CHAPTER 10 THE GIRL AT THE TRAIN STATION
The bullet had been meant for Clara.
Everyone knew it.
Richard lay on the marble floor with blood spreading across his shirt, but somehow he was still smiling.
Evelyn grabbed Clara and pulled her behind the stone fireplace.
“Stay down!”
Another shot cracked through the mansion.
Glass exploded above them.
Thomas fired toward the window.
“Sniper!”
Vanessa dropped behind a sofa.
Amelia pulled the curtains shut.
Jonathan disappeared into the hallway.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Richard laughed.
A weak, breathless laugh.
Clara stared at him.
“Why are you laughing?”
Richard looked directly at her.
“Because they missed.”
Evelyn rushed toward him.
“Who?”
Richard coughed.
“You'll find out.”
“Who shot at my daughter?”
Richard smiled.
“Ask the girl at the station.”
Evelyn froze.
“What girl?”
Richard's eyes moved toward Clara.
“The one who thinks she's you.”
Then he passed out.
Thomas checked his pulse.
“Alive.”
Evelyn looked at Clara.
“Give me the phone.”
Clara instinctively hid it behind her back.
“No.”
“Clara.”
“You said not to trust anyone.”
“I said that because—”
“Then why should I trust you?”
Evelyn stopped.
Clara's voice trembled.
“The message said not to tell you.”
Evelyn's face changed.
“What message?”
Clara showed her the phone.
Evelyn read it.
Her expression became unreadable.
Thomas stepped closer.
“This could be a trap.”
“I know,” Evelyn said.
“Then we're not going.”
Clara shook her head.
“I have to.”
“No.”
“She might know who I am.”
Evelyn grabbed her shoulders.
“Clara, listen to me. Whoever sent this knows exactly what to say to make you leave.”
“But what if she's telling the truth?”
Evelyn hesitated.
That hesitation told Clara everything.
Her mother was afraid.
Not of the sender.
Of the answer.
Clara looked at her.
“You don't know who I am, do you?”
Evelyn whispered:
“I know you're my daughter.”
“But you don't know if I'm the real Clara.”
Evelyn's eyes filled with tears.
“No.”
Clara pulled away.
“I have to find out.”
Thomas shook his head.
“I'll go with you.”
The phone buzzed again.
A new message appeared.
NO POLICE.
Another.
NO THOMAS.
Then:
CLARA MUST COME ALONE.
Thomas cursed.
“Absolutely not.”
Clara looked at Evelyn.
“Mommy…”
Evelyn stared at the message.
Then at her daughter.
“She's right.”
Thomas looked shocked.
“What?”
“If we bring anyone, the girl won't appear.”
“That could be exactly what they want.”
“I know.”
Evelyn took Clara's hand.
“So we make them think she's alone.”
Thomas understood.
“You'll follow from a distance.”
Evelyn nodded.
Clara looked at her mother.
“You're coming?”
“Always.”
The old Whitmore train station had been abandoned for almost twenty years.
It sat beyond the eastern edge of the city, surrounded by dead grass and rusted tracks.
At midnight, it looked like the perfect place for a secret.
Clara stepped through the broken entrance.
She wore a small backpack.
Inside was the silver bird necklace.
Nothing else.
No phone.
No weapon.
At least, that was what the person watching her would believe.
She walked toward the old platform.
The station clock had stopped at 11:17.
Wind moved through the broken windows.
Clara heard footsteps.
She turned.
Nobody.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a voice came from the darkness.
“You came.”
Clara turned toward the tracks.
A girl stepped into the moonlight.
She was about nine years old.
Same height.
Same dark hair.
Same pale skin.
Same eyes.
Clara couldn't breathe.
The girl was wearing the silver bird necklace.
The exact same necklace.
Clara whispered:
“You're Clara.”
The girl nodded.
“Yes.”
“What is your real name?”
The girl looked confused.
“Clara.”
“Who told you?”
“My mother.”
“What's her name?”
The girl hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Vanessa.”
Clara froze.
“Vanessa is your mother?”
The girl nodded.
Clara took a step backward.
“But Vanessa doesn't have a daughter.”
“She told me never to tell anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because Daddy would hurt me.”
“Who's your daddy?”
The girl looked toward the darkness behind Clara.
“Daniel.”
Clara's heart stopped.
“You're lying.”
The girl shook her head.
“He told me I was the real Clara.”
Clara felt dizzy.
“But I'm Clara.”
“I know.”
“How?”
The girl stepped closer.
“Because I was there when you were born.”
Clara stared at her.
“You weren't born nine years ago.”
The girl smiled sadly.
“Neither were you.”
Clara's blood ran cold.
“What do you mean?”
The girl reached into her pocket.
She pulled out an old hospital bracelet.
It was faded.
The name printed on it was barely visible.
BABY A. VALE
Clara stared.
“Vale?”
“That's my mother's family.”
“Then you're not Clara.”
The girl shook her head.
“No.”
She looked at Clara.
“My name is Sophie.”
Clara exhaled.
“Then why did they call you Clara?”
“Because they needed a replacement.”
“For me?”
Sophie nodded.
“After your mother disappeared, Daniel needed someone he could control.”
Clara's voice trembled.
“What happened to you?”
Sophie looked down.
“He told me I was Clara.”
“And you believed him?”
“I was four.”
Clara's heart broke.
“You've been living as me?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In a house outside the city.”
“Who raised you?”
“Vanessa.”
Clara stared.
“She told me she loved me.”
A pause.
“But she was always afraid.”
“Of what?”
Sophie looked toward the station entrance.
“Of your mother.”
Clara frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your mother knew the truth.”
“What truth?”
Sophie stepped closer.
“She knew Daniel wasn't your father.”
Clara swallowed.
“I already know.”
“No.”
Sophie shook her head.
“You don't.”
She pulled another photograph from her pocket.
Clara took it.
The photograph showed Evelyn.
Holding two newborn babies.
But this time Clara noticed something she hadn't seen before.
There was a man standing behind Evelyn.
His face had been scratched out.
On the back was written:
THE FIRST DAUGHTER BELONGED TO DANIEL.
Clara looked up.
“What does this mean?”
Sophie whispered:
“Daniel had a daughter before he met your mother.”
Clara stared.
“What?”
“And she died.”
“Who?”
Sophie looked terrified.
“Her name was Lily.”
Clara's eyes narrowed.
“What does she have to do with me?”
Sophie didn't answer.
Instead, she pointed toward the tracks.
A train light appeared in the distance.
Clara froze.
“This station is abandoned.”
“I know.”
The train approached silently.
No engine sound.
No headlights.
Just a black shape moving through the darkness.
It stopped beside the platform.
The doors opened.
A woman stepped out.
Clara recognized her immediately.
Margaret.
She walked toward them.
“Girls.”
Sophie immediately ran to her.
Clara stayed where she was.
Margaret looked at her.
“You have your mother's eyes.”
Clara frowned.
“You sent the messages.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To get you away from the mansion.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone there is lying to you.”
Clara stared.
“Are you lying too?”
Margaret smiled.
“Yes.”
Clara's heart sank.
“About what?”
Margaret looked at Sophie.
Then at Clara.
“I lied when I told you there were two girls.”
Clara's blood ran cold.
“What?”
“There aren't two Clara Whitmores.”
Margaret stepped closer.
“There are three.”
Clara stared.
“Three?”
Margaret nodded.
“Three girls were born that night.”
Sophie looked shocked.
“You said there were two.”
“I was protecting you.”
“Who is the third?”
Margaret's expression became grim.
“The third girl is the one Richard has been hiding for nine years.”
Clara whispered:
“Where?”
Margaret looked toward the train.
“On this train.”
Clara stepped backward.
“No.”
Margaret grabbed her hand.
“Clara, listen to me.”
“Who is she?”
Margaret whispered:
“Your real sister.”
The train doors began to close.
Clara looked inside.
A little girl was sitting alone in the darkness.
Nine years old.
Holding a silver bird necklace.
Clara stared at her.
The girl looked up.
Their eyes met.
She had Clara's face.
Exactly.
Clara couldn't breathe.
The girl smiled.
Then mouthed four words:
I know who you are.
The train began moving.
Clara ran after it.
“Wait!”
Margaret grabbed her.
“Don't!”
“That's my sister!”
“No.”
Margaret's face was terrified.
“That's the girl who wants you dead.”
Clara stopped.
“What?”
Margaret looked toward the disappearing train.
“She was raised by Richard.”
Clara's blood turned cold.
“And he taught her one thing.”
“What?”
Margaret whispered:
“To become you.”
Suddenly Clara's phone buzzed.
She looked down.
A new message.
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME.
Then another appeared.
YOUR MOTHER IS ALREADY DEAD.
Clara looked at Margaret.
“No.”
Margaret didn't answer.
The third message appeared.
This time there was a photograph.
Clara opened it.
It showed Evelyn lying on the floor of the Whitmore mansion.
Blood around her.
Her eyes closed.
And standing above her was Daniel.
But Daniel wasn't holding a gun.
He was holding a knife.
Clara screamed.
“Mommy!”
Margaret grabbed her.
“Clara, don't believe the picture!”
“How do you know?”
“Because I took it.”
Clara froze.
“What?”
Margaret stared at her.
“I took the photograph.”
“Then Mommy is alive?”
Margaret didn't answer.
Instead, she whispered:
“The picture was taken three years ago.”
Clara stared.
“What?”
Margaret looked toward the tracks.
“The woman Daniel stabbed wasn't Evelyn.”
“Then who was it?”
Margaret's face turned white.
“It was the woman who looked exactly like her.”
Clara couldn't move.
“The third girl?”
Margaret nodded.
“No.”
She looked directly at Clara.
“The third girl's mother.”
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And somewhere far away, inside the moving train, a child began screaming.
Then the lights inside the train went out.
