Chapter 11: The Secret in Emma’s Blood
“Now you finally know who Emma really is.”
The voice came through the speaker again.
Cold.
Calm.
Almost amused.
I turned toward the ceiling.
“Who are you?”
No answer.
I looked at my father.
“What does he mean?”
My father didn't speak.
“Dad!”
He finally looked at me.
“I don't know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You always know something.”
“Not this.”
“Then tell me what the photograph means.”
He stared at the little girl in the picture.
“That photograph was taken before your mother disappeared.”
“Who is she?”
“I don't know.”
“That's a lie.”
He shook his head.
“I swear.”
The speaker crackled.
“You're asking the wrong man.”
I froze.
The voice continued.
“Ask your husband.”
Everyone turned toward Mark.
He had gone completely pale.
“Mark?”
He didn't answer.
“What does he mean?”
Mark looked at the photograph.
Then closed his eyes.
“I was hoping you'd never see that.”
My stomach dropped.
“See what?”
He looked at me.
“The truth about Emma.”
I stepped closer.
“You told me Emma was ours.”
“She is.”
“Then why does that man keep saying otherwise?”
“She is your daughter.”
“Then explain the photograph.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know everything.”
I grabbed his shirt.
“Then tell me what you do know.”
Mark looked toward my father.
Then toward Rachel.
Neither was there.
“Rachel knows.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
My father's voice was quiet.
“Mark.”
Mark turned.
“You need to tell her.”
Mark shook his head.
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“Because they can hear us.”
The speaker crackled again.
Then the voice laughed.
“You're learning.”
The lights flickered.
A monitor on the wall suddenly turned on.
A video appeared.
Emma.
She was sitting in a small room.
Still alive.
Still conscious.
But now there was a woman beside her.
I couldn't see her face.
She was wearing a dark coat.
Emma looked terrified.
“Mommy!”
I rushed toward the screen.
“Emma!”
The woman leaned down and whispered something into her ear.
Emma's expression changed.
She stopped crying.
Then she looked directly at the camera.
“Mommy, don't come.”
My heart broke.
“Emma!”
The woman stepped into the light.
I stopped breathing.
Rachel.
My sister.
She was holding Emma's hand.
“Rachel?”
Mark whispered:
“No.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
“That's not Rachel.”
I stared at the screen.
The woman looked exactly like my sister.
Same face.
Same hair.
Same voice.
But now I noticed something.
The woman had a small scar above her eyebrow.
Rachel didn't.
My father saw it too.
His face went white.
“That's her.”
“Who?”
“The girl from the photograph.”
The screen went black.
I turned toward my father.
“Who is she?”
He didn't answer.
“Dad!”
He finally whispered:
“Your mother's first child.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She had a daughter before you.”
“Rachel?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
He looked at me.
“Her name was Rebecca.”
I felt dizzy.
“Where is she?”
“Dead.”
“Then who is that?”
He didn't answer.
Mark did.
“She isn't dead.”
I turned toward him.
“You knew?”
“I knew there was a possibility.”
“A possibility?”
He swallowed.
“Rebecca disappeared when she was four.”
“Why?”
“Because someone took her.”
“Who?”
Mark looked at my father.
“Your father knows.”
My father closed his eyes.
“I couldn't save her.”
I stepped backward.
“So Rachel isn't my sister?”
“She is.”
“Then who is Rebecca?”
“Your mother's first daughter.”
“Why does she look like Rachel?”
My father whispered:
“Because they were twins.”
I stopped breathing.
“Twins?”
“Yes.”
“Rachel has a twin?”
“She was never supposed to know.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because Rebecca was raised by the organization.”
The words made my blood run cold.
Suddenly, something clicked inside the wall.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a small metal box.
Mark rushed toward it.
“No!”
He grabbed my wrist.
“Don't touch it.”
“Why?”
“Because that's what they want.”
I pulled away.
“Everyone keeps telling me what not to do.”
I opened the box.
Inside was a blood-stained piece of paper.
And a tiny plastic vial.
The label contained only one word.
EMMA.
My heart stopped.
“What is this?”
My father took a step backward.
Mark stared at the vial.
“That's impossible.”
I looked at him.
“What's inside?”
He didn't answer.
“What's inside?”
“Her blood.”
I frowned.
“Emma's blood?”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“Someone else's.”
I stared at the vial.
“Whose?”
Mark's face was pale.
“Rebecca's.”
The room went silent.
I looked at my father.
“Why would Rebecca's blood be here?”
He didn't answer.
The speaker crackled.
“Because Emma inherited something from her.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
The voice continued.
“Something that makes your daughter more valuable than the ledger.”
I stepped toward the speaker.
“What did Emma inherit?”
Silence.
Then:
“Her blood.”
The door suddenly opened.
A man rushed into the chamber.
Detective Harris.
His face was covered in sweat.
“Get out!”
“What happened?”
“We have to leave now.”
“Why?”
He grabbed my arm.
“Because the police department is compromised.”
My father looked at him.
“How bad?”
Harris shook his head.
“Worse than we thought.”
He handed me his phone.
A live news report was playing.
A photograph of Mark appeared on the screen.
The headline read:
SURGEON SUSPECTED IN DAUGHTER'S DRUGGING AND KIDNAPPING
I stared.
“What?”
The reporter continued.
“Authorities believe Dr. Mark Carter may have abducted his own seven-year-old daughter following an attempted poisoning…”
I looked at Mark.
He was speechless.
Harris whispered:
“They've issued a nationwide warrant.”
“But he's here.”
“I know.”
“Then how?”
Harris's expression was grim.
“Someone leaked a fabricated evidence package.”
My father stepped closer.
“What evidence?”
Harris looked at him.
“Security footage.”
“Of what?”
“Mark entering Emma's hospital room.”
Mark shook his head.
“I never went there.”
“I know.”
Harris turned the phone toward us.
The footage showed Mark walking into Emma's room.
Clear face.
Clear timestamp.
Clear identification.
But there was one problem.
Mark was standing beside us when the footage was supposedly recorded.
My stomach dropped.
“He wasn't there.”
Harris nodded.
“Exactly.”
Mark stared at the screen.
“That isn't me.”
My father leaned closer.
“No.”
He pointed at the man's hand.
“Look.”
The footage zoomed in.
A silver ring was visible on the man's finger.
I knew that ring.
Rachel wore it.
I stared at the screen.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
Then a woman's voice whispered:
“Sarah.”
I froze.
“Rachel?”
A soft laugh.
“No.”
“Who are you?”
The woman answered:
“I'm Rebecca.”
My blood ran cold.
“Where is my daughter?”
A pause.
Then:
“She isn't your daughter.”
I closed my eyes.
“Then who is she?”
The woman whispered:
“Ask your mother.”
The call ended.
At that exact moment, the lights in the chamber went out.
May you like
When they came back on, the metal box was gone.
And so was my father.
