Chapter 11 - The Pink Rabbit Trail
Elena did not scream.
That frightened Alejandro more than screaming would have.
She stood in the safe room holding Emma’s pink rabbit backpack with both hands.
Her face looked empty.
“What happened?” Alejandro asked.
The guard spoke quickly.
“The ventilation alarm sounded.”
“We moved everyone to the secondary room.”
“Emma was holding my hand.”
“Then the lights flickered.”
“One second.”
“She was gone.”
Alejandro turned to Tomas.
“Tunnel.”
They had found one entrance.
There had to be others.
Elena grabbed Alejandro’s sleeve.
“Find her.”
“I will.”
“Don’t promise me things because you’re Alejandro Moretti.”
Her eyes filled.
“Promise me because you’re her uncle.”
He looked at her.
“I will bring her home.”
Then he ran.
The tunnels were a maze.
Old brick.
Rusting pipes.
Dead ends.
Tomas found a footprint near a drainage passage.
Adult.
Then a second print.
Tiny.
Emma had walked at least part of the way.
“Why wouldn’t she scream?” Tomas asked.
Alejandro already knew.
“Because he told her something about Elena.”
A child who had broken one rule to save a dying stranger would absolutely follow a monster if she believed it would save her mother.
They reached the carriage house.
Empty.
Outside, tire tracks cut through the snow.
The gate logs showed nothing.
An old service road avoided the main gate.
Of course it did.
Elena arrived behind them.
Alejandro turned.
“I told you to stay inside.”
“My daughter is not inside.”
Fair.
She looked at the ground.
Then stopped.
“Wait.”
A scrap of pink fabric hung from a thorn bush.
Rabbit-ear pattern.
Emma’s backpack.
Farther down the road, another scrap.
Then another.
Elena started crying.
“She did that on purpose.”
Alejandro understood.
Emma had left a trail.
At four years old.
Terrified.
But thinking.
They followed the scraps to an abandoned gatehouse.
Inside was the backpack.
No Emma.
But her stuffed rabbit lay on the floor.
One ear had been tucked beneath its arm.
Elena grabbed it.
“There’s something inside.”
A folded receipt.
Emma could not write much.
But she could draw.
On the back was a crooked picture of a church.
A lake.
And three tall trees.
Alejandro knew the place instantly.
St. Michael’s Retreat.
An old Moretti property in Wisconsin.
Closed after Luca died.
Near the road where his car had burned.
Tomas called ahead.
Then froze.
“What?” Alejandro asked.
“The property caretaker answered.”
“And?”
“He says nobody has been there in years.”
“Then why are you looking like that?”
Tomas swallowed.
“Because the caretaker is Henry Bell.”
His father.
Alive.
May you like
At the place where Luca died.
