Chapter 2 - The Woman in the PhotographThe lights came back on after eleven seconds.
I know because I counted.
Eleven seconds was long enough for everyone in first class to draw a weapon.
I didn't know what the weapons were for.
I only knew there were suddenly three of them.
One beneath a jacket.
One in the hand of the giant guard.
One pointed toward the cockpit door.
The baby had stopped crying.
That somehow frightened me more.
Vincent stood beside his son's seat.
"Nobody moves."
His guards obeyed instantly.
A flight attendant whispered something into her radio.
Vincent held up a hand.
"Disconnect communications between this cabin and the rest of the aircraft."
"We can't do that, sir."
"You can."
She looked terrified.
Then she did it.
I stared at the black disc in Vincent's hand.
It looked harmless.
That was the problem.
Things that looked harmless had become dangerous in my life.
My mother's locked office.
Her second phone.
The black disc beneath the kitchen table.
The red envelope she burned without opening.
Vincent noticed me staring.
"Tell me what you saw at home."
I hesitated.
"Leah."
"It was under the kitchen table."
"Where exactly?"
"Near my mother's chair."
"Did you touch it?"
"No."
"Did your mother?"
"I don't know."
"What happened that night?"
I remembered.
The memory arrived in pieces.
My mother had been arguing with someone on the phone.
She thought Maya was asleep.
I was awake.
I heard her say, "You promised me they were finished."
Then a man's voice came through the speaker.
I couldn't hear his answer.
My mother had whispered, "I buried that life."
Then she hung up.
Twenty minutes later, I heard the basement door open.
I had gone downstairs.
There was nobody there.
Only the black disc.
And a photograph.
I looked at Vincent.
"The disc wasn't the strangest thing."
"What was?"
"A picture."
He went still.
"What picture?"
"I still have it."
My mother had stuffed it into Maya's old coloring book when we left.
I opened the suitcase and pulled the book out.
Vincent took one look at the photograph.
His face changed.
The woman standing beside a younger Vincent was smiling at the camera.
She looked familiar.
Too familiar.
I had seen her my entire life.
In one of the only framed photographs my mother kept.
I looked between the picture and Vincent.
"Who's she?"
He didn't answer.
One of his guards said quietly, "That's Elena."
Vincent's eyes snapped toward him.
"Shut up."
I pointed to the photograph.
"My mother looks like her."
Nobody spoke.
Then Vincent took the picture from my hand.
He turned it over.
On the back was a date.
And three words written in faded black ink.
WE WERE THREE.
Vincent stared at it.
"What does that mean?"
I asked.
He looked at me.
"I don't know."
But his voice told me he did.
The giant guard leaned close.
"Boss."
Vincent ignored him.
I stepped toward Vincent.
"Why does my mother look like her?"
He looked down at me for several seconds.
Then he asked, "What's your mother's full name?"
I told him.
He closed his eyes.
He looked older when he opened them again.
"The woman in this photograph died fourteen years ago."
I shook my head.
"You're lying."
"Leah."
"My mother didn't die."
"I didn't say your mother died."
"You said this woman did."
"I did."
"Then why do they look the same?"
He didn't answer.
I reached for the photograph.
He handed it back.
The baby started fussing again.
I glanced at him.
Vincent followed my eyes.
The infant's tiny fingers were gripping the blanket where the black disc had been.
His crying returned.
Soft at first.
Then sharp.
I looked around.
"Put the device back."
Vincent stared.
"Why?"
"Because he knows where it is."
"What?"
"The baby was crying when it was under the blanket."
Vincent understood.
He looked at the disc.
Then at his son.
"Move him."
His guard carefully carried the baby three seats away.
The crying stopped.
Everyone stared.
Vincent's expression darkened.
"It emits a frequency."
I nodded.
"Maybe."
The guard tested the device with a scanner.
His face changed.
"Boss."
"What?"
"It's transmitting."
"To where?"
The man shook his head.
"We don't know."
Vincent took out his phone.
No signal.
The pilot's radio was dead in the front cabin.
Then the baby's monitor beeped.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Vincent's son wasn't moving.
His eyes were open.
He was staring at the ceiling.
Then the monitor displayed a single line.
DEVICE ACTIVE.
Vincent's face went pale.
Someone had hacked the baby's monitor.
A second line appeared.
SHE IS ON THE PLANE.
Vincent looked at his guards.
"Search everyone."
The guards moved.
A woman sitting across the aisle began to cry.
A businessman raised his hands.
Another passenger shouted.
Then Maya screamed.
Not crying.
Screaming.
I ran toward her.
She was sitting upright in her seat, staring at the window.
"What happened?"
She pointed outside.
"There."
I looked.
Only clouds.
"Maya, what?"
"Mommy."
My heart stopped.
"Where?"
She pressed her small hand against the glass.
"She's on the airplane."
I turned toward Vincent.
He had heard her.
"What did she say?"
"My sister thinks she saw our mother."
Vincent's face tightened.
He walked toward us.
Maya looked up at him.
Then she pointed at the photograph in my hand.
"That's Mommy."
I looked down.
Maya wasn't pointing at Elena.
She was pointing at a tiny figure in the background.
A little girl standing beside the woman.
A girl who looked exactly like me.
Ten years old.
Same dark hair.
Same scar above the eyebrow.
Same face.
I stared at the photograph.
My hands began to shake.
Because the photograph was dated 2009.
I was born in 2016.
Vincent looked over my shoulder.
His breathing stopped.
Then he whispered something I couldn't hear.
"What?"
He took the picture.
Underneath the little girl was a handwritten name.
LENA.
Vincent stared at it.
Then he looked at me.
"Leah..."
The plane suddenly jolted.
Passengers screamed.
The lights flickered.
And from the cockpit came the captain's voice.
"Mr. Moretti, we've lost control of the aircraft."
Vincent's hand closed around the photograph.
"How?"
The answer came over the intercom.
A woman's voice.
Calm.
Cold.
Familiar.
"My turn, Vincent."
Vincent froze.
I knew that voice.
May you like
I had heard it every night of my life.
My mother's voice.
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