Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Looked Like MeThe woman was sitting in my apartment when Ricardo's men arrived.
That alone should have been impossible.
But the photograph made it worse.
Because she looked like me.
Not similar.
Not close.
Exactly like me.
When Ricardo showed me the security image, my knees nearly gave out.
The woman wore a dark coat.
Her hair was tied back.
Her face was turned toward the camera.
There was no doubt.
She had my eyes.
My nose.
My scar.
My face.
“Who is she?” Ricardo demanded.
“I don’t know.”
He studied me.
“Then somebody has spent a great deal of time making sure you don't know.”
We returned to my apartment.
The police were nowhere in sight.
Ricardo’s men had cleared the building.
My front door stood open.
My tiny living room had been searched.
Drawers emptied.
Books scattered.
My mattress cut open.
Someone had been looking for something.
The wooden box was gone.
I rushed into my bedroom.
“No…”
Ricardo stood behind me.
“What was in it?”
“A key.”
“Anything else?”
“A ring.”
“Anything important?”
I looked at the empty space beneath my bed.
“The photograph.”
Ricardo looked at me.
“Which photograph?”
“The one of Sofia.”
Silence.
His jaw tightened.
Then one of his guards stepped forward.
“Boss, we found this.”
He held out a torn piece of paper.
Ricardo took it.
His eyes moved across the page.
I saw the color leave his face.
“What does it say?”
He hesitated.
Then handed it to me.
There was only one sentence.
She was never supposed to survive.
I looked up.
“Who?”
Ricardo didn’t answer.
Then footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Everyone reached for their weapons.
The apartment door slammed shut.
A woman appeared at the end of the corridor.
The same face.
The same eyes.
My face.
She looked directly at me.
“Clara.”
I couldn't move.
“Who are you?”
She smiled faintly.
“Someone who has been trying to find you.”
Ricardo raised his gun.
“Take two steps back.”
She laughed.
“You still think guns solve everything.”
Ricardo went still.
He knew her voice.
“Sofia?”
The woman’s expression changed.
For a moment, she looked almost sad.
Then she shook her head.
“No.”
Ricardo stared.
“Then who are you?”
“My name is Elena.”
She looked at me.
“And I was supposed to die six months ago.”
My heart pounded.
“What does that mean?”
Elena glanced at Ricardo.
“You killed the wrong woman.”
Ricardo's hand tightened around the gun.
“That night, I watched Sofia die.”
“No,” Elena replied.
“You watched a woman wearing Sofia's coat.”
The room went silent.
One of the guards swore.
Ricardo stepped closer.
“You expect me to believe Sofia is alive?”
“No.”
Elena smiled.
“I expect you to believe that somebody wanted you to think she was dead.”
She pulled a small device from her pocket.
A recording.
She pressed play.
Static filled the room.
Then a woman's voice.
Sofia.
Ricardo's face collapsed.
“Ricardo…”
It was unmistakably her.
“If you’re hearing this, I’m already gone.”
Ricardo whispered, “Sofia.”
The recording continued.
“You need to trust Clara.”
I looked at Elena.
“What?”
Sofia’s voice continued.
“Not Elena.”
Everyone stared at the woman who looked like me.
Elena’s smile disappeared.
Sofia continued.
“Trust my daughter.”
My heart stopped.
Ricardo turned toward me.
“What did she say?”
The recording ended.
I stood there, unable to breathe.
“My daughter?”
Ricardo stared at me.
“You're Sofia’s daughter?”
“I didn’t even know she existed.”
Elena suddenly moved.
One of the guards grabbed her.
She fought back hard.
“Where is the rest of the recording?” Ricardo demanded.
Elena looked at him.
“Too late.”
“Too late for what?”
She smiled.
“Someone already knows Clara is here.”
A gunshot shattered the window.
The glass exploded.
The lights went out.
Everyone dropped.
When emergency lights flickered back on, Elena was gone.
And on the wall above my head was a single red message.
THE DAUGHTER WAS NEVER THE TARGET.
Under it, another sentence had been written.
THE BOY WAS.
Ricardo looked toward the stairs.
Leo.
May you like
His son was alone downstairs.
And somewhere in the darkness, someone had just entered the building.
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