Chapter 11 - What My Six-Year-Old Self SawThe recording continued.
My younger self sat rigidly in the chair.
Vincent stood behind the camera.
"Where are they?" he asked.
The little girl shook her head.
"I won't tell."
"You have to."
"No."
"People will die."
"They already died."
Vincent's voice softened.
"Lena."
She looked at him.
"Are you my daddy?"
He went quiet.
Then:
"Yes."
The child started crying.
"You said you wouldn't lie."
"I'm not."
"You said Mommy was safe."
"She is."
"Then why is she crying?"
Vincent's expression changed.
He crouched.
"Because she's trying to protect you."
"From you?"
A long silence.
Then Vincent said:
"From everyone."
I stared at the screen.
The recording changed.
My mother entered.
She looked younger.
Exhausted.
She took my hand.
"Come with me."
Six-year-old me refused.
"Mommy, Daddy wants me to tell."
My mother looked at Vincent.
"You promised."
He stood.
"I know."
"You promised she would never know."
"I changed my mind."
My mother whispered:
"Then I will take them."
"They'll find you."
"I'll make them look."
She took my hand.
The recording skipped.
A flash of fire.
Smoke.
A car.
Then darkness.
The video ended.
I turned to Vincent.
"You erased my memory."
"No."
"You did."
"I tried to stop your mother from erasing it completely."
"Why?"
"Because you saw something important."
"What?"
He pointed at the mirror.
"The third key."
I looked down at my wrist.
The scar.
"The mark."
He nodded.
"Your memory is the key."
I didn't understand.
"To what?"
"The records."
My mother spoke from behind me.
"Not exactly."
She walked closer.
"The key is the person who knows how to read them."
She looked at me.
"You."
I stared.
"How?"
"You remember patterns."
"What patterns?"
"Faces. Numbers. voices. routes."
I thought about the way I counted the baby's screams.
The way I noticed the flames looping.
The way I recognized the device.
My mother smiled sadly.
"They trained you to notice what other people ignore."
I felt angry.
"Who trained me?"
Silence.
Then Vincent said:
"I did."
My mother closed her eyes.
I turned on him.
"You?"
"I was trying to protect you."
"You trained me?"
"Not intentionally."
"Then how?"
He stepped forward.
"You grew up inside the life."
"I was a child."
"You were always watching."
My mother whispered:
"And surviving."
A crash shook the corridor.
The door burst open.
Armed men flooded the room.
Vincent moved faster than I had ever seen.
He fired.
My mother pulled me behind the wall.
Daniel shouted.
Maya screamed.
Luca cried.
Then a man grabbed me.
I kicked.
He covered my mouth.
I bit his hand.
He swore.
I dropped to the floor.
Maya lunged at him.
He shoved her away.
Vincent shouted my name.
I crawled toward Maya.
Then someone grabbed Luca.
Vincent froze.
A gun was pressed against the baby's head.
"Drop it."
Vincent lowered his weapon.
The gunman smiled.
"That's better."
He dragged Luca away.
My mother stepped forward.
"Take me instead."
"No."
The man laughed.
"We don't need you."
He looked at me.
"We need her."
His eyes landed on the scar beneath my wrist.
"The key."
I felt cold.
"Where are you taking me?"
He smiled.
"Back to where you began."
My mother whispered:
"No."
The man pulled me toward the door.
Vincent shouted:
"Don't touch my daughter!"
The man stopped.
He looked at Vincent.
"She isn't your daughter."
Then he smiled at me.
"Ask your mother who your real father is."
I looked back.
My mother was crying.
And Vincent looked terrified.
The man dragged me into the dark.
Before the door closed, I heard Vincent whisper:
"He's alive."
I stared at him.
Whoever he meant.
May you like
My real father.
He was alive.
