Chapter 7 - The Woman in the PhotographVanessa left before we could stop her.
My mother sat on the floor.
Daniel locked the door.
I held the photograph.
Lily.
Alive.
The question wasn't whether the picture was real.
It was where it had been taken.
I examined the background.
A white wooden fence.
A red mailbox.
A house number.
742.
Daniel recognized it.
“I know that street.”
“Where?”
“Thirty miles north.”
My mother grabbed my wrist.
“Don't go there.”
I pulled away.
“Why?”
“Because you don't understand what Lily became.”
“What does that mean?”
Mom cried.
“She was never supposed to come back.”
I couldn't think.
“Why?”
“Because after the accident…”
She stopped.
“What accident?”
She looked toward the window.
“Your father didn't tell you everything.”
“Then tell me.”
Mom's voice dropped.
“Lily survived.”
The world seemed to stop.
“She suffered brain damage.”
My breath caught.
“She had to relearn how to walk.”
“Why fake her death?”
“Because your father was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Mom looked at me.
“She remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“The person who pushed her.”
I froze.
“You said I pushed her.”
“You did.”
“Then why was everyone afraid?”
Mom shook her head.
“Because Lily said someone else was behind you.”
The silence became unbearable.
“Who?”
Mom's eyes filled with tears.
“Vanessa.”
I stared.
“That makes no sense.”
“She was eleven. She knew you were angry. She told you to push Lily.”
I couldn't breathe.
“She manipulated me?”
Mom nodded.
“Then when Lily survived, Vanessa was afraid she'd tell.”
“And you helped her?”
“We were terrified.”
“For sixteen years?”
Mom lowered her head.
Then she whispered:
“Your father couldn't let Lily come back.”
I stared at her.
“What did he do?”
Mom wouldn't answer.
Daniel suddenly pointed toward the photograph.
“Wait.”
There was another detail.
Behind Lily stood a man.
His face was blurred.
But his jacket had an emblem.
A small silver compass.
Daniel recognized it.
“I've seen that.”
“Where?”
“Your father's office.”
I felt dread crawl through me.
“My father has that symbol?”
Daniel nodded.
“He uses it on old files.”
“What files?”
He looked at me.
“Family records.”
I called Dad.
He answered on the first ring.
“Rachel.”
“Who is Lily?”
Silence.
“Dad.”
“You shouldn't have gone to 318.”
“I know she survived.”
Another silence.
Then he said something I will never forget.
“Then you know enough to stop.”
“Where is she?”
He whispered:
“Closer than you think.”
The call ended.
A minute later, an unknown number texted me.
Look in the mirror.
I did.
And in the reflection behind me stood a woman.
Older.
Pale.
Watching.
When I turned around, nobody was there.
But on the wall behind me was a fresh smear of red paint.
May you like
Four letters had been written across it.
LILY LIVES.
