Chapter 2 - Whispers in the walls

The journal sat open on the desk, its pages like fragile skin beneath Elena's fingertips. The words seemed to breathe with her grandmother's voice, every line steeped in urgency. "I swore I would protect her. No one can know the truth—not now, not ever." Elena's chest tightened as she read those words for the third time. The "her" could only mean Evelyn. But what truth had to be hidden so desperately that Margaret Hart had taken it to her grave? The house groaned as a gust of wind pressed against the shutters, making them rattle. The sound startled her enough to snap the journal shut. It was silly, but she couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching. She rose from the chair, pacing the study. The familiar shelves lined with old books now felt like sentinels keeping secrets. She glanced at the photograph again. Her mother's youthful smile radiated a joy Elena had never seen in the woman who raised her. And the man… the torn-away half of his face burned into her mind. "Who are you?" she whispered, turning the photograph over again. The truth is not yours. The phrase sounded like a warning. --- She spent the next hour searching the study for more clues, pulling books from shelves and checking beneath furniture, but nothing else stood out. Whoever her grandmother had been protecting, she had hidden her secrets well. Finally, exhausted, Elena left the study and wandered into the kitchen. The kitchen felt just as she remembered it—warm tones, chipped tile, and the faint scent of dried herbs clinging to the air. She poured herself a glass of water, leaning against the counter. Her reflection in the darkened window stared back at her, tired and questioning. That was when her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at it. A message from Evelyn Hart. "We need to talk. Come by tomorrow." Elena stared at the words, her pulse quickening. Her mother hadn't spoken to her since the funeral. Now, suddenly, she wanted to talk? Her fingers hovered over the reply button. Not yet. She deleted the message draft and set the phone down. She wasn't ready to face Evelyn—not until she understood what she was hiding. --- That evening, as the sky faded into shades of violet and gray, Elena settled into her grandmother's bedroom. She had decided to sleep there instead of the guest room, drawn by some strange pull, as if being closer to Margaret might reveal more answers. The bedroom smelled faintly of lavender, and everything was neatly arranged—the quilt folded perfectly, the dresser polished. She placed the journal on the nightstand beside the bed, staring at it as if it might whisper the truth in her sleep. The night deepened, the house groaning softly with every gust of wind. Sleep came slowly, and when it did, it brought uneasy dreams—fragmented images of her grandmother's voice, the torn photograph, and whispers she couldn't quite understand. She woke suddenly to a faint noise. A soft creak. Footsteps. Elena sat up in bed, her heart thudding. The house was supposed to be empty. She strained to listen. There it was again—the slow, deliberate sound of footsteps coming from the hallway. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, moving toward the door. The hall was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp she had left in the study earlier. She stepped into the hall, her feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. "Hello?" she called, her voice low. No answer. The footsteps stopped. Elena swallowed hard, moving toward the study. The door was slightly ajar, light spilling into the hallway. She pushed it open, expecting to find someone inside, but the room was empty. Her gaze shifted to the desk. The journal was gone. Her breath caught. She had left it in her grandmother's bedroom—she was sure of it. But there it was, sitting neatly on the desk, as if someone had placed it there. Elena's pulse quickened as she approached the desk. She flipped the journal open. A new page lay exposed, one she hadn't seen before. The handwriting was hurried, almost frantic. "If she finds out, everything will be ruined. He can't know the truth. Keep her away from Jacob." Jacob. The name struck her like a lightning bolt. She whispered it aloud. "Jacob…" The name felt familiar, tugging at a memory. She had heard it before, years ago—whispers of a man her family never spoke about. Her grandmother had always avoided the topic, and Evelyn refused to answer questions about him. Jacob Reed. The realization hit her: the man in the torn photograph had to be Jacob. And her grandmother had been desperate to keep her away from him. Elena's hands shook as she closed the journal. Questions flooded her mind. Why had Margaret wanted to keep her away from Jacob? What did he know? And why did it feel like everyone in this town had been keeping the same secret? --- The next morning, Elena woke early, unable to shake the unease of the night before. She sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, staring at the journal. The sound of gravel crunching outside drew her attention to the window. A car had pulled up. Liam. He stepped out, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets. His expression was thoughtful, almost worried. Elena opened the door before he could knock. "You're here early," she said, trying to sound casual. "I figured you might need help going through the house," he replied, but his eyes searched her face as if looking for something else. "Or maybe," Elena said, narrowing her eyes, "you just came to make sure I don't find out something I'm not supposed to." Liam stiffened, caught off guard. "I'm serious," she continued. "You grew up here. You know more about my family than you're saying. You knew my grandmother. You know about Jacob, don't you?" The color drained slightly from his face, confirming her suspicion. "Elena…" His voice was calm, but there was tension beneath it. "Not all truths are meant to be dug up." Her eyes burned with frustration. "Then tell me why everyone is so desperate to keep me in the dark!" He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Because once you know, you can't go back. And I… I don't want to see you hurt." Elena stared at him, her heart pounding. "Too late for that." There was a long silence. Finally, Liam sighed, his shoulders sinking. "You're not going to stop, are you?" "No," she said firmly. He hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Fine. If you really want answers… you need to talk to Jacob." The name hung heavy in the air, and Elena felt the weight of it settle on her chest. For the first time, she had a real lead. And she wasn't going to stop until she found him.