Chapter Five — What She Forgot
2435 Words
“Don't let him tell you who you are.”
For a few seconds, nobody moved.
I could barely breathe.
My mother's voice had come from upstairs.
My mother's voice.
But that was impossible.
She wasn't here.
Was she?
“Stay behind me,” Lucian said.
I barely heard him.
My eyes were fixed on the staircase.
“That's my mother.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't understand. That's her voice.”
“I heard it.”
Another sound came from upstairs.
A soft movement.
Then silence.
Vivienne grabbed my arm.
“Elara, we need to go.”
I looked at her.
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
“Vivienne.”
“Because I know that voice.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
She looked toward the stairs.
“That wasn't Mum.”
I stared at her.
“You just said—”
“I know what I said.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Vivienne's fingers tightened around my arm.
“Someone is using her voice.”
Lucian's expression hardened.
“Enough.”
He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight.
“I'll check upstairs.”
I immediately shook my head.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“You heard what she said.”
“Yes.”
“And you're still going upstairs?”
“My mother might be up there.”
“Elara—”
“What if she's hurt?”
Lucian stared at me for a moment.
Then he nodded toward his men.
“Stay with her.”
He went upstairs.
I watched until his shadow disappeared around the corner.
Vivienne was still holding my arm.
I looked at her.
“Tell me everything.”
She looked away.
“I can't.”
“You've been saying that since I found you.”
“I know.”
“You disappeared. You lied about why. You knew someone was watching us. You knew about Room 417. You knew about the photograph.”
“I didn't know about the photograph.”
“You recognized it.”
Vivienne swallowed.
“Because I've seen it before.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Vivienne.”
“Maybe I was ten.”
I stared at her.
“You were ten?”
She nodded.
“Where did you see it?”
She looked toward the staircase.
“In our old house.”
I frowned.
“We didn't have an old house.”
“Yes, we did.”
“No.”
“Elara—”
“Mum has never mentioned another house.”
“Exactly.”
I felt a strange pressure in my chest.
“Why?”
Vivienne shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I don't.”
“You're my sister.”
“I know.”
“Then stop treating me like I'm a stranger.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I've been trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then footsteps sounded above us.
Both of us froze.
Lucian appeared at the top of the stairs.
His face was serious.
“There's no one upstairs.”
I let out the breath I had been holding.
“What about my mother?”
“She's not there.”
I looked around the living room.
“Then where is she?”
“I don't know.”
Lucian came downstairs.
“There was something else.”
“What?”
He held up his phone.
“The voice didn't come from upstairs.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“The sound came through the house's speaker system.”
I stared at him.
“What speaker system?”
He looked at Vivienne.
She went pale.
“You know?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
Lucian walked toward the wall beside the staircase.
He removed a small panel.
Behind it was a speaker.
I stared.
“That wasn't here before.”
Vivienne whispered,
“It was.”
I turned to her.
“How do you know?”
She looked terrified.
“Because that's where they used to talk to us.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Who?”
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
“Vivienne.”
She looked at me.
“When we were children.”
My heart sank.
“What happened when we were children?”
She shook her head.
“I don't remember.”
“You just said you do.”
“I remember pieces.”
“What pieces?”
She pressed her fingers against her forehead.
“A room.”
I waited.
“A white room.”
“What else?”
“A man.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What did he look like?”
“I can't remember.”
“Vivienne.”
“I can't!”
Her voice cracked.
She wiped her face.
“I was a child, Elara.”
I softened despite myself.
“I know.”
“I don't remember everything.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The little girl stared back at me.
Except now I wasn't sure she was me.
And somehow, that frightened me more than anything else.
---
We spent the next hour searching the house.
Nothing.
No mother.
No hidden person.
No explanation.
Only more questions.
Lucian eventually told his men to search the surrounding streets.
I sat on the sofa with the photograph in my hands.
Vivienne sat beside me.
She hadn't said much since the search began.
I looked at her.
“Are you hungry?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You haven't eaten.”
She shook her head.
“I'm fine.”
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
I smiled slightly.
It was the first normal thing either of us had said all night.
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
I got up.
“There should be something in the kitchen.”
Vivienne watched me.
“You're acting like nothing happened.”
“I can't spend the entire night staring at a photograph.”
“You usually would.”
“Exactly.”
I opened the refrigerator.
There wasn't much inside.
Some fruit.
Bread.
Leftover rice.
I pulled out the rice.
“Do you want this?”
Vivienne smiled faintly.
“Since when do you cook?”
“I don't.”
She laughed.
“You're going to poison me.”
“I can order food.”
“That's better.”
For a moment, we were just sisters again.
No secrets.
No missing bride.
No mysterious photographs.
Just two exhausted women arguing over food at midnight.
I missed that.
I didn't realize how much until then.
Vivienne looked at me.
“I'm sorry.”
I stopped.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
I sat beside her.
“You're going to have to be more specific.”
She smiled sadly.
“For leaving you.”
I looked down.
“You didn't leave because you wanted to.”
“I still left.”
“You came back.”
She looked at me.
“I almost didn't.”
My smile disappeared.
“What do you mean?”
She looked toward the window.
“I was scared.”
“Of them?”
She nodded.
“And of Lucian.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
She didn't answer.
“Vivienne.”
She sighed.
“I don't know if I should trust him.”
I looked across the room.
Lucian was speaking quietly with one of his men.
“You were supposed to marry him.”
“I know.”
“You knew him before the wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you afraid of him?”
Vivienne stared at the floor.
“Because I don't think he remembers everything either.”
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You're doing it again.”
“I know.”
I laughed despite myself.
She smiled.
Then her expression changed.
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“When I was taken…”
I waited.
“I heard someone talking about you.”
My smile disappeared.
“What did they say?”
“They said the replacement had arrived.”
A chill moved through me.
“The replacement?”
Vivienne nodded.
“I thought they meant me.”
“But you were the original bride.”
“I know.”
“Then why call you the replacement?”
She looked at me.
“That's what scared me.”
Neither of us spoke.
Across the room, Lucian looked at us.
I wondered how much he'd heard.
---
We eventually left the house.
Lucian insisted we stay somewhere else for the night.
I didn't argue.
I was too tired.
The hotel he chose was quieter than the previous one.
As we entered the room, Vivienne immediately collapsed onto the bed.
“I could sleep for a week.”
“You probably need it.”
She looked at me.
“What about you?”
“I'll manage.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it's usually true.”
She smiled.
“Liar.”
I threw a pillow at her.
She laughed.
For the first time in days, I heard my sister laugh properly.
It felt strangely comforting.
Maybe everything wasn't completely broken.
Maybe we could still fix some of it.
I walked toward the window.
The city lights blurred beyond the glass.
Lucian stood near the door.
“I'm leaving.”
I turned.
“Where are you going?”
“To make a call.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Your mother.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about her?”
“I had someone trace her phone.”
“And?”
“It was turned off two hours ago.”
I looked at Vivienne.
She was no longer smiling.
“Can you find her?”
“I'll try.”
I nodded.
Lucian reached for the door.
“Lucian.”
He stopped.
I hesitated.
“Thank you.”
He looked at me.
“For what?”
“For finding Vivienne.”
He studied me for a moment.
“You're welcome.”
He opened the door.
Then paused.
“Elara.”
“Yes?”
“Lock the door after me.”
Something about his tone made me uneasy.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
He left.
I locked the door.
Vivienne was staring at me.
“What?”
“You're getting attached.”
I nearly choked.
“What?”
“To him.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“I didn't say it was a bad thing.”
“It isn't happening.”
“You're blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
I threw another pillow at her.
She laughed.
And for a few minutes, the room felt normal.
Until her laughter suddenly stopped.
She was staring at the photograph on the table.
I followed her gaze.
“What?”
She didn't answer.
I picked up the photograph.
“What is it?”
She pointed at the little girl.
“Look at her wrist.”
I looked.
The ribbon.
The same ribbon I'd seen in the photograph from the hidden room.
“What about it?”
Vivienne shook her head.
“That isn't a ribbon.”
I frowned.
“It looks like one.”
“No.”
She reached for the photograph.
“It's a hospital bracelet.”
I looked closer.
There was something written across it.
Tiny letters.
I couldn't make them out.
“Can you read it?”
She squinted.
Then her face changed.
“What?”
She whispered,
“St. Mary's.”
My stomach dropped.
“What's St. Mary's?”
She looked at me.
“The hospital where you were born.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You said the girl isn't me.”
“I know.”
“Then why does she have my hospital bracelet?”
Vivienne didn't answer.
I looked at the photograph again.
There was a number beneath the hospital name.
A patient number.
I pulled out my phone and took a picture.
Then I zoomed in.
My breath caught.
The number matched the one printed on an old medical document I'd seen years ago.
My birth record.
I looked at Vivienne.
“What the hell is going on?”
Before she could answer, there was a knock.
Three slow knocks.
We both froze.
Another three.
Vivienne stood.
“Don't.”
The knocking stopped.
Then a voice came through the door.
“Room service.”
I looked at the clock.
12:47 a.m.
“We didn't order anything.”
The voice came again.
“Room service.”
Vivienne shook her head.
“Don't open it.”
I stepped backward.
The handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Someone was trying to open the door.
I grabbed my phone.
“No signal.”
Vivienne's face went pale.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
There was only one sentence.
YOU SHOULD HAVE ASKED WHY THERE ARE TWO BIRTH RECORDS.
My blood went cold.
I looked at Vivienne.
She was staring at my phone.
“What does it mean?”
I couldn't answer.
The door handle stopped moving.
Silence.
Then footsteps began walking away.
I rushed to the door and looked through the peephole.
The hallway was empty.
But something was lying on the floor.
An envelope.
I opened the door before Vivienne could stop me.
I picked it up.
My name was written on the front.
ELARA HALE.
Inside was a photocopy of a birth certificate.
I stared at it.
My mother's name was there.
My father's name was there.
And beneath them was my name.
But the date of birth was different.
Seven years earlier.
I couldn't breathe.
Vivienne took the paper from my hand.
Her eyes widened.
“This isn't yours.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Then whose is it?”
I looked at the name again.
The same name.
My name.
Elara Hale.
Same parents.
Different date.
Two birth records.
Two girls.
One name.
And suddenly, the little girl in the photograph didn't look like a stranger anymore.
She looked like the answer to a question I had never known I was supposed to ask.
Then my phone vibrated again.
Another message.
This time, there were only four words.
ASK WHO DIED THAT NIGHT.
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