Chapter 6: The Girl in the Photograph
For several seconds, I couldn't breathe.
I held the photograph so tightly that its edges cut into my fingers.
“That's me.””
Mercer didn't answer.
I looked again.
The woman standing beside Dad had my face.
My eyes.
My scar above my eyebrow.
Even the tiny crescent-shaped mark on my left wrist.
Everything.
But something was wrong.
I turned the photograph over.
Dad had written a date.
*August 17, 2008 — 4:42 P.M.*
I looked at Mercer.
“Why would you say I wasn't me?””
“I didn't.””
“You just said my mother lied about which girl left the hospital.””
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“I shouldn't have come here.””
“You already did.””
“Rachel—”
“No.””
I stepped closer.
“You've had twelve years.””
He looked away.
“I was ordered to stay quiet.””
“By whom?””
He didn't answer.
“Mom?””
His silence was enough.
Chloe came down the hallway.
“Rachel, what's happening?””
I held up the photograph.
“Ask him.””
She looked at it.
Her face drained of color.
“I've seen her.””
I turned.
“What?””
Chloe pointed at the photograph.
“Not the picture.””
Her voice trembled.
“The girl.””
My heart stopped.
“When?””
She swallowed.
“After you left.””
“Where?””
“Here.””
I stared at her.
“Chloe.””
“I was twelve. I didn't understand.””
“Tell me.””
She looked toward the staircase.
“Mom told me not to talk about it.””
“Tell me.””
Chloe's eyes filled with tears.
“She came into the house.””
“When?””
“Late at night.””
“Who?””
“The girl in the picture.””
Mercer closed his eyes.
I turned toward him.
“You knew.””
He didn't deny it.
“What did she want?””
Chloe whispered, “Dad.””
My entire body went cold.
“Why?””
“She said she was scared.””
“Of what?””
“I don't know.””
“Where was Dad?””
“In his study.””
“Did he let her in?””
“Yes.””
“What happened?””
“I don't remember everything.””
“Try.””
Chloe wiped her cheeks.
“She gave Dad a bag.””
“What kind of bag?””
“Brown.””
“Then?””
“Dad told me to go upstairs.””
“Did you see her again?””
“No.””
I looked at Mercer.
“What was in the bag?””
He shook his head.
“I don't know.””
“You're lying.””
His eyes flashed.
“You don't know what you're talking about.””
“You've been lying for twelve years.””
“I was protecting people.””
“Which people?””
He looked at me.
Then at Chloe.
Finally, he said, “Your father.””
That stopped me.
“My father?””
“Robert knew what was happening.””
“What was happening?””
Mercer hesitated.
“There was an investigation.””
“Into what?””
“Identity fraud.””
I frowned.
“Whose identity?””
Mercer said nothing.
I felt a terrible realization forming.
“Mine.””
He looked away.
“Yes.””
I took a step backward.
“Someone was using my identity?””
“Yes.””
“For what?””
“Bank accounts. Medical records. School records.””
My head spun.
“Why?””
“That was what Robert was trying to find out.””
I looked down at the photograph.
The woman looked exactly like me.
“Who was she?””
Mercer's voice dropped.
“We never established her real name.””
“Then why did Dad call her Rachel?””
“He didn't.””
I looked up.
“What?””
“He called her Helen.””
The room went silent.
I stared at him.
“That woman was Mom?””
Mercer shook his head.
“No.””
My confusion deepened.
“Then who?””
“I don't know.””
“You're telling me a woman who looked exactly like me came into this house, handed my father a bag, and you don't know who she was?””
“I know what she looked like.””
“Then find her.””
“She disappeared.””
“When?””
“The night your father confronted Helen.””
I looked at Chloe.
“What happened that night?””
Chloe shook her head.
“I don't remember.””
“You do.””
She pressed both hands against her temples.
“I remember Dad yelling.””
“At Mom?””
“Yes.””
“What did he say?””
“He said, ‘You stole twelve years from her.’”
My stomach dropped.
“What did Mom say?””
“She said, ‘I did what I had to do.’”
I looked at Mercer.
“Why?””
He didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Why did my mother need another girl who looked like me?””
Mercer swallowed.
“Because someone needed to disappear.””
“Who?””
He looked directly at me.
“You.””
The word hit harder than any accusation my mother had ever thrown at me.
“You're saying Mom wanted me gone?””
“No.””
“Then what?””
“She wanted the other girl gone.””
I frowned.
Mercer continued.
“Your father discovered that the woman had been placed inside your life years earlier.””
“Placed?””
“Someone arranged for her to resemble you.””
“That's impossible.””
“It sounds impossible.””
“Who would do that?””
“We never found out.””
I looked at the photograph again.
The woman had my face.
But she wasn't me.
Suddenly, I remembered something.
A childhood memory.
I was seven.
I had been sitting at the kitchen table while Mom brushed my hair.
She had looked at me in the window reflection.
Then she'd said something strange.
“Sometimes people can be replaced.””
I had laughed because I thought she was joking.
Now I wondered.
I turned toward the study.
“Dad left more evidence.””
Mercer grabbed my arm.
“Don't.””
I pulled away.
“Don't touch me.””
“You don't understand what you're opening.””
“Then explain it.””
“I can't.””
“You can.””
He lowered his voice.
“Because whoever did this may still be watching.””
A car engine started outside.
We all froze.
I moved toward the window.
A black SUV sat across the street.
Its headlights were off.
The vehicle had been there when I arrived.
I hadn't noticed.
Mercer saw it too.
His face changed.
“Get away from the window.””
“Why?””
“Now.””
I stepped back.
The SUV remained still.
Then its lights came on.
It pulled away.
I watched until it disappeared around the corner.
“Who was that?””
Mercer didn't answer.
Chloe whispered, “Mom?””
“No,” Mercer said.
“How do you know?””
“Because Helen wouldn't be driving that car.””
I turned.
“What car is it?””
He looked at me.
“Federal.””
The word hung in the air.
“Federal?””
He nodded.
“Someone knows you're here.””
I returned to the desk.
My father's flash drive was still connected to the computer.
I opened the remaining folders.
There were dozens.
Names.
Dates.
Scanned documents.
Then one file caught my eye.
*PROJECT MIRROR.*
I clicked it.
The screen displayed a single photograph.
The same woman.
But this time, she wasn't beside Dad.
She was standing in front of a military installation.
And next to her stood a younger version of General Arthur Bennett.
I froze.
“Arthur knew her.””
Mercer stepped closer.
His face went pale.
“That's not possible.””
“Why?””
“Because that photograph was taken in 2007.””
I looked at him.
“One year before I left.””
He stared at the screen.
Then whispered,
“Rachel, your father wasn't investigating your disappearance.””
I waited.
“He was investigating where *you came from*.””
The computer chimed.
A new email appeared.
No sender.
No subject.
Just one sentence.
*Stop looking for the truth, or Chloe becomes the next Rachel.*
Chloe screamed.
May you like
Mercer reached for his weapon.
And somewhere downstairs, the front door slowly began to open.
