CHAPTER TWELVE
1121 Words
YOU'RE ALIVE
Lila stared at the woman.
The woman stared back.
Neither of them spoke.
Lila's eyes moved from her face to the man standing behind her.
Vincent's uncle.
She remembered seeing him before.
Not in person.
In photographs.
He was the man who had always stood beside Vincent's father at family events. The man Brian never spoke about.
The man who was now looking at her as if he had seen a ghost.
Lila swallowed.
“Do you know me?”
The woman didn't answer immediately.
She stepped closer.
Her eyes moved over Lila's face.
“You look just like her.”
“Like who?”
The woman suddenly stopped.
The man beside Lila gave her a warning look.
“That's enough.”
Lila turned toward him.
“Who is she talking about?”
No answer.
She looked back at the older woman.
“My mother?”
The woman looked down.
That was enough.
Lila's chest tightened.
“You knew my mother.”
The woman nodded slowly.
“A long time ago.”
“How?”
Before she could answer, Vincent's uncle spoke.
“Take her upstairs.”
Lila turned sharply.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“You need to rest.”
“I need answers.”
“You're not ready for them.”
“I'll decide that.”
For the first time, something almost like amusement appeared in his eyes.
“You have your mother's temper.”
Lila froze.
“Don't talk about my mother like you knew her.”
“I knew her very well.”
“Then tell me what happened to her.”
The man's face became serious.
“Not tonight.”
Lila shook her head.
“You brought me here. You showed me her photograph. Now you're telling me you can't answer?”
“You're asking questions that could put you in danger.”
“I've been in danger since someone took me from my house.”
The room went quiet.
The older woman looked uncomfortable.
Vincent's uncle finally turned away.
“Take her upstairs.”
This time, Lila didn't argue.
Not because she trusted him.
But because she had just noticed something.
On the wall behind him was a large painting.
And beneath it was a small wooden table.
On that table sat an old clock.
Lila recognized it.
She had seen it before.
In one of her childhood memories.
Her mother had been standing beside it.
Lila stared at the clock.
A strange feeling passed through her.
She had been in this house before.
Brian's car stopped outside his house.
He got out quickly.
Vincent followed.
“You didn't have to come.”
“I know.”
Brian looked at him.
“Then why are you here?”
Vincent didn't answer.
He had his own reasons.
Something about the warehouse wasn't right.
Someone had wanted them there.
Someone had wanted them to find that photograph.
And now Lila was missing.
Vincent wasn't going to ignore it.
Brian opened the front door.
The house looked exactly as they had left it.
Too quiet.
He walked inside.
“Lila?”
Nothing.
He checked the living room.
Then the kitchen.
Then the stairs.
Vincent followed behind him.
Suddenly, Brian stopped.
The front door was still locked.
The windows were closed.
Nothing had been broken.
Vincent looked around.
“So whoever took her had a key.”
Brian's jaw tightened.
“Or someone inside helped them.”
They looked at each other.
Neither liked that possibility.
Brian walked toward Lila's room.
He opened the door.
Everything was still there.
Her books.
Her clothes.
Her bag.
Then Vincent noticed something on the desk.
A small notebook.
He picked it up.
Brian immediately grabbed it.
“Don't.”
Vincent frowned.
“Why?”
“Because it's hers.”
“Exactly.”
Brian looked at the notebook for several seconds.
Then he opened it.
Most of the pages contained school notes.
Nothing strange.
Until he reached the final page.
There was one sentence.
Written in Lila's handwriting.
I think someone knows what happened to my parents.
Brian stared at it.
Vincent looked over his shoulder.
“When did she write that?”
“I don't know.”
Brian turned the page.
Nothing.
He checked the previous page.
Nothing.
Then he noticed something written faintly beneath the sentence.
A name.
Brian's face changed.
Vincent noticed.
“Who is it?”
Brian closed the notebook.
“No one.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Brian.”
“I said no one.”
“You're lying.”
Brian looked at him.
“And you're the last person who should be accusing anyone of lying.”
Vincent's expression hardened.
Before he could respond, his phone rang.
He answered.
“Hello?”
His father's voice came through.
“Where are you?”
“At Brian's.”
There was a pause.
“Leave.”
Vincent frowned.
“Why?”
“Just leave.”
“Dad, what is going on?”
Another pause.
Then his father spoke quietly.
“Your uncle has her.”
Vincent went completely still.
Brian saw his face.
“Who?”
Vincent looked at him.
“My uncle.”
Brian's expression changed.
He stepped closer.
“You're sure?”
“My father just told me.”
Brian grabbed his jacket.
“Then we're going.”
Vincent followed him outside.
Neither noticed the small camera hidden across the street.
A red light blinked once.
Then twice.
Someone was watching them.
Upstairs in the Kane house, Lila stood alone in a bedroom.
The older woman had left her there.
The door was unlocked.
Lila walked toward the window.
Outside, the garden was enormous.
She looked around the room.
There were old books on the shelves.
A small mirror.
A wardrobe.
Nothing unusual.
Then she noticed a framed photograph on the bedside table.
She picked it up.
Her mother.
Much younger.
Standing beside a woman Lila didn't recognize.
Lila turned the photograph over.
There was writing on the back.
Her fingers trembled as she read it.
For the two girls who were never meant to be separated.
Lila stared at the words.
Two girls?
She looked at the photograph again.
There were two women in it.
Her mother...
and another woman who looked strangely familiar.
Lila's heart began to pound.
Then she heard the bedroom door open.
She turned.
Vincent's uncle stood there.
His face was unreadable.
Lila held up the photograph.
“Who is she?”
He looked at it.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then his eyes moved back to Lila.
“That,” he said quietly, “is the one thing you were never supposed to find.”
And somewhere downstairs, the sound of a glass breaking echoed through the house.
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