Chapter 7 - THE GIRL WITH MY MOTHER’S EYESEmma Blackwell contacted me first.
Not through police.
Not through Marcus.
Through a dead email address I had created fifteen years earlier.
CarolineMercerPhotography.
I had forgotten it existed.
The message contained seven words.
If you want the truth, come alone.
Below it was an address.
Marcus refused.
“Absolutely not.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“You are a witness in an active criminal investigation.”
“I am also apparently a member of the most dishonest family in America.”
“That is not a legal defense.”
I almost smiled.
It felt strange.
Marcus had become one of the only people in my life who spoke to me like I was still human rather than evidence.
In the end, we compromised.
I went inside alone.
He waited outside with Torres and two officers.
The address belonged to an abandoned photography studio.
Appropriate.
I entered.
“Emma?”
A figure stepped from behind a backdrop.
She was twenty-two.
Dark hair.
Gray coat.
Mother’s eyes.
Rebecca’s face.
She held a gun.
I stopped.
“That’s dramatic.”
“Five members of your family lied about my mother’s death.”
“Four.”
“What?”
“I didn’t.”
Her hand trembled slightly.
“You benefited.”
“I was declared dead.”
That gave her pause.
Good.
I took one careful step.
“Emma, I don’t know what happened to Rebecca.”
“You were there.”
“Yes.”
“You fought with Juliette.”
“Yes.”
“My mother was trying to help you.”
“I know that now.”
“She died because she went to that house.”
“Maybe.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t say maybe.”
“I spent five years living with memories that came back in pieces. I’m not going to replace one lie with another because certainty feels better.”
Her gun lowered slightly.
“What do you remember?”
“Your mother.”
Emma froze.
“I saw her in the hallway.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“She gave you documents.”
“I think so.”
“She called me that night.”
My heart jumped.
“What?”
Emma pulled an old phone from her pocket.
The screen was cracked.
“She left a voicemail.”
“Let me hear it.”
“No.”
“Emma.”
“You’ll give it to police.”
“Yes.”
Her jaw tightened.
“At least you’re honest.”
She played it.
Rebecca’s voice filled the room.
Calm at first.
“Emma, sweetheart, I’m at the Mercer house. I found Caroline.”
A pause.
“She isn’t like them.”
My throat tightened.
Then Rebecca’s voice changed.
“There’s something wrong downstairs.”
Another pause.
“If I don’t call you in an hour, contact Mr. Lang.”
Static.
Then:
“Tell him Vale knows.”
The recording ended.
I stared at Emma.
“Thomas Vale.”
She nodded.
“That’s why you contacted him.”
“I wanted him scared.”
“You warned him.”
“I told him I had the voicemail.”
“You drove him out of the country.”
“I wanted him to run.”
“Why?”
Her face hardened.
“Because guilty people run.”
“Sometimes innocent people run too.”
“You would know.”
That hurt.
She knew it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s true.”
I slowly sat on an old stool.
“Emma, if your mother was the body in that grave, somebody removed her remains.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“I dug it up.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Three months ago.”
“You removed the body?”
“No.”
She looked terrified now.
“The coffin was already empty.”
My pulse quickened.
“So the body disappeared months ago.”
“Maybe years.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Victor.”
Of course.
“What did he say?”
Emma’s voice dropped.
“He said Rebecca might still be alive.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
She looked at me.
“You were supposed to be dead too.”
The door behind me opened.
Marcus entered.
Emma raised the gun.
“No!”
I stepped between them.
Marcus stopped.
“Caroline.”
“She has a recording.”
Emma looked furious.
“You brought him.”
“He followed me.”
“I told you to come alone.”
“You pointed a gun at me. I’m beginning to appreciate his instincts.”
Marcus almost smiled.
Then a phone rang.
Emma’s phone.
Unknown number.
She looked at me.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
Nobody spoke.
Her expression changed.
“Mom?”
My blood froze.
A woman’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Emma.”
Emma began crying.
May you like
“Mom?”
Then the line went dead.
Related Stories
