Chapter Eight: Echoes on the Line

Ethan remained motionless, the phone still pressed against his ear long after the line had gone dead. For a moment, he wondered if exhaustion had finally begun to play tricks on him. He checked the screen, confirming the call had lasted eleven seconds before the number disappeared into the growing list of unknown callers. He tried calling it back immediately, only to hear, "The number you have dialed is unavailable." He tried again, but the same automated voice answered.

Daniel had been watching from across the kitchen. "Who was it?"

Ethan lowered the phone slowly. "I don't know."

"Didn't sound like a reporter."

"It wasn't."

Daniel leaned forward, searching his friend's face. "What did they say?"

Ethan hesitated, almost embarrassed by how impossible it sounded. "A little girl."

Daniel frowned. "Lily?"

"I think so."

"You think?"

"I only heard one word."

"What word?"

Ethan looked down at the phone resting in his hand. "'Daddy.'"

The room fell quiet. Daniel let out a slow breath before reaching for the newspaper still lying on the table. He folded it in half and pushed it aside, as though removing the headline might somehow make the morning feel less unbearable. "Maybe someone's playing with you. It's already the biggest story in the city. It wouldn't be difficult for someone to find your number."

Ethan nodded, but something didn't sit right. "It wasn't just the voice."

"What do you mean?"

"There was... fear."

Daniel gave him a skeptical look. "You heard all that from one word?"

"I heard breathing before she spoke." He replayed those few seconds in his mind. The child hadn't sounded rehearsed. She had sounded frightened, as if she was trying very hard not to be heard by someone standing nearby.

Daniel stood and began pacing the length of the apartment. "If that's really Lily, then someone let her make that call."

"Or she stole someone's phone."

"Either way, she's alive."

Those words settled over Ethan more heavily than he expected. Alive. Until now, he hadn't realized how quickly his mind had begun imagining the worst.

Before either of them could speak again, another knock sounded at the apartment door. This one was louder than before, making Daniel instinctively glance toward the window. "They've found your floor?"

"I don't think so." Ethan approached the door without opening it. "Who is it?"

A calm voice answered from the hallway. "Detective Marcus Hale."

Ethan and Daniel exchanged a look. Neither had expected the police to arrive this quickly. Ethan unlocked the door, revealing the detective standing alone with a leather folder tucked beneath one arm. He looked tired rather than intimidating, as though he'd spent the night chasing answers that refused to be found.

"Mr. Cole," Marcus said. "May I come in?"

Ethan stepped aside. "I wish I had better reasons for visiting."

Daniel disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a fresh cup of coffee, which Marcus accepted with a grateful nod.

"I've been to your office, your parents' house, and now here," he said. "You're becoming difficult to find."

"I wasn't hiding."

"I know." Marcus took a sip before opening the folder. "I've spent the last twelve hours interviewing everyone who attended the wedding. Your family. Amelia's family. The minister. The choir. Security staff. Even the florist."

"And?"

"And no one recognizes the little girl." Ethan felt a flicker of relief that vanished almost immediately. Marcus continued, "No one remembers seeing her enter the church. No one remembers seeing her leave."

Daniel frowned. "That's impossible."

"I agree." Marcus slid a photograph across the table. It showed the cathedral entrance moments before the ceremony began, with guests filling the steps, smiling for pictures. "Do you notice anything unusual?" the detective asked.

Ethan studied the image. At first, he saw nothing. Then his eyes settled on a woman standing near one of the stone pillars. She wore a cream-colored hat pulled low over her face, and something about her posture felt deliberate. She wasn't looking at the bride or the arriving guests; she was looking toward the church doors.

"I've seen her before," Ethan murmured.

Marcus looked up. "Where?"

Ethan searched his memory, but the image refused to sharpen. "I... don't know." He tapped the corner of the photograph. "I just have this feeling."

Marcus quietly retrieved another photograph from the folder. It had been taken inside the cathedral only minutes before Amelia walked down the aisle. The same woman appeared again from a different angle, wearing the same hat and holding the same expressionless posture.

"Two photographs," Marcus said. "Taken twenty-three minutes apart." He paused before adding, "And according to every guest I've interviewed... no one remembers speaking to her."