desecrated Sarah’s memory.
The front door, usually secured with a simple keypad, now stood slightly ajar. A harsh, white council notice was tacked to the frame, its edges flapping in the wind.
My property had been repossessed by Covenant Enterprises.
“Daddy, what’s happening?” Ethan’s small voice trembled from behind me. The puppy whimpered softly in my arms.
The temperature was dropping rapidly, threatening to dip below freezing by morning. We couldn’t stay here. I had no illusions about the “spiritual rehabilitation” facility; it was likely a glorified detention cell.
I pulled Ethan close. “We’re going to a friend, son. Someone who can help.”
I led him and the puppy to the rear of the enclave medical clinic, the building dark except for a single, warm light in Dr. Miriam Kincaid’s small night office. I tapped softly on the side door, the one she used to slip in and out for late-night emergencies.
A moment later, the lock clicked. Dr. Kincaid, her usually serene face etched with worry, pulled the door open just enough for us to slip through. She quickly locked the deadbolt, the sound echoing in the silent hallway.
“Caleb,” she whispered, her gaze sweeping over Ethan and the puppy, then back to my face. “They told me you were… unwell. Delusional.”
“They cut off my phone, Miriam. And they just evicted me.” I gestured to the red card still in my pocket. “They’ve shunned me.”
She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. She moved to an emergency surgical tray, her movements precise. With a soft click, she pulled open a sterilized metallic drawer.
“Marcus has been escalating this,” she said, her voice low. “I couldn’t reach you. But I… I prepared for this.”
She handed me a tiny, encrypted micro-SD card. It was no bigger than my thumbnail.
“This contains a backup directory,” she explained, her eyes flicking towards the door. “I pulled it from Marcus’s office tablet during a routine network maintenance hour, three weeks ago.”
Her shoulders slumped, a deep sigh escaping her. “Caleb, I… I know Julian is alive. I was quietly ordered to administer pediatric asthma treatments at an off-site retreat. The Hill House.”
My blood ran cold. “The Hill House?”
“Yes. I stayed silent, Caleb. Out of fear. Fear of losing my medical license, my freedom. Everything I built here. But after today… I can’t.” Her hands trembled slightly as she closed the surgical drawer. “You need to see what’s on this.”
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