The Disappearing Act

Chapter Two: Shadows of the Past

Ivy was curled up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap and a true crime documentary playing on the TV. She had just settled into the story of a decades-old cold case when her laptop pinged with a new email notification. Curious, she set the bowl aside and opened her laptop.

The subject line read: “Regarding Your Mother, Sabrina Aldinis.” Ivy’s heart skipped a beat. She clicked on the email, her hands trembling slightly.

The email was brief and to the point:

Ivy,

I have information about your mother’s disappearance. Meet me at the old warehouse on Elm Street tomorrow at midnight. Bring no one. Be careful who you trust.

P.S. Presto Pete—Peter Scott—knows more than he’s letting on.

Ivy stared at the screen, her mind racing. The email felt like a scene straight out of one of her documentaries, only this time, the mystery was her own life. She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “Well, this isn't creepy at all,” she muttered to herself. “Next thing you know, they’ll ask me to wear a red rose and carry a candle.”

She picked up her phone and dialed her father’s number, her fingers tapping anxiously on the armrest. Michael answered after a few rings, his familiar voice bringing a small measure of comfort.

“Hey, Ivy. Everything alright?”

“Dad, I just got a weird email,” Ivy said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Someone says they have information about Mom. They want me to meet them at an old warehouse tomorrow night.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Ivy, you know this could be dangerous,” Michael said, his voice laced with concern. “It could be a trap.”

“I know, but what if it’s not?” Ivy replied. “What if they really do have information about Mom?”

“Ivy, please,” Michael pleaded. “You need to let this go. It’s too dangerous. We’ve been through so much already.”

Ivy felt a pang of frustration and helplessness. “Dad, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. If there’s even a chance this could lead to answers, I have to take it.”

Michael sighed heavily. “Ivy, I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’ll be careful,” Ivy promised, though she wasn’t entirely sure how she’d manage that. “I just… I need to know what happened to her.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Michael spoke, his voice soft and resigned. “Alright, Ivy. Just promise me you won’t go alone.”

“I promise,” Ivy said, relief washing over her. “I’ll be smart about it. And I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Okay,” Michael said, his voice still heavy with worry. “Just… be safe, Ivy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad,” Ivy replied. She hung up and stared at the email again, the words blurring as her mind raced. Presto Pete. Peter Scott. The magician her mother had worked for. What did he know that he hadn’t told them?

Ivy shook her head, trying to dispel the growing sense of dread. “Okay, Ivy,” she muttered to herself, attempting to lighten the mood. “You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that going to an abandoned warehouse at midnight is a terrible idea. At least bring a flashlight. And maybe some garlic, just in case.”

She chuckled softly at her own joke, but the unease lingered. The email had cast a shadow over her thoughts, filling her with a sense of impending danger. But beneath the fear was a flicker of hope, a glimmer of possibility. She had to know the truth.