CHAPTER THIRTEEN
1061 Words
THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Lila didn't take her eyes off Vincent's uncle.
“Who is she?”
He looked at the photograph in her hand.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he walked into the room and closed the door behind him.
“You shouldn't have found that.”
Lila held the photograph tighter.
“That doesn't answer my question.”
“No.”
“Then answer it.”
He looked at her carefully.
“You have your mother's eyes.”
Lila frowned.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“Stop changing the subject.”
He sighed and moved toward the window.
“The woman in that photograph was important to your mother.”
“Was she her friend?”
He didn't answer.
“Her sister?”
His silence made Lila's heart beat faster.
“My mother had a sister?”
He turned around.
“Go back to your room.”
“This is my room now?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don't.”
Lila stepped closer.
“You brought me here. You showed me pictures of my parents. You keep telling me I shouldn't know things. If you know what happened to my family, tell me.”
His expression hardened.
“You think knowing everything will make you feel better?”
“I think being lied to makes me feel worse.”
That seemed to affect him.
He looked away.
Before he could say anything, a sound came from downstairs.
A door slammed.
Lila turned toward the hallway.
“Who is that?”
“No one.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“You're lying.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You're becoming too much like your brother.”
Lila froze.
“What does Brian have to do with this?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he walked toward the door.
Lila followed.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
She looked at him.
“Is Brian in danger?”
He slowly turned around.
“That depends on what he decides to do next.”
Then he walked away.
Lila stood in the doorway.
She didn't like his answer.
Not at all.
Brian drove through the city without saying a word.
Vincent sat beside him.
Neither man trusted the other.
But both wanted the same thing.
Lila.
Brian suddenly turned onto a smaller road.
Vincent looked at him.
“This isn't the way to my uncle's house.”
“I know.”
“Then where are we going?”
“Somewhere we should have gone years ago.”
Vincent studied him.
“What does that mean?”
Brian kept his eyes on the road.
“My parents had a friend.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent frowned.
“You don't know?”
“I was young.”
“How old?”
“Eight.”
Vincent looked ahead.
Brian continued.
“After they died, someone came to our house. He gave me something and told me to keep it safe.”
“What?”
Brian reached into his jacket.
He pulled out a small metal key.
Vincent looked at it.
“What does it open?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why have you kept it?”
“Because my father told me never to lose it.”
Vincent looked at the key again.
“And you never tried to find out?”
Brian gave a bitter laugh.
“I did.”
“And?”
“Every door I tried was the wrong one.”
Vincent leaned back.
“Maybe you were looking in the wrong place.”
Brian glanced at him.
“Maybe.”
They drove in silence for another few minutes.
Then Brian's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Who is this?”
A man's voice replied.
“You're looking for the wrong person.”
Brian's eyes hardened.
“Where is my sister?”
“She isn't your only problem.”
“Put Lila on the phone.”
A pause.
Then they heard a faint sound.
A woman's voice.
“Brian?”
Brian sat upright.
“Lila!”
The call ended.
Brian immediately turned the car around.
Vincent grabbed the dashboard.
“What are you doing?”
“We're going back.”
“Where?”
Brian looked at him.
“To the house.”
Lila sat on the edge of the bed.
She couldn't stop thinking about the photograph.
Two women.
Her mother.
And the stranger.
She turned the picture over again.
The words kept running through her mind.
For the two girls who were never meant to be separated.
Why would someone write that?
Who were the two girls?
She looked around the room.
Something didn't feel right.
She stood up.
Slowly, she opened the wardrobe.
Inside were several old dresses.
She pushed them aside.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a loose wooden panel at the back.
Lila touched it.
It moved.
She pulled it open.
Behind it was a small box.
Her heart began to beat faster.
She took it out and placed it on the bed.
There was no lock.
Inside were several old papers.
A hospital bracelet.
A tiny silver necklace.
And one folded document.
Lila opened it.
Her eyes moved across the page.
Then stopped.
Her name was written there.
Lila James.
She stared at it.
The date on the document was from twenty years ago.
She was only a baby.
But beneath her name was another name.
Lena James.
Lila whispered the name.
“Who is Lena?”
A voice answered from behind her.
“My daughter.”
Lila turned.
The older woman stood in the doorway.
Lila looked at her.
Then at the document.
“Your daughter?”
The woman nodded.
Her eyes were filled with tears.
Lila slowly stood.
“Where is she?”
The woman didn't answer.
Lila stepped closer.
“Where is Lena?”
The woman looked toward the hallway.
Then she whispered,
“She died the same night your parents did.”
Lila's face went blank.
“What?”
The woman looked at her.
“And that's why your brother can never know you're here.”
Before Lila could ask another question, the lights in the house suddenly went out.
And from somewhere downstairs came the sound of someone shouting.
“LILA!”
She recognized the voice.
Brian.
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