My Neighbor Heard a Woman Screaming in My Empty House—Then I Hid Under My Bed and Heard My “Dead” Husband’s Voice
PART 7
The therapist who had treated me after Derek’s death.
The man who had told me my memories were unreliable.
The man who had documented my supposed paranoia.
The man who had suggested that I was hallucinating.
He had been part of the plan.
Detective Harris continued.
“But that’s not the worst part.”
He pulled another page from the box.
It was a medical report.
My medical report.
I stared at it.
“This is from two years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Who wrote it?”
“Dr. Evans.”
I read the document.
My hands began trembling.
It claimed I had severe psychological instability.
It described symptoms I had never experienced.
Hallucinations.
Delusions.
Memory impairment.
Paranoia.
I looked at Harris.
“I never said any of this.”
“I know.”
“Then he fabricated it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Harris leaned back.
“Because someone was preparing a case.”
“A case for what?”
“Guardianship.”
My stomach dropped.
“But Derek was already planning that.”
“Exactly.”
I stared at him.
“So there were more people involved.”
“We believe so.”
I suddenly felt cold.
“Who is E?”
“We don’t know yet.”
He slid another photograph across the table.
It was a man standing beside Derek.
I recognized him immediately.
Dr. Evans.
But that wasn’t all.
Beside him stood another man.
My father.
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
Harris watched me carefully.
“Do you know him?”
“That’s my father.”
He nodded.
“Your father has been dead for nine years.”
“Yes.”
“Then explain why he’s in a photograph taken three years ago.”
I couldn’t.
My father had supposedly died in a hospice facility after a long illness.
I had attended the funeral.
I had seen the casket.
I had received the death certificate.
I felt the room spinning.
“This can’t be true.”
Harris pushed another photograph toward me.
It showed my father entering a private banking facility.
Beside him was a younger Derek.
I stared at the photograph.
“What is happening?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Detective Harris immediately signaled for me to answer.
I pressed the speaker.
“Hello?”
A man’s voice answered.
“Claire.”
I froze.
I knew that voice.
Not Derek.
Not Dr. Evans.
My father’s.
My heart stopped.
“Dad?”
A pause.
Then he said,
“I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Detective Harris reached for his recording equipment.
“Where are you?”
My father ignored him.
“Claire, listen carefully.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t explain everything over the phone.”
“Then explain something.”
Silence.
“Why did you fake your death?”
Another pause.
Then he said,
“Because Derek wasn’t the man you thought he was.”
I looked at Harris.
He motioned for me to keep him talking.
“What does that mean?”
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