Chapter 8 - I didn't go alone.I didn't tell the police immediately either.
Not because I trusted my family.
Because I had finally learned that everyone had secrets.
Daniel drove.
Elliot followed.
Two detectives came in an unmarked car several minutes later.
The old house stood at the end of a narrow road surrounded by overgrown trees.
The windows were boarded.
The porch sagged.
The house looked abandoned.
But the front door was unlocked.
Inside, the air smelled like dust.
Old wood.
Something metallic.
Elliot stepped carefully into the hallway.
“This is where Helen grew up.”
I looked around.
Nothing about the place felt familiar.
Then I saw a photograph on the wall.
Helen at eighteen.
Dad at twenty.
And a third person.
A young woman.
Maria.
My mother.
My throat tightened.
“Why is Maria in their family photograph?”
Elliot said:
“She wasn't family.”
“Then why?”
“Because Helen wanted everyone to think she was.”
We entered the living room.
A small table sat against the wall.
On it was an old tape recorder.
Beside it was a note.
FOR THE DAUGHTER WHO SURVIVED.
My hands shook.
I pressed play.
Maria's voice filled the room.
“If you are hearing this, Helen lied.”
I stopped breathing.
She continued.
“I don't know if I'm alive when you hear this.”
Daniel moved closer.
“You were promised a truth,” Maria said.
“You were never abandoned.”
“I searched for you.”
“I found you.”
A pause.
“Your mother kept you because she believed your biological father would come back.”
I looked at Elliot.
“Who?”
The tape continued.
“He threatened her.”
My skin prickled.
“Who threatened her?”
Maria said:
“Victor Hale.”
The name we'd heard before.
Helen's lawyer.
Maria continued.
“He didn't want the baby.”
“He wanted the money.”
The room went silent.
“The money was supposed to go to you.”
“Victor tried to take it.”
“Helen helped him.”
I covered my mouth.
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
“James knew.”
I looked at Dad.
He had stopped moving.
Maria's voice continued.
“He agreed to help them.”
Dad whispered:
“No.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
Elliot answered instead.
“He was nineteen.”
“He was scared.”
“He thought they would kill Maria.”
I turned toward Dad.
“Did you help them?”
He looked at me.
“I helped them hide you.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“I thought I was saving your life.”
“From what?”
“Victor.”
The tape crackled.
Then Maria said:
“If James ever tells you that he didn't know…”
A long silence.
“Don't believe him.”
The recorder clicked off.
I looked at Dad.
He was crying.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You knew where Maria was.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she was looking for me.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“I was afraid.”
The same excuse.
Always fear.
Always silence.
Then a noise came from upstairs.
Footsteps.
Everyone froze.
The detectives drew their weapons.
“Stay behind us.”
They moved up the stairs.
I heard a door open.
A crash.
Then silence.
One detective shouted:
“Clear!”
They called us up.
A bedroom had been disturbed.
Someone had been staying there.
Fresh clothes.
Food.
A laptop.
And a wall covered with photographs.
Photographs of me.
At work.
At home.
With Daniel.
With Lily.
At the grocery store.
At the park.
I felt sick.
Someone had been watching us for months.
At the center of the wall was one photograph.
Me holding Lily.
Across it, in red marker:
SHE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SHE IS.
Below it:
YET.
The laptop contained security footage.
Dozens of videos.
But the newest file was from yesterday.
I pressed play.
A woman entered the room.
The same woman from the photograph.
The woman who looked like me.
She sat in front of the camera.
“My name is Clara.”
I stared.
Clara.
My sister.
She looked into the lens.
“If you are watching this, Helen has finally failed.”
She paused.
“She wanted you to hate Rebecca.”
“She wanted you to hate James.”
“She wanted you to think I was the enemy.”
“I'm not.”
Then Clara leaned closer.
“I am the daughter Maria kept.”
My breath caught.
“You were the daughter Helen stole.”
Tears filled my eyes.
Clara continued.
“But there is something you don't know.”
She held up a document.
“A DNA test.”
I stared at the screen.
“My result says…”
She stopped.
Her expression changed.
Like she was frightened by what she was about to say.
Then the video cut.
The screen went black.
The detective looked at the laptop.
“Corrupted.”
“Can you recover it?”
“Maybe.”
Dad whispered:
“Clara was supposed to be dead.”
I turned toward him.
“Why?”
He looked terrified.
“Because Helen told us she died.”
A sound came from outside.
A car door slammed.
Everyone turned.
Through the window, I saw a figure walking toward the house.
Clara.
Alive.
She stopped on the porch.
Looked through the window.
And pointed directly at me.
May you like
Then she mouthed:
RUN.
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