3:33

Chapter 5

The Boston Police headquarters on Tremont Street looked exactly like it had seven months ago, during the initial investigation: cold fluorescent lights, beige walls, and that unmistakable smell of burnt coffee mixed with paper.

Mateo stood in the lobby with Eloise beside him, Ivy wedged between them, gripping each parent's hand like she was holding on for dear life.

Detective Reeves came through a security door. She was younger than Mateo had pictured—maybe late thirties, with sharp eyes and brown hair yanked back in a tight bun. Her slacks and blazer had that rumpled look that screamed too many late nights.

"Dr. and Mrs. Cross. Thanks for coming so quickly." Her eyes dropped to Ivy. "Is there somewhere she can wait? What I need to show you... it's probably better if she doesn't see."

"My mom's on her way," Eloise said. Her voice sounded like glass about to crack. "She'll be here in twenty minutes."

They sat in those awful plastic chairs while they waited. Ivy colored in a Disney activity book that some kind officer had dug up from somewhere, her crayon strokes mechanical and empty. She hadn't asked why they were at the police station. Maybe she already knew.

Eloise's mother showed up at 5:47 AM, her face all wrinkled with worry and exhaustion. "What's happening? Is everyone okay?"

"We're fine, Mom," Eloise lied. "Just need to talk to the detective. Can you take Ivy for a bit? Maybe grab some breakfast?"

The older woman looked ready to argue, but she took Ivy's hand and headed for the exit. Ivy went without a fight, without even looking back.

"This way," Detective Reeves said.

They wound through a maze of corridors until they reached a small conference room. A laptop sat closed on the table. Reeves waved them to sit.

"Before I show you this," she started, settling into a chair across from them, "I need you to understand that what we found doesn't change the official ruling. Aurora's death is still classified as an accidental drowning. But there are... complications."

"What kind of complications?" Mateo's throat felt like sandpaper.

"Three days ago, a construction crew was working on storm drain maintenance near the river. They found something wedged in one of the overflow pipes." She paused, watching their faces. "They found Aurora's backpack."

Eloise made this tiny sound—half sob, half gasp. Mateo reached for her hand, but she yanked it away.

"The bag was in surprisingly good shape," Reeves went on. "Here's the thing—that pipe shouldn't have had any water flow for the past six months. We've been in a drought. Which means—"

"Which means it couldn't have gotten there on the day she drowned," Mateo finished.

"Right. It means either someone put it there after the fact, or..." She let the sentence hang.

"Or what?"

"Or she wasn't in the water as long as we thought. Or at all."

The room spun. Mateo grabbed the table edge, forcing himself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Basic anxiety stuff, but his hands were shaking like crazy anyway.

"You're saying someone took her." Eloise's voice was weirdly calm. That scary kind of calm that comes right before everything falls apart.

"I'm saying we don't know. But there's more." Reeves opened the laptop and turned it so they could see. "Inside the backpack, we found Aurora's journal. The last entry was dated October 14th. The day she disappeared."

She clicked a file. A photo filled the screen: a kid's handwriting in pink gel pen.

Dear Diary,

Something is wrong with Ivy. She won't tell Mom or Dad, but I know. I'm her twin. I can feel when she's scared.

She says something comes to visit her at night. At 3:33 exactly. She showed me her wall. There's a drawing behind the wallpaper. A spiral with eyes.

I told her it's just her imagination, but I don't think it is. Because I've seen it too. In my dreams. And the dreams feel more real than real.

If something happens to me, someone needs to help Ivy. Please. The thing in the spiral wants her. It's always wanted her. And I don't know how to stop it.

The entry stopped there. Below it, Aurora had sketched something: a rough but clear spiral with seven eyes.

Mateo couldn't breathe. The conference room, the detective, Eloise beside him—everything seemed to fade into this distant roar. Aurora had known. She'd known something was wrong, and he'd brushed it off. Called it nightmares. Told her there was nothing to be scared of.

"There's one more thing," Reeves said softly. She clicked to another image. "This was tucked into the journal's back pocket."

A photograph. Old and faded, corners all bent up. It showed this Victorian house—three stories tall with fancy gables and a wraparound porch. The whole thing was Gothic Revival style, all pointed arches and decorative trim. Beautiful in that creepy way old houses can be.

On the back, in different handwriting—grown-up handwriting: Ashwick Hollow, 1875. The Hollow takes what it's owed.

"Do you recognize this house?" Reeves asked.

"No," Mateo said.

"Neither did we. But we ran it through our database and found something interesting. That house? It still exists. It's in a town about three hours north of here. Place called Ashwick Hollow."

"Never heard of it."

"Most people haven't. Population of 847. Middle of nowhere. Barely shows up on maps." Reeves closed the laptop. "But here's where it gets weird: I did some digging into the town's records. Over the past 150 years, there've been thirty-seven reported cases of missing children in Ashwick Hollow. Thirty-seven. In a town with less than a thousand people."

"Jesus Christ," Eloise whispered.

"All the cases got closed as runaways or accidental deaths. Mostly drownings. But there's a pattern. They all disappeared at age eight or nine. And they all disappeared during odd years—1875, 1883, 1891. Every seven years, like clockwork. The last documented case? 2018. Seven years ago."

Mateo's mind raced, trying to piece it all together. "You think Aurora's death is connected to this town? To these disappearances?"

"I think your daughter somehow got her hands on information about Ashwick Hollow. I think she was trying to warn someone—probably you—about something she'd discovered. And three days after she wrote that journal entry, she vanished."

"But we've never been to Ashwick Hollow. We've never even heard of it."

"That's what I can't figure out." Reeves leaned in. "Dr. Cross, Mrs. Cross, I know this is tough to hear, but I've got to ask: is there any chance Aurora was abducted and held somewhere before her death? Any chance someone had access to her, fed her this information?"

"No. Absolutely not." Mateo's voice came out stronger than he felt. "We would've known. She was never out of our sight except at school, and even then—"

"What about her dreams?" Eloise cut in. "She said in the journal the dreams felt real. What if... what if someone was communicating with her through dreams?"

Reeves studied her. "You don't strike me as someone who believes in supernatural explanations, Mrs. Cross."

"I didn't. Until last night." Eloise pulled out her phone, swiped through photos, and turned it to show the detective. "This is Ivy's wall. Behind her bookshelf. Same symbol Aurora drew."

The detective stared at the image: the spiral with seven eyes, carved into wood that had no business being behind modern drywall.

"When did this appear?" she asked carefully.

"We don't know. We just found it last night. After Ivy told us something was trying to get through her walls at 3:33 AM."

For the first time, Reeves looked rattled. She took the phone, zoomed in on the image, then set it down real careful.

"I need to make some calls," she said. "In the meantime, I'm gonna strongly suggest you don't go back to your house."

"We weren't planning to," Mateo said.

"Good. Because I'm starting to think..." She paused, picking her words. "I'm starting to think your daughter wasn't running from something when she wrote that journal entry. I think she was trying to warn you. And whatever she was warning you about? It's not finished."