Chapter 3 - THE YEAR SHE NEVER TALKED ABOUT
Ryan read the message six times.
He had been seven years old.
There were things he remembered from that year.
A blue bicycle.
His second-grade teacher, Mrs. Bennett.
A broken wrist after falling from a swing.
And moving.
A sudden move.
He remembered boxes stacked in a motel room.
Linda telling him they were going on an adventure.
He remembered asking when his father was coming.
After that, memories blurred.
By the time Ryan was ten, the story had become simple.
His father had left.
Later, Linda told him he'd died overseas after years of having no contact with the family.
Ryan had never pressed hard.
Linda always looked wounded whenever he mentioned him.
Now, sitting alone in his apartment with an unknown AirTag sealed in a plastic bag and a stranger's message glowing on his screen, Ryan began searching.
He typed his father's name.
Evan Mercer.
Ryan knew surprisingly little about him.
He searched combinations.
Evan Mercer Ohio.
Evan Mercer 2009.
Evan Mercer obituary.
Nothing matched the story Linda had told him.
No obituary.
No death notice.
No article about an American man named Evan Mercer dying overseas.
Ryan expanded the search.
Old public records.
Archived social pages.
Court indexes.
At 12:42 A.M., he found the first thing that made his stomach tighten.
MERCER, EVAN T.
v.
CARTER, LINDA M.
Family court.
Filed March 2009.
Additional filings followed through September.
Custody.
Emergency motions.
Protective petition.
Then the public trail abruptly ended.
Ryan stared at the surname.
Carter.
His mother's surname.
His surname.
He had always assumed his father had also been a Carter.
He'd never even thought to question it.
Ryan searched again.
This time he found an old cached newspaper notice from October 2009.
MISSING CHILD INVESTIGATION CONTINUES.
The full article wasn't available.
Only a few lines.
Seven-year-old boy.
Custodial dispute.
Mother believed to have left the county.
Father cooperating with authorities.
Ryan pushed himself away from the laptop.
“No.”
He whispered it to an empty room.
No.
There had to be another child.
Another family.
Another Ryan.
His phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number.
This time, an image appeared.
It was an old photograph.
Ryan was seven.
He recognized himself instantly.
He was missing one front tooth and wearing the red Cleveland baseball cap he'd loved as a child.
Beside him knelt a dark-haired man in his early thirties.
The man's arm was around Ryan's shoulders.
They were both laughing.
On the back of the photograph someone had written:
RYAN + DAD
MAY 2009
Another message followed.
HE DIDN'T DIE.
Ryan called Linda.
She answered on the second ring.
“Ryan?”
“Is Evan Mercer alive?”
Silence.
Ryan stood from his desk.
“Mom.”
“Where did you hear that name?”
His blood went cold.
Not Who?
Not What are you talking about?
Where did you hear that name?
“Is he alive?”
“Ryan, listen to me.”
“Answer me.”
Linda inhaled slowly.
“Yes.”
Everything inside him seemed to stop.
Ryan gripped the phone harder.
“You told me he was dead.”
“I told you what you needed to know.”
“You told me my father died.”
“You were a child.”
“I've been an adult for six years.”
“He is not your father in any way that matters.”
Ryan looked at the photograph on his computer.
The man holding seven-year-old Ryan looked very much like a father.
“Why is someone sending me pictures of him?”
Linda didn't answer.
“Why did we leave in 2009?”
Still nothing.
Ryan's voice dropped.
“What did you do?”
Linda finally spoke.
“Lock your door.”
Ryan felt a chill run down his back.
“What?”
“Lock every door and window. Don't go downstairs alone. If you see a dark gray SUV near your building, call the police.”
Ryan walked slowly toward his window.
He pulled the curtain aside.
Across the street, beneath a dead streetlight, a dark gray SUV was parked at the curb.
May you like
Its headlights were off.
Someone was sitting behind the wheel.
