Chapter Six — The Second Name
2547 Words
“Ask who died that night.”
I read the message again.
Then once more.
My fingers had gone cold.
Vivienne was standing beside me, staring at the phone.
“Who died?” she whispered.
“I don't know.”
She looked at the birth certificate in her hand.
“Maybe Mum does.”
I swallowed.
“Mum isn't here.”
The room fell silent.
The envelope was still open on the floor.
The photocopied birth certificate looked ordinary at first glance.
My name.
My parents' names.
The hospital.
Everything matched.
Except the date.
I looked at the date again.
Seven years earlier than the birthday I'd always celebrated.
Seven years.
The same age mentioned in the photograph.
The same age attached to Project Glasshouse.
The same age my mother had repeated over the phone.
I sat down slowly.
“This can't be real.”
Vivienne sat beside me.
“I know.”
“Maybe it's fake.”
“It could be.”
“Then why would someone make it?”
She didn't answer.
“Exactly.”
I rubbed my forehead.
My head hurt.
I had spent the entire day chasing one mystery after another, and somehow every answer only created another question.
First Vivienne.
Then Lucian.
Then the hidden room.
Now this.
I looked at my sister.
“Did you know about my birth certificate?”
“No.”
“Did Mum ever tell you anything about my birth?”
“Just what she told you.”
“Which was?”
“That you were born at St. Mary's.”
“And?”
Vivienne hesitated.
“She said you were very sick when you were born.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“You don't remember?”
“No.”
“You were a baby.”
“I mean, she never told me that.”
Vivienne looked down.
“She didn't tell me much either.”
I took the certificate from her.
“Why would I have another birth record?”
“I don't know.”
“Could someone have changed it?”
“Maybe.”
“Could someone have registered two children under the same name?”
Vivienne shook her head.
“That would be difficult.”
“Unless…”
I stopped.
“Unless what?”
I looked at the certificate.
“Unless there actually were two children.”
Vivienne's face changed.
Neither of us spoke.
The thought was ridiculous.
Impossible.
But after everything that had happened, I was no longer comfortable calling anything impossible.
I stood.
“I need to find Mum.”
“We don't even know where she is.”
“Then we'll find her.”
“How?”
I picked up my phone.
“Her phone.”
“It's off.”
“I know.”
I opened my contacts.
“Mum has a second number.”
Vivienne looked at me.
“You knew that?”
“She used it when she travelled.”
“Does it still work?”
“I don't know.”
I called.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then someone answered.
I froze.
“Hello?”
There was silence.
“Hello?”
A man's voice finally came through.
“Who is this?”
I stared at Vivienne.
“Who are you?”
The line went dead.
I called again.
The number was switched off.
Vivienne stood.
“What happened?”
“Someone answered.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He asked who I was.”
She looked worried.
“Maybe it was Mum's friend.”
“Maybe.”
But I didn't believe it.
Neither did she.
---
Lucian returned about twenty minutes later.
He opened the door and immediately noticed our faces.
“What happened?”
I handed him the birth certificate.
He read it.
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
I noticed.
“You've seen this before.”
“No.”
“You recognized it.”
“I recognized the hospital.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
He looked at me.
“You think I'm lying.”
“I think everyone is lying.”
“That makes two of us.”
I folded my arms.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don't trust what we're being shown.”
I stared at him.
“Finally, something sensible.”
He looked at the certificate again.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was left outside our door.”
“Who delivered it?”
“We don't know.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“Did anyone try to enter?”
“The door handle moved.”
His expression hardened.
“You opened the door?”
“I picked up the envelope.”
“Elara.”
“What?”
“You don't open doors when someone is trying to get inside.”
“I know that now.”
He sighed.
Vivienne spoke.
“There's something else.”
Lucian looked at her.
“The message.”
She handed him my phone.
He read it.
His eyes narrowed.
“Who sent this?”
“Unknown number.”
He took a screenshot.
“Don't delete it.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
He looked at the birth certificate again.
“What does this date mean to you?”
I answered before Vivienne could.
“My seventh birthday.”
Lucian's eyes lifted.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember anything about that year?”
I laughed quietly.
“I was seven.”
“I know.”
“I remember school. Mum. Vivienne. Our old neighbour.”
I stopped.
“Our old house.”
Vivienne looked at me.
I turned toward her.
“What?”
“You said something earlier.”
“What?”
“You said we lived somewhere else.”
She nodded.
“I remember the house now.”
My heart started beating faster.
“What house?”
“I don't know where it was.”
“Try.”
She closed her eyes.
“I remember a gate.”
“What colour?”
“Black.”
“Anything else?”
“A garden.”
“Big?”
“Yes.”
“Who lived there?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You must remember something.”
“I remember a man.”
Lucian's posture changed.
“What man?”
Vivienne looked at him.
“The man from the photograph.”
The room went quiet.
I looked at Lucian.
“You know him?”
“No.”
Vivienne frowned.
“You've seen him.”
Lucian looked at her.
“Where?”
“In the old house.”
He didn't answer.
I stepped toward him.
“Lucian?”
“I don't remember.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
He looked at me.
“Elara.”
“No. It's fine.”
I picked up my bag.
“We're going to St. Mary's.”
Lucian immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because the hospital records from seven years ago won't be easy to access.”
“Then we'll find someone who can.”
“That's not the only problem.”
“What is?”
He looked at Vivienne.
“Someone clearly doesn't want you looking into this.”
“That's never stopped me before.”
“I know.”
“Then let's go.”
He stared at me for several seconds.
Finally, he nodded.
“I'll arrange it.”
---
The hospital was quieter than I expected.
It was almost three in the morning.
Lucian had called someone ahead, and a staff member met us at a side entrance.
I hated how easily doors seemed to open for him.
We followed the man down a long corridor.
“I'm sorry,” he said, “but most records from that period are archived.”
“I need a birth record,” I said.
“For whom?”
“Elara Hale.”
He stopped walking.
“Date of birth?”
I gave him my birthday.
He typed something into the computer.
Then frowned.
“There's a problem.”
“What?”
“The system shows two records.”
My heart stopped.
Vivienne grabbed my hand.
I looked at Lucian.
He didn't move.
“What do you mean two?”
The staff member turned the screen toward us.
Two files appeared.
Both under the name Elara Hale.
Same parents.
Different dates.
My throat tightened.
“Can we see them?”
“Only with proper authorization.”
Lucian stepped forward.
“I'll handle the authorization.”
The man hesitated.
Then nodded.
A few minutes later, he opened the first record.
My hands trembled.
The details matched the birth certificate we'd found.
Then he opened the second.
My actual date of birth.
Same mother.
Same father.
Same name.
Two records.
Two births.
One child.
At least, that's what I thought.
Then the staff member frowned.
“That's strange.”
“What?”
He looked closer at the screen.
“There are two admission records attached to these files.”
“For what?”
“Emergency treatment.”
I stepped closer.
“When?”
He read the date.
“Seven years ago.”
I felt dizzy.
“Show me.”
He opened the file.
There was a scanned document.
A child's medical record.
The name was mine.
The date was seven years ago.
And beneath it was a note.
Patient transferred from Ward B.
I frowned.
“What is Ward B?”
The staff member looked uncomfortable.
“An old section of the hospital.”
“Is it still there?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It was closed.”
“When?”
He checked.
“Seven years ago.”
I looked at Lucian.
He was staring at the screen.
“Why was it closed?”
The staff member hesitated.
“Fire.”
My stomach dropped.
“A fire?”
“Yes.”
“How many people were inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Can we see the report?”
He shook his head.
“That's archived.”
Lucian stepped in.
“We need it.”
The man looked at him.
“I'll see what I can do.”
He left.
Vivienne sat down.
I remained standing.
My mind was racing.
A fire.
Two birth records.
A seven-year-old child.
The old house.
The photograph.
And a message asking who died that night.
I looked at Lucian.
“Was there a fire?”
He didn't answer.
“Lucian.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
He looked at me.
“Seven years ago.”
I stared at him.
“How do you know?”
“I investigated it.”
“Why?”
“Because it was connected to Project Glasshouse.”
Everything inside me went still.
“What?”
He looked away.
“I didn't know about you at the time.”
“Then what were you investigating?”
“The people involved.”
“Who?”
He hesitated.
“Your father.”
My heart stopped.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“My father died when I was twelve.”
“I know.”
“Then why would you investigate him when I was seven?”
Lucian didn't answer.
“Tell me.”
He looked at me.
“Because your father was supposed to be dead already.”
I couldn't speak.
Vivienne stood abruptly.
“What did you say?”
Lucian looked at her.
“He disappeared seven years before his death.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“I know.”
“Where did he go?”
“We never found out.”
I stared at him.
“You knew my father?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He worked with my company.”
I felt betrayed.
“You've known my family all this time.”
“Not all of them.”
“But you knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“I didn't know how.”
“You could have started with the truth.”
His expression tightened.
“I didn't know you were going to become my wife.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Neither did I.”
The staff member returned.
He was holding a file.
“Sir.”
Lucian took it.
The man looked nervous.
“There is something you should know.”
“What?”
“The fire report.”
He opened the file.
“It says three people were inside Ward B when the fire started.”
I looked at him.
“Three?”
He nodded.
“One nurse.”
He turned the page.
“One unidentified man.”
My heart began pounding.
“And a child.”
The room became silent.
“What happened to the child?” I asked.
The man looked at the file.
“According to the report…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“The child died.”
Vivienne covered her mouth.
I stared at the paper.
My hands were shaking.
“Name?”
He looked at the report.
“There is no name.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Then how do you know it was a child?”
“Because of the medical records.”
“Which child?”
He looked at the file.
Then at me.
His expression changed.
“That's the strange part.”
“What?”
“The record says the child was admitted under the name…”
He looked at the screen.
“Elara Hale.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
Vivienne whispered my name.
I looked at Lucian.
He wasn't looking at me.
He was staring at the file.
Then I noticed something written in red ink at the bottom of the report.
IDENTITY CONFIRMED: DECEASED.
My breathing stopped.
“That's impossible.”
The hospital staff member looked confused.
I pointed at the screen.
“That's my name.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't die.”
“I can see that.”
“Then someone used my identity.”
Lucian finally looked at me.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
I stepped toward him.
“Someone died under my name seven years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew about the fire.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“And you still married me.”
He didn't answer.
I shook my head.
“Why?”
His eyes stayed on mine.
Before he could respond, the hospital lights flickered.
The staff member looked toward the corridor.
“What was that?”
A loud alarm suddenly began ringing.
Everyone froze.
Then a nurse came running toward us.
“Fire!”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Ward B.”
Lucian immediately grabbed my hand.
“Move.”
We ran into the corridor.
Smoke began filling the far end.
Vivienne screamed.
“It can't be.”
Lucian pulled us toward the exit.
But I couldn't stop looking back.
Because through the smoke, I saw someone standing at the end of the corridor.
A little girl.
Seven years old.
Wearing a white dress.
And around her wrist—
a hospital bracelet.
She looked directly at me.
Then she smiled.
And disappeared into the smoke.
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