My Father’s Empty House
Chapter 04 - My Father’s Empty House
Luca wanted me in the car.
I wanted my own shoes.
Neither wish mattered.
Dr. Harris refused to let me stand.
So I arrived at my father’s house in a Moretti SUV with my left foot in a medical boot and Daniel carrying crutches behind me.
Humiliating.
Useful.
The front door stood open.
Police tape crossed the porch.
My father’s neighbor, Mrs. Lin, watched from across the street wearing a coat over pajamas.
She saw me and began crying.
That frightened me more than the police.
“Did you see him?”
“No, honey.”
“Anything?”
“A black car.”
Everyone in Chicago owned a black car.
Luca stayed outside until the detective in charge waved him in.
That also mattered.
He could have acted like the house belonged to him because fear opened doors.
He waited.
Inside, nothing looked disturbed.
The television remote beside Dad’s chair.
Medication organizer on the counter.
Half a sandwich wrapped in wax paper.
White roses on the kitchen table.
No card.
The vase was from Hale Floral.
Margaret’s shop.
Daniel photographed it.
I stared.
“Dad hates roses.”
Luca stood beside me.
“Why?”
“My mother loved them.”
She had been dead twelve years.
After the funeral, Dad removed every rosebush from the yard.
Grief makes gardeners strange.
The police found no blood.
No struggle.
Dad’s car remained in the garage.
His phone sat beside the sink.
That meant he either left willingly with someone he trusted or under enough threat not to fight.
I went to his bedroom.
Top drawer.
Old service pistol missing.
That made me feel better and worse.
Luca appeared in the doorway.
“Can I come in?”
I looked at him.
“Why do you keep asking permission in a house that isn’t yours?”
“Because it isn’t mine.”
Fair.
“Come in.”
Dad kept his police memorabilia in a shoebox.
Badges.
Photographs.
Newspaper clippings.
One photograph showed him younger beside three officers outside a warehouse.
I recognized Carlo Bellini.
Not because he wore a badge.
Because he stood in the background.
Watching.
On the back Dad had written:
HALE CASE - OCT 2018.
Evan disappeared in October 2018.
My hands started shaking.
Luca crouched beside me.
“Your father investigated it.”
“He told us he retired in 2017.”
“Maybe unofficial.”
Another photograph.
Dad and Evan.
Alive.
Sitting in a diner.
Date stamp: February 2019.
Four months after Evan supposedly vanished.
I stopped breathing.
“Vanessa lied.”
Luca looked at the image.
“Or she didn’t know.”
That distinction mattered.
Evan survived the warehouse.
My father knew.
So where had he gone?
I found the answer in Dad’s old address book.
One entry.
E.H.
A phone number with a Milwaukee area code.
I called.
Disconnected.
Below it, written in pencil:
MARION HOUSE.
Luca knew the name.
A church-run recovery center near Lake Geneva.
Daniel called.
Marion House had closed three years earlier.
But the property still existed.
We drove there.
Police objected.
Luca let them lead.
Another surprising choice.
The building sat behind an abandoned retreat center.
Windows boarded.
Parking lot cracked.
Inside, dust.
Old mattresses.
A chapel.
In the office, someone had recently been there.
Fresh coffee grounds.
Battery lantern.
A blanket.
My father’s coat.
I grabbed it.
Still warm.
“Dad?”
No answer.
Dad’s bedroom closet held one more thing.
An old navy jacket with the Chicago Police Department patch removed.
Inside the lining, I found a folded receipt from a motel near Lake Geneva.
Five nights.
Paid cash.
Date: October 2018.
The week Evan vanished.
I showed Luca.
He read it.
“Your father hid him there.”
“Probably.”
“Why keep the receipt?”
“Dad keeps receipts for batteries.”
That made Luca smile.
Then he saw my face.
“You okay?”
“No.”
It was the first honest answer I had given all night without fear attached.
I sat on the edge of Dad’s bed.
“I keep finding evidence that he had an entire life I knew nothing about.”
Luca leaned against the dresser.
“I know that feeling.”
I looked at him.
“You still talk about your father like he was two different men.”
“He was.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“He was one man who did different things.”
That struck him.
Maybe because it was true.
Maybe because I needed it to be true for Dad too.
People do not become two people because we dislike part of them.
They become harder to love accurately.
Then a floorboard creaked in the hallway.
Luca moved in front of me automatically.
I hit his arm with a crutch.
“Do not.”
He looked back.
“I’m trying to keep you from being shot.”
“Stand beside me.”
He stared.
Then moved.
Beside.
Not in front.
A man appeared at the end of the hall.
Thin.
Beard streaked gray.
He held a pistol.
My father.
“Dad.”
His arm dropped.
“Natalie?”
I almost fell trying to reach him.
Luca caught my elbow.
Dad crossed the hall.
He hugged me hard.
I cried into his coat.
Then hit his shoulder.
“You left your phone!”
“I know.”
“You left the door open!”
“I was rushed.”
“You were kidnapped?”
“No.”
I stepped back.
“What?”
Dad looked at Luca.
Then behind us.
“Is Margaret Hale safe?”
“Yes,” Luca said.
Dad closed his eyes.
“Thank God.”
“Who brought you here?”
“No one.”
“Then why?”
Dad looked at me.
“Because Evan called.”
The hallway went still.
“Evan Hale?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Dad looked terrified.
“Close.”
Then a second man stepped from the chapel.
Older than the wedding photograph.
Thinner.
Scar across one cheek.
Margaret’s son.
Evan Hale.
Alive.
He looked at Luca.
“You look like Vittorio.”
Luca went still.
Evan continued.
“That is not a compliment.”
Then he looked at me.
“Your father saved my life.”
Dad shook his head.
“No.”
Evan ignored him.
“And now Carlo Bellini knows I’m alive.”
He looked toward the dark windows.
“He’ll come for all of us.”
Outside, tires rolled across gravel.
May you like
Three black vehicles entered the abandoned parking lot.
And for once, Luca Moretti did not know whether the men arriving belonged to him.
