Chapter 2 - THE RED LIGHTS BEHIND THE WALL
Marco did not touch the device.
That alone told me how serious it was.
He had spent fifteen years walking into rooms other men were trying to escape.
Bomb threats.
Weapons.
Break-ins.
Men waiting behind doors.
Marco did not frighten easily.
Yet now he was crouched beside a nursery vent, staring into the wall as though the darkness had blinked back.
“What is it?”
I asked.
He raised one hand.
“Everybody out.”
I stared.
“Marco.”
“Adrien.”
He almost never used my first name when other people were present.
“Get the children off this floor.”
That was enough.
Elena immediately lifted Sophie.
The nannies carried Theo, Miles, and Nora toward the east guest suite.
The triplets stopped crying within seconds of leaving the nursery.
Again.
I heard the silence behind them.
It felt more frightening than the screams.
Dr. Gable followed.
The neurologist went too.
Marco shut the nursery door after everyone cleared.
Only he and I remained.
Then he showed me.
Behind the vent was a black plastic housing about the size of a paperback book.
Two red indicator lights.
A narrow wire disappeared deeper into the wall.
Another small component had been fixed behind the decorative molding.
“What does it do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Camera?”
“Maybe part of one.”
I looked toward the cribs.
“All security cameras are ours.”
“I know.”
“Then whose is that?”
Marco did not answer.
He photographed everything before moving.
Good.
Then one of his men came in wearing gloves and carrying an equipment case.
They disconnected power at the room level.
The red lights died.
For some reason, that made my skin crawl even more.
I stepped into the hallway.
Elena sat on a bench with Sophie beside her.
The triplets were in the guest room across the corridor.
Quiet.
Theo was hiccupping.
Nora was chewing the sleeve of a nanny’s blouse.
Miles had fallen asleep from exhaustion.
Normal.
Eight-month-old normal.
Sophie looked at me.
“Did you find the scary thing?”
I crouched.
“What did you hear?”
Elena stiffened.
“Sophie doesn’t need to answer questions.”
I looked at her.
She was frightened.
Not of the device.
Of me.
That bothered me.
“You’re right.”
I turned to Sophie.
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
The child looked surprised.
Then she glanced at her mother.
Elena nodded.
Sophie said:
“It makes a monster noise.”
“What kind?”
She thought.
Then pressed her lips together and made a faint repetitive clicking sound.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Then she added a low humming sound in her throat.
I heard nothing like it from the nursery.
Marco had returned.
He looked at Sophie.
“You heard that from the floor?”
She nodded.
“When?”
“Today.”
“Only today?”
She hugged the ugly doll tighter.
“No.”
Elena looked down sharply.
“Sophie?”
The girl’s face changed.
“I heard it before.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“When Mommy works upstairs.”
Elena went pale.
“How many times?”
Sophie held up three fingers.
Three.
Maybe three days.
Maybe three occasions.
Four-year-olds measured time differently.
Elena looked devastated.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sophie shrugged.
“I thought it was the house.”
That sentence hit.
Of course.
Old mansions made sounds.
Pipes.
Vents.
Wood.
Adults ignored them.
Children built monsters.
I asked carefully:
“Did the babies cry when you heard it?”
Sophie nodded immediately.
“All three?”
“Yes.”
She pointed toward the nursery.
“The boy with the blue blanket cries first.”
Theo.
Then Miles.
Then Nora.
I stood.
Pattern.
Not random.
Marco heard it too.
He looked toward his technician.
“Get an acoustic specialist.”
I frowned.
“At this hour?”
“This is your house.”
Fair.
Calls happened.
Fast.
Money could not buy certainty.
It could buy availability.
At 11:48 p.m., an engineer from a security-audio firm arrived with police technical investigators Marco had contacted.
Yes.
Police.
I noticed Marco watching me for reaction.
I said nothing.
Eight years ago, I would have kept everything inside family walls.
Tonight my children were involved.
Different rules.
The technician examined the hidden housing.
Then looked at us.
“This isn’t a bomb.”
My shoulders loosened slightly.
“What is it?”
“Audio equipment.”
Marco frowned.
“For listening?”
“Partly.”
The man pointed carefully.
“Microphone. Small speaker.”
I stared.
“A speaker behind the wall?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We need to analyze it.”
The police technician added:
“It appears capable of transmitting and playing audio remotely.”
I looked toward the nursery.
My children had not been sick.
Someone had been broadcasting something into their room.
“What sound?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Sophie answered from the hall.
“The monster.”
Everyone turned.
Elena immediately pulled her closer.
The engineer’s expression softened.
“It might be something adults don’t notice as easily, sweetheart.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Some high-frequency or intermittent sounds affect people differently.”
He did not speculate further.
Good.
By one in the morning, the hidden unit was bagged as evidence.
Then they found another.
Behind the opposite vent.
And another inside the base of the nursery sound machine.
Three devices.
One near each crib.
My blood went cold.
Not random.
Designed around the babies.
Marco looked furious.
“How did we miss this?”
Nobody answered.
I looked at the security logs.
“No breach?”
“No unauthorized entry.”
“Then whoever installed them had authorized access.”
Silence.
That narrowed the problem and made it worse.
Nursery access was limited.
Nannies.
Housekeeping.
Security.
Pediatric staff.
Family.
Elena immediately stepped back.
I saw it.
“You think it could be me.”
Her voice was quiet.
I stared.
“No.”
She laughed bitterly.
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither do you.”
“I clean that room.”
“Yes.”
“So does Maria.”
“Yes.”
“My daughter was in there.”
“Yes.”
She lifted her chin.
“Then don’t protect me because Sophie found it.”
Interesting.
She did not want special trust.
She wanted fair suspicion.
Marco watched her differently after that.
I said:
“Everyone with access gets reviewed.”
“Including me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She nodded.
That was the first moment I understood why I trusted Elena more than most people after only six months.
She did not ask to be believed because she was loyal.
She asked to be investigated like everyone else.
Then Marco’s phone rang.
He listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
I asked.
“One of the devices has stored audio.”
My jaw tightened.
“What kind?”
“Nursery recordings.”
“Of the babies?”
“Yes.”
“And adults.”
Cold moved through me.
“How long?”
“Unknown.”
Marco looked at Elena.
Then me.
“There are conversations.”
“What conversations?”
He hesitated.
“Your conversations.”
I stared.
“With who?”
“One recording is you and Dr. Gable.”
Another:
Me and Marco.
Another:
Me and my sister Bianca.
Another:
Elena singing to the triplets.
Everything in that room had been listened to.
I turned toward the nursery.
The safest room in my house had been a microphone.
Then the engineer called from inside.
“Mr. Moretti?”
I entered.
He held up a tablet.
“We found the audio file that appears to have been playing tonight.”
“Play it.”
He hesitated.
“It may be unpleasant.”
“Play it.”
A faint sound came through.
At first, almost nothing.
Then a thin repeating pulse.
Too high.
Too sharp.
Under it, a low rhythmic thud.
Not loud.
Wrong.
My skin reacted before my mind did.
Sophie appeared behind Elena in the doorway.
Her face immediately changed.
She covered her ears.
“That.”
The engineer stopped it.
Sophie whispered:
“That’s the scary thing.”
Elena lifted her.
I stared at the equipment.
Someone had been deliberately making my children afraid inside their own nursery.
Why?
Then Marco entered with another discovery.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“The system was activated remotely.”
“From where?”
“Signal routed through the house network.”
“Account?”
His face hardened.
“Nursery administrator credentials.”
I frowned.
“Who has those?”
Marco answered:
“Dr. Gable.”
Silence.
The pediatrician who had examined my screaming children twice.
The man standing three rooms away telling me he could find nothing wrong.
I turned.
Dr. Gable was still in the guest suite.
When Marco approached him, the doctor’s face changed before a single accusation was made.
Too fast.
Too guilty.
Then he said the worst possible sentence.
“I can explain.”
Marco reached for him.
I stopped him.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
I walked toward Dr. Gable.
“Then explain.”
His hands shook.
“I didn’t install those devices.”
“Did you know they existed?”
Silence.
“Doctor.”
“Yes.”
Elena gasped.
My vision narrowed.
“You knew.”
“I knew about one.”
“Why?”
He swallowed.
“It was supposed to monitor the babies.”
“Secretly?”
“No.”
He looked toward me.
“Not at first.”
My voice became quieter.
“Who authorized it?”
Dr. Gable looked terrified.
Not of me.
Of the answer.
“My sister.”
I froze.
“You mean Bianca?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
Then:
“Their mother.”
The hallway went completely still.
The triplets’ mother, Celeste, had been dead for seven months.
May you like
And according to Dr. Gable, the hidden system had been installed before she died.
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