Bail

The sirens faded into the distance, carrying Julian away, leaving behind a silence that was heavier than the smoke. The officer clicked the second cuff onto Iris's wrist, the metal biting into her skin.

"Wait," Marcus said again, moving to block their path to the cruiser. "You can't arrest her. She saved his life. Look at the man in the window! That's Elias Vance. The one who's been missing for thirty years."

The officer glanced up at the window, but Elias was gone. The room was dark.

"Sir, step aside," the officer said, his hand resting on his holster. "We'll take everyone's statement at the station. But right now, this is a crime scene."

"It's a rescue scene!" Marcus shouted.

"Marcus," Iris said, her voice small. "Don't. Please."

She looked at him, pleading silently. If he got arrested too, there would be no one left. No one to find the proof. No one to help Elias.

Marcus stopped. He looked at her, his jaw working, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He understood.

"I'll call the lawyer," he said. "The real one. Not Sterling."

"Get him out," Iris whispered. "Get Elias out."

The officer guided her to the car, pushing her head down as she climbed into the back seat for the second time that night. The door slammed.

Through the window, she watched Marcus running toward the Carriage House, ignoring the police tape, ignoring the shouts of the other officers. He was going back in.

At the station, the processing was different this time. No psych hold. Just a cold metal table and a camera with a red recording light.

"State your name for the record," the detective said.

"Iris Vance."

"Ms. Vance, you are being charged with arson, breaking and entering, and assault. Do you understand these charges?"

"I understand that my uncle burned down his own house to hide a kidnapping," Iris said, her voice steady now. The fear had burned away, leaving only a cold, hard anger. "I understand that you have a man in your custody who has been erasing people for three decades."

The detective sighed. He opened a folder. "We spoke to Mr. Vance. He claims he arrived at the Carriage House to find you holding his nephew hostage. He says you were raving about a trust fund."

"Check the trust," Iris said. "Audit the accounts. You'll find they're empty."

"That's a matter for the probate court. Right now, we're talking about the fire."

"Check the basement," she said. "In the main house."

"The basement is flooded, Ms. Vance. And buried under tons of debris. It will be weeks before we can excavate."

Weeks. Julian would be out on bail in hours. He would have weeks to clean up. Weeks to spin the story.

"What about Elias?" she asked. "Did you take his statement?"

"Mr. Elias Vance is currently being evaluated at St. Jude’s," the detective said. "His father... his uncle... has arranged for his care."

St. Jude’s. The same place Julian tried to send her.

"He's not crazy," Iris said. "He's traumatized. He needs a lawyer, not a doctor."

"He's under the guardianship of Julian Vance," the detective said, closing the folder. "Until a judge says otherwise, Mr. Vance makes the medical decisions."

The door opened. A uniformed officer leaned in. "Bail's been posted."

Iris blinked. "What?"

"Your bail. It's been posted. You're free to go."

Iris stood up, her legs shaky. "Who posted it?"

"A Mr. Thorne."

She walked out into the lobby. Marcus was waiting. He looked exhausted, covered in soot and grime, but his eyes were bright.

"Let's go," he said, taking her arm.

They walked out into the cool morning air. The rain had stopped. The sky was a bruised purple.

"How?" Iris asked. "How did you afford bail?"

"I sold my truck," Marcus said simply. "To the mechanic down the street. Cash."

Iris stopped. She looked at him. "Marcus..."

"Don't," he said. "Just get in the rental. We have work to do."

They got into a small, nondescript sedan. Marcus drove them away from the station, away from the estate.

"Did you see him?" Iris asked. "Did you see Elias?"

"I tried," Marcus said, gripping the wheel. "The cops blocked the door. But I saw them take him out. He was... calm. Too calm."

"He's dissociated," Iris said. "He's back in the box."

"Maybe," Marcus said. "But before they put him in the ambulance... I saw something."

"What?"

"He dropped something. On the path. The cops missed it. They were too busy dealing with Julian."

Marcus reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, plastic object.

A cassette tape.

One of the tapes from the bag Elias had been clutching.

"He looked right at me when he dropped it," Marcus said. "He wanted me to have it."

Iris took the tape. It was old, the label yellowed and peeling.

Written on the side in black marker were two words.

*THE WALL.*

"We need a player," Iris said.

"I have one," Marcus said. "At my place."

They drove to Marcus's cabin, a small A-frame deep in the woods. He dug an old boombox out of a closet.

Iris put the tape in. She pressed play.

Hissing static filled the room. Then, a voice. Young. Terrified.

*My name is Elias Vance. Today is November 14, 1990. I am in the wall.*

*I can hear them upstairs. Uncle Julian and... someone else.*

*A woman.*

*She's crying. She's asking where Sarah is.*

Iris leaned closer to the speaker.

*It's not Aunt Cordelia,* the voice on the tape whispered. *It's the housekeeper. Mrs. Gable.*

*And she's not asking where Sarah is.*

*She's asking where her daughter is.*

Iris looked at Marcus. Sarah Miller wasn't a stranger. She wasn't just a random girl at the train station.

She was Mrs. Gable's daughter.

And Mrs. Gable had helped Julian lock Elias away.

Why?

The tape clicked. A new recording started.

*It's later. I can hear them again. Julian is telling her the plan. He says if she helps him... if she keeps quiet... he'll pay for the other one.*

*The other daughter.*

*The baby.*

Iris froze. Mrs. Gable didn't have another daughter. She lived alone.

Unless...

The baby wasn't raised by Mrs. Gable. The baby was raised by the money.

"Marcus," Iris said, her voice trembling. "How old is Sabrina?"

"I don't know," Marcus said. "Thirty-four? Thirty-five?"

Iris did the math. 1990. Sabrina would have been... born in 1990.

Julian's wife died in 1989.

Sabrina wasn't Julian's daughter.

She was Sarah Miller's sister.

And Mrs. Gable had traded one daughter's life for the other's future.

"We have to find Sabrina," Iris said. "We have to tell her who she is."

But Sabrina wasn't in the city. She wasn't running.

She was back at the Carriage House.

Elias was upstairs. Listening.