Chapter 4
Holly was crying as she tried to explain, "Delilah, we didn't tell you because we were afraid you'd be heartbroken. Harvey—he had a severe genetic illness from birth.
"The doctors said he wouldn't live long. We kept him hidden so your childhood could stay sunny and untouched by grief. Everything we did—it was all for you—"
"For me?" I muttered under my breath, feeling nothing but absurdity and a sickening sense of disbelief.
For me? So they wiped out every trace that Harvey ever existed?
For me? They lied to me for eighteen years?
I didn't want to hear another word from them. I turned and walked back to my room, slamming the door behind me.
I leaned against the door, my body sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.
Tears blurred my vision, and it felt like someone had ripped a piece out of my heart—leaving nothing but a hollow ache.
I had a brother, a brother I had never even met.
Just as I was drowning in grief, the screen of the old phone on my desk suddenly lit up.
I wiped away my tears and staggered over.
It was a new notification from the Corner app. My heart jumped into my throat, and my hands shook as I tapped it open.
The diary had been updated—just a minute ago.
There was only one line.
[They lied to Delilah today and said I died. But I'm still alive, locked in the—]
The message cut off abruptly.
I stared at the screen, feeling every drop of blood in my body freezing.
Harvey was still alive.
Just as that thought flickered through my mind, a faint tapping interrupted the quiet of my room.
It echoed suddenly in the stillness, so out of place it made my heart skip a beat.
Tap. Tap-tap. The sound was dull and rhythmic.
I froze, lowering my head and craning my neck to spot where the sound was coming from.
It was coming from the storage compartment under my bed.
Time seemed to freeze at that moment.
All the blood in my body rushed straight to my head, and the only thing in my ears was the frantic pounding of my own heartbeat.
The tapping kept up, relentless and stubborn, echoing again and again from beneath my bed.
All those childhood fears I had always been told were just figments of my imagination—suddenly, they had taken shape. They were real now.
I had no idea where the strength came from, but I lurched forward, dropped to my knees, and with trembling hands groped for the groove along the edge of the bedboard.
It was a large storage compartment, usually holding blankets, incredibly heavy.
Straining with everything I had, my nails nearly snapping, I finally managed to pry the heavy wooden panel open a crack.
A rush of stale, mildew-laced air tinged with the acrid smell of medicine billowed out from that narrow gap.
Holding my breath, I pulled the board all the way open.
There were no blankets inside—just a boy, so painfully thin it looked like he might break if I touched him.
He was curled up in the cramped compartment, wearing old clothes that hung loosely on his bony frame. His skin was chalk-white, like someone who hadn't seen daylight in years.
He looked a few years younger than me, but his hair was thin and dull. His eyes held none of a child's innocence, filled instead with wariness and terror far beyond his years.
He was the author of those diaries.
My younger brother—Harvey.
Our eyes met across the dim space.
He stared back at me, fear flickering in his hazel pupils—for a heartbeat—before it gave way to a pleading, desperate hope.
He was the source of every strange sound that haunted my childhood.
Every peaceful sleep of mine had been built on his imprisonment.
It felt like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed my heart so hard I couldn't breathe.
I whispered, "Harvey?" There was so much fear in my heart, I almost didn't dare say his name out loud.
Harvey didn't respond. He just bit down harder on his lip, like speaking was something forbidden—too scary or risky to even try.
Just then, the door crashed open, and Ralph and Holly stormed in. The instant they caught sight of the open storage compartment—and Harvey inside—the last shred of pretense on their faces vanished.
"Delilah! What are you doing?" Ralph roared from above.
Holly lunged forward, trying to close the compartment, but I blocked her with all my strength.
"Are you insane?" I yelled.
I stared at them, my voice rough with fury and pain.
"He's your son! How could you do this—lock him up here?"
"Son?" Holly said.