The Devil Remembers Her

The gunshot came from inside Adrian vale's mansion just as I reached the door. I froze with my hand a few inches at the brass knocker. At that moment I wasn't sure if I should still knock or come back next time for the archivist interview I had by ten o’clock. I was confused. I glanced at my bag and then remembered the reason I was here and why I had a fake ID printed out. I should have left but I couldn't chicken out now because of a gunshot. I knocked with a trembling hand. “What's your name?” “Eleanor Hayes. I am here for the archivist Interview.” I said. My heart was pounding. My legs were shaking and I tried to hide it with a pretty fake smile. The guard looked at my face then at the tablet he was holding and then at my face as if he expected it to confess something. “You're late,” he said. “The email said ten o’clock and it's past ten. And why is there sweat on your forehead? Did you run here?” I didn't even realize there was sweat on my forehead. I glanced at the clock above the entrance. “It's two minutes past ten. I supposed we are both having a difficult morning.” He didn't smile. He searched my bag, examined my fake identification, and handed me a visitor badge. I followed him into a mansion that smelled of polished wood, fresh flowers, and something metallic I couldn't place. My pulse hadn't settled since the gunshot. The Vesper Hotel had burned seven years ago with eleven people inside. My sixteen year old sister had vanished that night. The report called it an electrical accident. Adrian Vale's family had signed the document that closed the case. I had spent seven years learning how to turn a dead end into a door. Even if it was fake. I intended to find mine today. The guard left me in a study with dark bookshelves and a long table covered in archival boxes. A woman in a grey suit sat behind a laptop. “I'm Mrs. Bennett,” she said, “the estate administrator. Mr. Vale has agreed to see you personally, that doesn't mean he has agreed to hire you. So don't get excited.” “Understood.” “Some of these records are damaged and don't match,” she said while sliding a folder across the table, without looking at me. “The records have conflicting dates. We need someone to make them right quietly.” I opened the folder. The first pages were already property inventories. The next listed documents were transferred from the Vesper Hotel archives seven years earlier. My fingers went cold. I kept my face very still and read the entries twice. One line recorded a collection of eleven sealed files as “destroyed” on the night of the fire. The same collection appeared in a transfer register dated two days afterwards. Three pages later. I tapped the second entry. “Who authorized this?” Mrs. Bennett closed her laptop. “That information isn't relevant to the position.” “It's important to the inventory. If the files were destroyed, they couldn't have been transferred.” I stated. “If they were transferred, someone tampered with the destruction record.” “You've been here four minutes.” “And someone managed to lose eleven files in two different ways.” The study door opened behind her. I didn't need to turn to know who had walked in. The atmosphere changed. His cologne filled the room, something dark, clean, and expensive hit me first. Even Mrs. Bennett sat straighter. Adrian Vale walked to the table. His dark shirt opened at the throat. His sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked younger than the photograph in the newspaper and far less approachable. A faint scar crossed one knuckle his gaze moved from the folder, then settled on me. I had imagined meeting him. In every version, I said something devastating. Now in reality, my mouth went dry. “My guard told me you came in frightened,” he said. “You must have heard the gunshot on your way here. I was practicing shooting at my east wing.” I stared at him because I didn't know what to say at the moment. I searched for the right words. I didn't see any, I kept quiet instead. “ You've found a discrepancy,” he said. “Yes. Two entries contradict each other.” “Perhaps, the person who compiled the register made a mistake.” “But the second entry includes a receiving signature.” “Do you know whose?” “No. The name has been scratched out.” It wasn't what he expected to hear. I noticed from his expression. He wasn't surprised, he recognized a problem he had hoped to stay buried. He pulled a chair opposite mine. “What would you do?” “I’d preserve the old records, trace the transfer authorization, and check the original register before deciding which entry is false.” I said. “And if the original records are nowhere to be found.” “I'd found out who benefitted from the disappearance.” Mrs. Bennett gave me a warning look. Adrian had leaned back as if he had heard what he wanted. “Tell me what you know about Vesper fire, Mrs. Hayes.” “Eleven people died and a girl disappeared. The investigation concluded it was an accident. Just what everybody knows.” “ And do you believe that?” “I believe reports are written by people and they have reasons to lie.” His eyes met mine. It was cold, cold grey but there was something restless beneath them, something that made me suddenly aware of how close we sat. “Your references are good. Too good. But I am not convinced by your work history though.” I kept my hands under the table if I put them on top he'd see them shaking. “I've worked with private collectors.” I said. “They don't like their names on paper.” “And I prefer to know who I am hiring, Ms. Hayes.” Something cold hit my stomach. He found something. I didn't know what, that frightened me more than an accusation would have. “Are you offering me the job?” I asked. “Of course. You start tomorrow. Mrs. Bennett will arrange your access.” I blinked. “You're hiring me after questioning my identity?” “I am hiring you because you noticed a discrepancy my staff missed.” “ That's all?” His mouth curved slightly without warmth. “Would you like me to invent a more flattering reason?” “No.” “Great. We understand each other.” Mrs. Bennett gathered the folder and left to prepare the paperwork. Adrian remained seated while watching me with an intensity that made the room feel smaller. I stood. “I'll return tomorrow.” “Eleanor.” I stopped. He pushed back his chair and walked around the table, and stopped right in front of me. I caught the clean scent of his cologne. His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes. Then he spoke so quietly that no one beyond the door could have heard him. “Seven years, Elara. You still think you can walk into my house wearing someone else's name?” A chill ran down my spine. Before I could answer, Adrian reached into his pocket and placed a photograph on the table between us. My sister stared up at me. There were five words written on the back in a handwriting, I recognized. She wasn't the one I was supposed to save. Adrian's expression hardened. “Tell me, did you come here to destroy me or have you finally decided to find out what happened to Iris?”