PART 2
The towels hit the marble floor one by one.
Mrs. Harper didn’t move.
She simply stared at the ventilation grate between the boys’ bedrooms.
“Mrs. Harper?” Vincent said.
She blinked.
“Sorry.”
“You know something?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Then at Vincent.
“I’ve worked in this house for twelve years,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen the system inspected dozens of times.”
“And?” Vincent asked.
“And there was never a smell.”
I crouched beside the vent.
The sweet, artificial scent was unmistakable now.
It reminded me of something I couldn’t quite place.
Not perfume.
Not cleaning spray.
Something medicinal.
I put my hand near the grate.
Cold air brushed my fingers.
“Is this connected directly to the boys’ rooms?”
Vincent nodded.
“Yes.”
“Both?”
“Yes.”
“Does the rest of the upstairs smell like this?”
“No.”
I stood.
“Then I’d like to see the mechanical room.”
Vincent stared at me.
“You think the ventilation system is making my sons sick?”
“I think it’s worth checking.”
Dr. Blake’s voice suddenly echoed from the staircase.
“This is ridiculous.”
He had apparently not left the house.
He stood several steps below us, watching.
“A smell near an air vent isn’t a diagnosis,” he said.
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You’re frightening the family with speculation.”
I turned toward him.
“No. I’m asking questions.”
“You’re a nanny.”
“And you’re a doctor who has treated these boys for eleven months without finding an explanation.”
The hallway went silent.
Vincent looked at Dr. Blake.
“Enough.”
The doctor’s jaw tightened.
“Vincent, these symptoms are consistent with several metabolic and neurological conditions. We’ve ruled out dozens of possibilities.”
“Have you tested the house?”
Dr. Blake hesitated.
“The house?”
“The air,” Vincent said.
Another pause.
“No.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Show her the mechanical room.”
Dr. Blake stepped forward.
“I strongly advise against—”
“I didn’t ask what you advise.”
That ended the conversation.
The mechanical room was located in the basement behind a security-controlled door.
Vincent entered a code.
The door opened.
The room was enormous.
Pipes ran along the ceiling. Electrical panels covered one wall. Several large ventilation units hummed continuously.
I immediately noticed something.
There were four filtration units.
One served the main house.
Another served the kitchen.
The third served the guest wing.
The fourth was labeled:
NORTH WING — PRIVATE
The boys’ bedrooms were in the north wing.
I pointed toward it.
“When was that filter changed?”
Mrs. Harper frowned.
“I don’t know.”
Vincent turned to her.
“Who normally handles maintenance?”
“Mr. Cole.”
“Where is he?”
“He left two months ago.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
“He said he had family problems.”
Vincent looked irritated.
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“I thought you knew.”
I stepped closer to the filter housing.
There was dust around the edges.
But one section looked almost new.
I touched it.
The metal was cleaner than the surrounding surface.
“Someone opened this recently.”
Vincent immediately called security.
“Find out who accessed this room in the last six months.”
A voice answered through his phone.
“Yes, sir.”
Dr. Blake crossed his arms.
“This is becoming a witch hunt.”
I ignored him.
“Do the boys sleep with their bedroom doors open?”
Vincent nodded.
“Usually.”
“Windows?”
“Closed. The house has climate control.”
“Any portable humidifiers?”
“No.”
“Air fresheners?”
Mrs. Harper suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“There are scent diffusers.”
“Where?”
“In the hallway.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Who installed them?”
She looked at Vincent.
“I believe Mrs. Moretti chose them.”
The room became very still.
Vincent’s face changed.
“My wife?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After the boys’ bedrooms were renovated.”
“When was that?”
“About two years ago.”
Two years.
The boys had started getting sick eighteen months ago.
My pulse quickened.
“Are those diffusers still being used?”
Mrs. Harper nodded.
“Every day.”
Vincent immediately turned.
“Remove them.”
Mrs. Harper started toward the door.
“Wait.”
Everyone stopped.
I shook my head.
“Don’t throw anything away.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Why?”
“If there’s something in those products, we need to know exactly what it is.”
Dr. Blake laughed.
“You cannot seriously believe a scented diffuser caused eighteen months of medical symptoms.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“But I believe evidence is more useful than guessing.”
That evening, I met Lucas and Leo for the first time.
They were sitting at the dining table.
Twins.
Same dark hair.
Same green eyes.
But their personalities were completely different.
Lucas was quiet.
Leo kept asking questions.
“Are you staying here?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Can you make pancakes?”
“Probably.”
“What kind?”
“Chocolate chip.”
Leo smiled.
Lucas didn’t.
I noticed he was holding his stomach.
“Does your tummy hurt?”
He shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
“How long?”
“A while.”
Leo interrupted.
“His hurts after dinner.”
Lucas glared at him.
“It does not.”
“It does.”
“Leo.”
Their voices rose.
Vincent entered the dining room.
“Boys.”
They immediately quieted.
I watched Vincent carefully.
He wasn’t harsh.
Just tired.
“Claire is going to help you both while you’re here.”
Leo looked at me.
“Are you a doctor?”
“No.”
“Then what do you do?”
“I pay attention.”
He thought about that.
“That’s boring.”
“Sometimes.”
He smiled.
Lucas suddenly coughed.
Once.
Twice.
Then several times in a row.
Vincent immediately moved toward him.
“Lucas?”
“I’m okay.”
I watched the boy’s face.
His eyes watered.
He rubbed them.
I smelled it again.
That same sweet scent.
Only this time, it was much stronger.
I looked toward the hallway.
One of the decorative scent diffusers was running.
A thin mist floated above it.
I walked over.
“What is this?”
“Lavender and eucalyptus,” Mrs. Harper said.
“Brand?”
She told me.
I took a photograph of the label.
Then I noticed something strange.
The diffuser wasn’t plugged into a normal wall outlet.
It was connected to a small timer.
“What schedule is this on?”
Mrs. Harper looked confused.
“I’m not sure.”
I checked the display.
The timer was programmed to turn on at 6:00 p.m.
And off at 6:00 a.m.
Every night.
Exactly during the hours the boys slept.
I looked at Vincent.
“Who programmed this?”
He didn’t answer.
“Vincent?”
“I don’t know.”
Dr. Blake walked into the room.
His eyes landed on the diffuser.
“Those have been there for years.”
“Did you recommend them?”
“No.”
“Did you know they ran all night?”
He stared at me.
“No.”
I turned back to the boys.
“Do you feel worse in the morning?”
Lucas looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Better when you’re away from home?”
Neither boy answered.
Vincent did.
“They improve when we travel.”
I slowly turned toward him.
“You’ve traveled with them?”
“Twice.”
“What happened?”
“They were noticeably more energetic.”
“Where did you go?”
“Switzerland once. Maine another time.”
“How long?”
“About ten days each.”
“And their symptoms improved?”
“Yes.”
“Then returned after coming home?”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
I looked toward the diffuser.
Then toward the hallway.
Then toward the vent.
The same house.
The same air.
The same bedrooms.
The same symptoms.
It suddenly didn’t feel like a coincidence.
At midnight, I couldn’t sleep.
I kept thinking about the smell.
So I went downstairs.
The house was silent.
I walked toward the north-wing ventilation system.
The diffuser was still running u