Chapter 4: Room Seven
1943 Words
Ava stared at the silver key in her palm.
ROOM SEVEN.
The words were small, but they seemed to fill the entire hallway.
She closed her fingers around the key and looked at Richard. He was still standing near the portrait, watching her with an expression she could not understand.
“Where is Room Seven?” Ava asked.
Richard did not answer.
That silence told her more than any explanation could have.
“You know where it is.”
His eyes hardened. “There is no reason for you to go there.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“Ava, listen to me.”
“No. You listen to me.” Her voice shook, but she refused to look away. “For twenty-two years, everyone has decided what I was allowed to know about myself. My mother lied to me. You disappeared. Someone erased my existence from this family. Now a stranger puts a key in my hand and tells me to stop asking questions. I am done being afraid of answers.”
Richard stared at her.
For a moment, Ava thought he might finally tell her everything.
Instead, he turned toward the staircase.
“Go home.”
Ava almost laughed.
“That is your answer?”
“It is the only safe answer I can give you.”
“Safe for who?”
Richard stopped.
Ava stepped closer.
“For me? Or for the person who doesn't want me to discover what happened?”
His face changed.
Fear.
Not anger. Not annoyance.
Fear.
Richard looked toward the old portrait.
“Room Seven is upstairs.”
Ava's heart began to pound.
“Where?”
“Second floor. At the end of the east corridor.”
“Why is it locked?”
Richard hesitated.
“Because nobody has opened it in twenty-two years.”
Ava looked at the key.
Twenty-two years.
The same number.
The same year she had disappeared.
She turned toward the staircase.
“Ava.”
She stopped.
Richard's voice was quieter now.
“If you open that door, you may learn things you wish you had never known.”
She looked back at him.
“I already know what it feels like to live without knowing the truth.”
Then she climbed the stairs.
The hallway upstairs was colder than the one below.
Old family photographs covered the walls. Ava walked slowly, studying each frame as she passed.
Morgan family weddings.
Morgan family birthdays.
Morgan family celebrations.
There were photographs from every year except one.
The year she was born.
She stopped.
A gap hung between two large portraits.
Someone had removed a picture.
Ava touched the empty space on the wall.
“Why?”
A floorboard creaked behind her.
She turned.
Nobody.
She continued walking.
At the end of the corridor stood a narrow wooden door.
A small brass number was fixed above it.
Ava took out the silver key.
Her hand trembled.
She pushed it into the lock.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then the lock turned.
The door opened with a soft click.
Ava stepped inside.
Dust covered almost everything.
There was an old desk near the window, a narrow bed against the wall, and several boxes stacked in the corner.
It looked less like a bedroom and more like a room that had been abandoned in a hurry.
Ava walked toward the desk.
On top of it was a single envelope.
Her name was written across the front.
AVA.
She stopped breathing for a moment.
The handwriting looked familiar.
She picked up the envelope.
There was no stamp.
No address.
Only her name.
She opened it carefully.
Inside was a photograph.
Ava pulled it out.
It showed a woman holding a baby.
Her mother.
Evelyn.
And the baby was Ava.
Ava's eyes filled with tears.
She turned the photograph over.
There was a message written on the back.
I am sorry.
Ava pressed her lips together.
There was more.
If you are reading this, then they failed to keep you away.
She read the sentence again.
They.
Not him.
Not Richard.
They.
Her fingers tightened around the photograph.
Who were they?
She searched the envelope again.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a small mark on the bottom corner.
A black rose.
The same symbol from the key.
Ava looked around the room.
There had to be more.
She opened the desk drawers one by one.
The first was empty.
The second contained old receipts.
The third was locked.
Ava tried the silver key.
It opened.
Inside was a small notebook.
The cover was dark blue, worn around the edges.
She opened the first page.
Evelyn Morgan.
Ava's heart jumped.
Her mother had used the Morgan name.
She turned the page.
The first entry was dated twenty-two years ago.
I no longer know who I can trust.
Ava sat down.
She kept reading.
Richard says the danger is gone, but I know he is hiding something. I saw the document tonight. It proves what happened to our daughter was not an accident.
Ava's breathing became shallow.
She turned the page.
Someone inside the family arranged everything.
I cannot stay here.
If I leave, they may follow me.
If I stay, they will find her.
Ava covered her mouth.
Her mother had been afraid.
Terrified.
But why?
She turned another page.
There was only one sentence.
The person who betrayed us has the same blood as my daughter.
Ava froze.
The words seemed to blur.
Same blood.
She read them again.
Then she heard footsteps.
Ava quickly closed the notebook.
The footsteps stopped outside Room Seven.
Her heart raced.
“What are you doing here?”
Ava did not answer.
The door handle moved.
She stepped backward.
The door opened.
Richard stood there.
For a moment neither spoke.
His eyes immediately went to the notebook in her hand.
“Where did you find that?”
“Your desk.”
“That belongs to me.”
“It belonged to my mother.”
Richard's expression tightened.
“Ava, give it to me.”
“No.”
“You don't understand what you're reading.”
“Then explain it.”
He stepped into the room.
“Your mother wrote those things when she was frightened. She didn't have all the facts.”
“She wrote that someone inside the family betrayed you.”
Richard said nothing.
“She wrote that the person had the same blood as me.”
Still nothing.
Ava's voice became softer.
“Is that why you were afraid when you saw me?”
Richard looked away.
“Who is it?”
“Ava…”
“Who?”
He closed his eyes.
“When your mother disappeared, I searched for her for three years.”
Ava's anger faded slightly.
“You didn't find her?”
“No.”
“Then how did you know I was alive?”
Richard looked at her.
“Because someone sent me a photograph.”
Ava's heart stopped.
“What photograph?”
“The one you are holding.”
She looked down.
The picture of Evelyn holding the baby.
“When did you receive it?”
“Two weeks after the fire.”
Ava stared at him.
“You knew where I was?”
“No. I only knew you had survived.”
“Who sent it?”
Richard didn't answer.
Ava stepped closer.
“Who?”
Before he could respond, a sound came from inside the wall.
Three slow knocks.
Both of them froze.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Ava looked at Richard.
He had gone pale.
“What is that?”
Richard whispered, “Nothing.”
Another three knocks came from behind the wooden panel beside the desk.
Ava moved toward it.
Richard grabbed her wrist.
“Don't.”
She pulled away.
“You know what's behind there.”
“I know enough to tell you to stay away.”
Ava looked at the wall.
There was a narrow wooden panel hidden behind an old curtain.
She moved the curtain aside.
A tiny keyhole was visible.
She looked at the silver key.
It fit.
Richard's face changed.
“Ava, stop.”
She turned the key.
The panel clicked open.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
Inside lay a small box.
Ava reached for it.
Richard whispered her name.
But she had already opened the box.
Inside was a birth certificate.
Her birth certificate.
Except the name printed on it was not Ava Carter.
It was Ava Morgan.
And beneath her name were the names of her parents.
Richard Morgan.
Evelyn Morgan.
Ava stared at the document.
Her hands began to shake.
For twenty-two years, she had believed Ava Morgan was a name that belonged to a girl in an old photograph.
Now she was holding proof that the girl had always been her.
But there was something else.
A second document was folded beneath the birth certificate.
Ava opened it.
Her eyes widened.
At the top were three words.
ADOPTION TRANSFER RECORD.
Below them was a date.
The date was two days after her birth.
And beside the signature of the person who had authorized the transfer was a name Ava had never seen before.
Richard looked at the document.
His face went completely still.
Ava slowly raised her eyes.
“You said my mother took me to protect me.”
Richard said nothing.
“You said you believed I was dead.”
Still nothing.
“Then why did you sign this?”
Richard looked at the signature.
“I didn't.”
Ava's heart sank.
The signature looked exactly like his.
Richard stepped backward.
“That isn't my signature.”
Ava stared at him.
“Then someone forged it.”
Richard nodded slowly.
“And whoever did it had access to everything in this house.”
Ava looked at the open door.
For the first time, she understood something worse than the possibility that her family had lied to her.
Someone had been watching her story from the beginning.
And now they knew she had come back.
A man's voice rose from downstairs.
“Richard?”
Richard's eyes widened.
He immediately reached for the notebook.
“Give me that.”
Ava stepped away.
“No.”
“Listen to me. If that person finds this room open, you cannot let them see what you found.”
“Why?”
“Because then they will know you know the truth.”
Ava stared at him.
The voice came again.
“Richard, are you upstairs?”
Richard moved toward the door.
“Stay here.”
“You're leaving me alone?”
“I'll be back.”
Ava watched him disappear into the hallway.
She heard his footsteps moving away.
Then the front door opened.
Ava waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Nothing.
She looked down at the birth certificate again.
Her whole life had been built around the name Ava Carter.
School records.
Medical records.
Memories.
Everything.
But inside this locked room was proof that another life had existed before all of it.
A life that belonged to Ava Morgan.
She folded the documents and placed them inside her bag.
Then she noticed something written on the inside cover of Evelyn's notebook.
A final sentence had been hidden beneath the leather flap.
If Ava ever comes back, tell her the truth began with the night of the fire.
Ava's blood ran cold.
She looked toward the window.
Outside, a black car waited beneath the trees.
Its headlights came on.
Ava stepped back from the window.
The car did not move.
It simply waited.
And suddenly she understood.
Whoever had watched the Morgan family for twenty-two years was not waiting for Richard.
They were waiting for her.
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