Chapter 9 - I had spent seven years believing my wife was an only child.Seven years.
One marriage.
One funeral.
One child.
One story.
Now Emily had destroyed all of it in four words.
“She had a sister.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Dead.”
“Then how did she appear in that photograph?”
Emily didn't answer.
Frank drove faster.
“Explain.”
Emily stared out the window.
“My brother found records.”
“What records?”
“Birth records.”
“For your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Two girls.”
I shook my head.
“That would have been impossible.”
“Why?”
“Her parents told me.”
Emily looked at me.
“Maybe they lied.”
I grabbed my phone.
Called the family's lawyer.
He didn't answer.
I called my wife's childhood doctor.
No answer.
Every person connected to her past suddenly disappeared.
That wasn't coincidence.
That was containment.
We arrived at the Briarwood property at 4:18 a.m.
The building looked abandoned.
Broken windows.
Overgrown trees.
No lights.
But Emily pointed.
“There.”
A security camera.
Hidden beneath a gutter.
Frank checked the image.
“Active.”
We parked away from the building.
Then entered through the rear.
Inside, it smelled like bleach.
Not old bleach.
Fresh.
The hallway was clean.
Too clean.
We followed a trail of footprints.
Small.
Adult.
Noah's hospital booties had left tiny marks.
My heart pounded.
“He's here.”
We found a locked laboratory.
Frank broke the keypad.
Inside were refrigerators.
Blood samples.
Medical records.
And hundreds of infant bracelets.
I stopped.
There were names.
Dates.
Numbers.
Emily walked past them.
Then froze.
She found one.
Her brother's.
DANIEL PARKER. SUBJECT 14.
Her knees almost gave out.
I caught her.
“He was here.”
She whispered:
“They said he was never admitted.”
I looked at the shelves.
Another bracelet.
NOAH CARTER. SUBJECT 87.
I stared.
“How?”
Emily looked at me.
“He was registered before he was born.”
I felt sick.
There were photographs on the wall.
Children.
Toddlers.
Pregnant women.
Doctors.
And my wife.
Pregnant with Noah.
She was standing beside a blue door.
At her side was another woman.
Identical.
Isabelle.
I stepped closer.
My wife was smiling.
Isabelle wasn't.
A note was taped beneath the photograph.
MOTHER RESISTED PHASE TWO.
My breathing stopped.
“What does that mean?”
Emily read the next note.
FATHER REMAINS UNAWARE.
Me.
I was the father.
They had monitored my wife during pregnancy without my knowledge.
Then I noticed the date.
The photograph was taken two months before Noah was born.
But my wife had told me she was in New York that week.
She had lied.
Or someone had forced her to.
A sound came from behind the wall.
A baby's cry.
My blood ran cold.
“Noah.”
We ran.
The sound came from the Blue Room.
A blue door stood at the end of the corridor.
Exactly like the photograph.
Emily stopped.
“Don't open it.”
“I have to.”
“You don't know what's inside.”
“My son is inside.”
I reached for the handle.
Emily grabbed my wrist.
“Wait.”
“What?”
She looked at the floor.
Three thin wires.
Pressure sensors.
“If you open that door…”
“What?”
“They'll know.”
“I don't care.”
“You should.”
She whispered:
“Because the room isn't empty.”
I stepped backward.
“What is it?”
Emily looked at the blue door.
“It's a trap designed to look like a rescue.”
Then the baby's crying stopped.
Silence.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Victor Hale's voice.
“You've arrived.”
“Where's my son?”
“Behind the blue door.”
“Open it.”
“No.”
“You want me?”
“Yes.”
“Then open it.”
He laughed.
“You still think this is about you.”
“Then what is it about?”
A pause.
Then:
“Your son is the only subject who survived the complete sequence.”
My stomach dropped.
“What sequence?”
“The drug.”
“What drug?”
“Your wife volunteered for it.”
I couldn't breathe.
Victor continued.
“She wasn't killed because she resisted.”
“She was killed because she tried to take Noah away.”
I closed my eyes.
“You murdered her.”
“No.”
His voice became cold.
“Your mother did.”
I opened my eyes.
Emily stared at me.
Victor said:
“Ask your mother's favorite maid what she was doing the night your wife died.”
The line went dead.
I slowly turned toward Emily.
She knew exactly what I was about to ask.
May you like
And she whispered:
“I was there.”
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