Chapter 7: What Gerald Knew
They were downstairs for two hours.
I heard nothing through the closed door — the house was built for silence, its walls thick enough to swallow anything that happened inside them.
I sat between the boys' beds and read to them from a book I found on the shelf — an old illustrated adventure story, the kind with hand-drawn maps at the front.
Marcus followed every word.
Mason fell asleep halfway through chapter three, which was the most normal thing I had seen either of them do.
At noon, Gerald knocked.
He opened the door without waiting for an answer.
His face was composed.
Professionally blank.
Mr.
Coleman would like to see you, Miss Mitchell.
I closed the book.
He looked at the boys.
At the vent above their beds.
His gaze moved across it the way you look at something familiar — not studying it, just registering it.
That was enough.
I followed him downstairs.
Nathan was in his office.
The two men were still there.
Dr.
Ashford was not.
Where is he?
I asked.
Nathan gestured to the chair.
I sat.
Ashford has been taken to a secure location, Nathan said.
My people will hold him while the appropriate authorities are contacted.
He will not be returning to this house.
He placed a folder on the desk between us.
Inside was a photograph.
Gerald Russo, standing in a hardware supply yard, signing a delivery receipt.
The date stamp on the photograph was eleven months ago — three weeks after Elena Coleman's car accident.
The delivery was for ventilation components, Nathan said.
Specialized.
Not standard residential grade.
Gerald arranged it through a shell account he'd been maintaining for two years.
I looked at the photograph.
He came with the house, I said.
He came with Elena's family, Nathan said.
Her brother placed him here six years ago.
We thought it was a favor.
A trusted pair of hands.
He paused.
Elena trusted him completely.
And the brother?
Victor Hale.
He's been contesting the estate since Elena d*ed.
His legal position collapses if the boys survive and reach the age of majority.
His position strengthens considerably if they don't.
I looked at the folder.
So Gerald fed Victor information.
Victor arranged Ashford.
Ashford provided the compound and the medical cover.
And Gerald installed the vent and managed the access.
Nathan nodded.
A clean system, he said.
No single person holding all of it.
Difficult to trace from any one direction.
Except the vent, I said.
Except the vent.
He leaned back.
Gerald is still in the house.
I haven't moved on him yet.
I need him to believe nothing has changed until I have everything documented and the right people in position.
Can you go back upstairs and behave as though this conversation didn't happen?
Yes.
He looked at me.
Miss Mitchell.
You've been here four days.
I know.
He seemed to want to say something else.
He didn't.
Go back to the boys, he said.
I'll come up when it's done.
I stood and went to the door.
Behind me, Nathan said: Sarah.
It was the first time he'd used my name.
I turned.
Thank you, he said.
I nodded once and went upstairs.
Gerald was in the corridor outside the boys' room.
He was straightening a picture on the wall — a small, unnecessary task.
The kind of task a man performs when he needs to be somewhere without appearing to have a reason.
He looked at me as I approached.
Everything all right?
he asked.
Fine, I said.
Mr.
Coleman wanted to go over the boys' schedule.
He nodded.
His eyes moved to the boys' door.
Then back to me.
They seem a little better today, he said.
They do, I said.
I went inside and closed the door.
Marcus looked up from his book.
Gerald was listening at the door again, he said.
I looked at him.
Again?
He does it at night sometimes, Marcus said, very matter-of-fact.
We hear him breathing.
I sat down.
How long has he done that?
Marcus thought about it.
Since Mommy d*ed, he said.
Same as everything else.
I kept my face still.
Does it bother you?
I asked.
Mason opened one eye from his pillow.
It's creepy, Mason said.
Gerald is creepy.
I almost laughed.
I didn't.
You're right, I said quietly.
But you don't have to worry about Gerald anymore.
Mason closed his eye again.
Good, he said.
I never liked him anyway.
Forty minutes later, I heard voices in the corridor.
Then footsteps.
Then a door.
Then nothing.
Nathan came upstairs at two o'clock.
He stood in the doorway of the boys' room and looked at his sons for a long moment without speaking.
Marcus looked up.
Dad?
Nathan crossed the room and sat on the edge of Marcus's bed.
He put one hand on the boy's head.
Then he reached out and put the other hand on Mason's shoulder.
Mason opened his eyes.
Dad?
Mason said.
Yeah, Nathan said.
His voice was rough.
Is Gerald gone?
Marcus asked.
Nathan looked at me over their heads.
Yes, he said.
Gerald is gone.
Marcus nodded, apparently satisfied, and went back to his book.
Mason looked at his father for another moment.
Then he said: Can we have the window open now?
Nathan stood up and crossed to the window.
He looked at the latch.
He removed it with two firm pulls — the screws were shallow, recently placed.
He pushed the window open.
Cool autumn air moved into the room.
May you like
Both boys turned their faces toward it.
Nathan stood at the window with his back to me, his hands on the frame, and didn't say anything for a while.
