CHAPTER 8 THE MAN WHO WAS ALREADY DEAD
“Evelyn Whitmore, step away from the child!”
The command echoed through the mansion.
Clara stared at the police officers surrounding them.
Then she looked at Daniel.
He was standing three feet away.
Alive.
Breathing.
Watching everything unfold with an expression that was almost amused.
“How can they arrest Mommy for killing Daddy?”
No one answered.
Daniel slowly stepped toward her.
“Clara, come here.”
She backed away.
“You're not dead.”
Daniel stopped.
“What?”
“The warrant says you're dead.”
For the first time, the confidence disappeared from his face.
Evelyn looked at him.
“Tell her.”
Daniel said nothing.
“Tell her who died.”
A police officer shouted:
“Evelyn, get on your knees!”
Thomas raised his weapon.
“Don't touch her!”
Several rifles immediately pointed at him.
The room became a frozen battlefield.
Then Richard walked into the library.
He was smiling.
“Everyone calm down.”
The lead officer lowered his weapon.
“Mr. Whitmore.”
Clara stared at her grandfather.
“You know them.”
Richard nodded.
“Of course.”
Evelyn's face hardened.
“You planned this.”
Richard smiled.
“You were always clever.”
“But not clever enough.”
Richard glanced at Clara.
“No.”
He looked toward Daniel.
“Because she was.”
Clara frowned.
“Who?”
Richard didn't answer.
The police officer approached Evelyn.
“Turn around.”
Evelyn didn't move.
“What's the charge?”
“Murder.”
“Whose murder?”
The officer looked at Daniel.
Then back at Evelyn.
“Daniel Whitmore.”
Clara's heart pounded.
“But he's right there.”
The officer's expression didn't change.
“Who?”
Clara pointed.
“My father.”
The officer looked at Daniel.
Then frowned.
“I don't see anyone.”
Clara froze.
Daniel was gone.
She spun around.
Nothing.
The space beside the desk was empty.
Her father's wedding jacket was gone.
The room suddenly felt much colder.
“Where did he go?”
Nobody answered.
Thomas whispered:
“They can't see him.”
Clara looked at him.
“What?”
Thomas stared at the empty space.
“The warrant isn't for the man you think.”
Evelyn's face changed.
“Thomas.”
“What?”
“Get Clara out.”
The officers moved closer.
One grabbed Evelyn's wrist.
Clara screamed.
“Let her go!”
Evelyn pulled away.
“Clara, listen to me.”
“I won't leave you!”
“You have to.”
“No!”
Evelyn crouched.
She took Clara's face in her hands.
“Remember what I told you.”
“What?”
“Never trust anyone who tells you they know the whole story.”
Clara began crying.
“Mommy…”
Evelyn kissed her forehead.
“Run.”
Thomas grabbed Clara.
They rushed through the library.
Behind them, police shouted.
“Stop!”
Thomas pulled open a hidden door.
Clara followed.
They disappeared into the passage.
The door closed behind them.
They ran through the darkness.
“Where are we going?”
“Basement.”
“Why?”
“There's another exit.”
“But Mommy—”
“We have to trust her.”
Clara stopped.
“Do we?”
Thomas turned.
“What?”
“She said never trust anyone.”
Thomas stared at her.
Then smiled sadly.
“Your mother taught you well.”
They kept moving.
Suddenly Thomas's phone rang.
He answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
Clara looked at him.
“Who is it?”
Thomas ended the call.
“We have to turn around.”
“Why?”
“Because the police are already at the exit.”
Clara's heart sank.
“We're trapped.”
Thomas nodded.
Then he looked toward a narrow staircase.
“No.”
He pointed upward.
“There's one more way.”
They climbed.
The staircase led to the mansion's old attic.
Thomas opened the door.
Dust filled the air.
Clara coughed.
“Where are we?”
“The room where your mother kept her childhood things.”
Clara looked around.
Old furniture.
Boxes.
Paintings.
A broken piano.
Then she saw something.
A wooden dollhouse.
She walked toward it.
It looked exactly like the Whitmore mansion.
Clara picked it up.
One of the tiny windows was open.
Inside the dollhouse was a small silver key.
Thomas stared.
“Don't touch it.”
Clara stopped.
“Why?”
“That might be the real key.”
She looked at him.
“But Jonathan said—”
“Jonathan doesn't know everything.”
Clara carefully picked it up.
There was an engraving.
A bird.
And beneath it:
C.W.
Clara frowned.
“C.W.”
Thomas stared.
“Your grandmother.”
“What about her?”
“Her initials weren't C.W.”
Clara looked confused.
“What?”
“Your grandmother's name was Eleanor Whitmore.”
Clara stared at the key.
“Then who is C.W.?”
Thomas's face went pale.
“Clara Whitmore.”
Clara looked at him.
“That's my name.”
Thomas nodded.
“The key was made for you.”
A loud explosion shook the attic.
Clara screamed.
The attic door burst open.
Richard stood there.
His suit was torn.
His face was bleeding.
But he was smiling.
“You found it.”
Thomas raised his gun.
Richard shook his head.
“Don't.”
“Stay back.”
Richard looked at Clara.
“Give me the key.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
She stepped backward.
“Why do you want it?”
“Because it belongs to the family.”
“You mean the money.”
Richard laughed.
“No.”
He pointed toward the dollhouse.
“The key opens the room where your mother hid the truth.”
Thomas whispered:
“Don't give it to him.”
Richard sighed.
“You still don't understand.”
He looked at Clara.
“Your mother isn't the only person who survived that night.”
Clara froze.
“What?”
Richard smiled.
“Someone else was in the car.”
Thomas stared.
“That's impossible.”
Richard nodded.
“That's what we wanted everyone to believe.”
Clara's voice shook.
“Who?”
Richard looked toward the attic window.
“Your aunt.”
“I don't have an aunt.”
Richard smiled.
“You did.”
A sound came from behind Clara.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Clara turned.
A woman stepped out from behind the old curtains.
She looked almost exactly like Evelyn.
Same dark hair.
Same eyes.
Same scar above her eyebrow.
Clara screamed.
“Mommy?”
The woman smiled.
“No.”
Evelyn's voice came from behind Richard.
“Clara, don't go near her.”
Clara turned.
Her mother was standing at the attic entrance.
Alive.
Terrified.
The woman beside Clara smiled.
Then she whispered:
“Your mother has been lying to you about me for nine years.”
Evelyn raised her gun.
“Stay away from my daughter.”
The woman laughed.
“You still don't remember?”
Evelyn's hand trembled.
“Remember what?”
The woman stepped closer.
“You were the one who asked me to take her.”
Clara stared at her mother.
“Mommy?”
Evelyn's face went completely white.
The woman continued:
“On the night Clara was born, Evelyn gave me her baby.”
Silence.
Clara looked at Evelyn.
“Is that true?”
Evelyn couldn't speak.
Thomas stared at her.
“Evelyn…”
The woman smiled.
“Tell her.”
Evelyn lowered the gun.
Her voice broke.
“Yes.”
Clara felt the world disappear.
“What?”
Evelyn looked at her daughter.
“I gave you to her.”
“Why?”
“To save your life.”
“From who?”
Evelyn looked at Richard.
Then at the mysterious woman.
And finally at Clara.
“From the man who was supposed to be your father.”
Clara's breathing stopped.
“But Adrian…”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
She looked toward the woman.
“Her father was never Adrian.”
The woman smiled.
“Now she finally knows.”
Then she pulled a photograph from her coat.
Clara looked at it.
It showed Evelyn holding a newborn baby.
But beside Evelyn was another woman.
The same woman standing in the attic.
On the back of the photograph was a single sentence:
THE BABY IN THIS PHOTO IS NOT CLARA.
Clara dropped it.
“What?”
The woman whispered:
“Your real birth certificate says something else.”
Evelyn closed her eyes.
Richard smiled.
And somewhere downstairs, a phone began ringing.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Thomas answered.
His face immediately changed.
He looked at Clara.
Then at Evelyn.
“It's the hospital.”
“What hospital?”
Thomas swallowed.
“They found another girl.”
Clara stared.
“What girl?”
Thomas whispered:
“A nine-year-old girl.”
Silence.
“Her name is Clara Whitmore.”
Evelyn's knees nearly gave out.
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Because if there was another Clara Whitmore...
then who was the little girl standing in front of her?
