Chapter 3 - The Woman Behind the Glass
Victor opened the aquarium wall himself.
Behind it:
a narrow staircase.
Cold blue light.
The guards followed.
Claire.
Lily refused to stay behind.
Victor finally allowed her to come only while holding his hand.
Eleanor remained upstairs.
That bothered Victor.
At the bottom was the room Lily described.
Glass walls.
Medical equipment.
Empty crib.
No woman.
Victor touched the mattress.
Warm.
Someone had been there minutes earlier.
Claire searched the cabinets.
Formula.
Diapers.
Medication.
Everything for an infant.
Victor found a strand of long brunette hair caught beneath the crib.
His hands trembled.
Impossible thoughts were dangerous because grief wanted them to be true.
Emily was dead.
He had seen her body.
Had buried her.
Had stood beside Eleanor while the coffin descended.
Lily pointed.
“She sat there.”
Beside the chair was a music box.
Victor opened it.
The same melody.
Emily's melody.
Inside the lid:
E.V.
Emily Vale.
Victor closed his eyes.
Claire whispered:
“Could someone be copying her?”
“Someone has been copying this family for years.”
Victor's voice was different now.
Less angry.
More frightened.
Lily found a drawing beneath the crib.
Crayon.
A little girl.
A baby.
A tall man with silver hair.
Grandpa.
And beside him:
a woman in green.
Claire.
The child who drew it knew all of them.
On the reverse:
DON'T LET GRANDMA TAKE HER.
Victor stared.
“Grandma.”
Eleanor.
He turned toward the stairs.
A guard came running down.
“Sir.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Vale is gone.”
Victor's face hardened.
Her car remained outside.
She had not passed the guards.
So Eleanor knew another exit.
They searched.
Behind a medical cabinet was a passage.
At the end:
a locked steel door.
Victor ordered it forced.
Beyond was a tunnel leading under the gardens.
Fresh footprints.
Two sets.
One belonged to Eleanor's jeweled shoes.
The other—
bare feet.
Adult.
Victor followed.
The tunnel emerged inside an abandoned greenhouse.
There they found Eleanor.
Alone.
She was crying.
Victor had seen his wife angry.
Arrogant.
Cruel.
Never like this.
“Where is she?”
Eleanor looked at Lily.
“I was trying to send her away.”
“Who?”
Eleanor whispered:
“Emily.”
Lily gasped.
Victor's face emptied.
“Our daughter is dead.”
“I thought so too.”
“Don't do this to me.”
“She came back six months ago.”
Victor nearly staggered.
Eleanor explained.
A woman contacted her.
Same face.
Same scars.
Same memories.
Same song.
She claimed to be Emily.
Eleanor secretly ordered DNA testing.
The result:
99.99% maternal relationship to Eleanor.
Victor stared.
“That means she's our daughter.”
“No.”
Eleanor's answer came too quickly.
“Why no?”
“Because I watched Emily die.”
Victor stepped closer.
“So did I.”
“But you didn't see what happened afterward.”
“What happened?”
Eleanor's lips trembled.
“I gave them permission.”
“Permission for what?”
She looked toward Lily.
Victor understood there were things the child should not hear.
He sent a guard to take Lily a few yards away.
Then Eleanor confessed.
After Emily's fatal accident six years earlier, a private medical researcher approached Eleanor.
Emily had suffered catastrophic injuries.
Her heart had stopped.
But some neurological activity remained briefly.
The researcher offered an experimental preservation procedure.
Eleanor agreed.
Without Victor.
Without anyone.
“What researcher?”
“Dr. Adrian Kessler.”
Claire went pale.
Victor noticed.
“You know him.”
May you like
Claire whispered:
“He's the man who told me to fake the pregnancy.”
