Page 5 of When You're Broken
“Yes.”Amelia cast her gaze downward, voice hushed.“He discovered I have a brother, and that was enough.”
Meredith’s tears spilled anew.“Oh, my poor Brendan,” she managed, voice cracking.
Gareth stood, running a hand over his short gray hair, as if trying to smooth away the panic.His gaze flicked to the photograph in Amelia’s hands, then back to her.“You believe you can stop him, though.Right?The authorities—someone.”
Amelia nodded firmly.“We will.I give you my word.We’re not alone in this.The entire Home Office and local constabularies are behind us.And I’m not resting until Brendan is safe.”
Finn, feeling the rising tension, gently placed a hand on Amelia’s shoulder.She seemed steadied by the contact.“I do have one question,” he said, turning to the parents.“Do you have any clue how Wendell Reed might have learned about Brendan’s existence in the first place?Because Amelia has no idea, and obviously you seemed shocked he’d know.”
The parents exchanged glances.Finally, Gareth said, “The only place I can think of is the place where they were initially placed, before we adopted Brendan.That was a children’s home called Wainwright Lodge, just outside of London… well, Essex, really.The records from there might mention he had a sister, or who she was.”
Finn’s eyes lit with interest.“Wainwright Lodge.”
Amelia put the photo down gently."I don't remember the place, but I do know I was there.That's the same children's home I spent time in.I… guess we were there together for a time.Possibly, that's where Wendell got the lead.He must have rummaged through old files."She turned to Gareth and Meredith."We'll go there.Maybe we can figure out exactly how Wendell traced him, and that might lead us to more clues about where he's being held."
Gareth gave a faint nod of hope.“If there’s anything else we can do—”
Amelia stood, setting the photo carefully on the coffee table as though reluctant to let it go.“For now, just stay by the phone, and if you recall anything unusual around Brendan’s disappearance, call us immediately.We’ll do the rest.”
Meredith pulled Amelia into a quick, trembling hug.“Thank you,” she whispered.
Gareth gently patted Finn’s arm in a subdued, grateful gesture.“We’re counting on you.”
Finn dipped his head.“We’ll be in touch.”He moved to the door with Amelia, her footsteps heavy with emotion.Outside, the sun had risen high enough to cast short shadows, warming the small front garden, but the gloom in their hearts didn’t lift.
Amelia paused by the Corvette, inhaling the mild spring air.Finn unlocked the doors, but instead of climbing in, she lingered, eyes distant.He circled around, resting a hand on the small of her back.“You okay?”he asked softly.
She nodded, brushing away the moisture in her eyes.“Let’s find this children’s home.”
CHAPTER TWO
Finn had expected something grander, with less peeling paint and crumbling stone, but Wainwright Lodge looked startlingly ordinary at first glance.The squat structure rose out of a row of tall hedgerows on the outskirts of London, its tired brick exterior half-renovated.One side showed signs of fresh mortar and a newly replaced window frame, while the opposite side bore cracked sills and a sagging gutter that dribbled water onto a weed-choked patch of ground.A pair of battered swing sets stood in an overgrown lawn, empty of children.The late morning light gave the place a static hush, as though the life had bled from it.
Finn parked the red Corvette.He switched off the engine and let silence settle for a moment.Beside him, Amelia shifted in her seat, her eyes taking in the children's home’s main door with a guarded reluctance.She’d said she remembered nothing about her time there, yet he saw the tension in the set of her mouth and the stiff angle of her shoulders.It was as though an invisible hook tugged at her nerves the longer she looked at the building.
“You all right?”he asked softly, turning in the driver’s seat to face her.
She blew out a breath, tapping her fingertips on her thighs.“I will be.I just… I hate how this place makes me feel.I don’t recall living here.I have zero memory.But it’s like there’s this echo at the back of my head telling me I’ve been here.”
Finn reached over, curling his fingers briefly around hers.“We’ll figure this out together.”He let go before his own anxiety betrayed him.The sense that they were walking into a cluster of old secrets had his pulse skittering.
They stepped out.Despite the fresh patch of concrete near the entrance, the grounds felt deserted.The breeze carried the faint tang of damp leaves and the metallic hint of a nearby highway.A single door led inside, broad and solid, with tinted glass that made the foyer dark from the outside.Finn tried the handle; locked.He saw a buzzer near the frame, pressed it.The ring echoed into the interior.They waited.
A minute passed.He looked at Amelia, who shrugged.Then footsteps approached from within, and a tall figure appeared behind the door’s glass.The lock clicked, and the door swung open.
The man who greeted them looked to be in his early fifties.Sharp cheekbones, a trim beard peppered with gray, and slender shoulders.He wore a pressed button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that seemed lean but strong.He offered a polite, if stilted, smile.
“Good morning,” he said.“Can I help you?”
Finn noticed the man’s posture: slightly forward, as though bracing for unwelcome news.“We’re looking for the current manager, Stanley Peterson,” Finn said, keeping his voice calm.
“That’s me.I am both manager and caretaker.”The man stepped back, gesturing for them to enter.“Come in.You’ll excuse the mess.We’re, uh, short on staff these days.”
Inside, the foyer was smaller than Finn had imagined.A battered reception counter faced them, and behind it a narrow corridor disappeared into the building’s depths.The walls had fresh coats of paint—stark white that made everything feel sterile.Yet the fluorescent lights overhead hummed, flickering in places, lending a sense of half-abandonment.
Amelia cleared her throat.“Thank you.I’m Detective Amelia Winters, and this is Finn Wright, also with the Home Office.”She offered her ID, which Peterson glanced at before handing back with an oddly tense nod.“We need to ask you about some older records.We suspect someone might’ve come here recently, looking for files related to past adoptions.”
Peterson rubbed his palms on his trousers, gaze flicking between them.“I… well, yes.That’s partly correct.There was a man, a few weeks ago, claiming he was researching a book about the transition of orphanages into children’s homes.He asked to see some of our records.We have strict policies about releasing adoption data, of course, so we never let him see anything.I didn’t deal with him, but the staff members who did told me they had to be quite stern with him until he left.Then, soon after, we had a break-in.”
