I go to the closet and open the doors. There are cardboard boxes on the floor and clothes that haven’t been worn in years hanging from the rack. The top shelf is littered with shoeboxes and papers. In the back corner, I find a small, beat-up leather suitcase. I ease it down, trying to make as little noise as possible, because I’m sure Dana is listening in the hallway. I gently place it on the bed, next to his legs, press the latches, and open the lid.

It’s empty.

“False top,” he says in a raspy breath.

I find a loose corner of fabric and pull. It rips away.

Underneath the fabric, fastened with a pin to the underside of the lid, is a yellowed envelope. I pull it off and open it. It’s stuffed with bills. They vaguely resemble dollar bills but these are bigger and feel like fabric rather than paper. Printed on them are words like “Gold Certificate” and “Silver Certificate”.

“Proof enough for you?” he asks.

I nod.

The last piece is in place. Between his story and Rebecca’s journal, I know everything now.

“I could never spend it. Never wanted to. It’s blood money … You want it?” he asks.

I return the bills to the envelope, close it, and stick it back to the underside of the lid. I secure the latches of the suitcase, and return it to its resting place on the top shelf of the closet. I close the closet door and turn back to him.

“Thank you, Mr. Whitlock.”

“I thought my grandfather was crazy, the way he babbled about those dreams … He was talking about her, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

He looks down at his feet. “When they took him that night, he just kept screaming, ‘She can’t sleep! She can’t sleep!’ I’ll never forget that. I thought he was crazy but … last night, I saw her. Saw her in my dreams … She told me she couldn’t sleep …” He looks back up at me. “Can she sleep, now?”

“Not yet.”

*

Sure enough, Dana backs away from the door as I open it. She’s been listening.

“So, are you going tell me what this was all about?”

“He’ll tell you, himself. I don’t have time.”

I walk past her, down the hall, through the living room, and out the front door.

I get in my car and start the engine. I back out of the driveway, slam it into gear, and stomp on the gas. The tires scream and the car lurches forward, carrying me off in the direction of the highway.

I know everything now and she’s been trying to tell me from that first night. The drips. Seeing her in the lake by the pier when I lost Nicole’s ring. The basement. Mr. Whitlock was the last piece of the puzzle that’s made it all clear.

She was never at that train station.