Chapter Six: Shadows of the Past
904 Words
Chapter Six: Shadows of the Past
I don’t know, Elara whispered. But we’re about to find out.
Damian closed the blinds as she moved toward the desk, the flash drive clenched in her hand like a loaded weapon. The storm outside deepened, thunder growling low like some distant warning. Elara slid the drive into the port of Damian’s encrypted laptop. The screen blinked to life, lines of code scrolling across before a folder appeared, unnamed, but timestamped exactly three days before her disappearance.
Her breath caught.
She opened it.
Inside were six video files, each labeled with a date and a short description.
Observation 1: Initial Response to LUCID Trial … Observation 2: Emotional Deterioration … Observation 3: Override Protocol.
Elara clicked the first.
A grainy video began to play. The room was sterile, white walls, surgical lights. A younger version of herself sat restrained in a chair. Her eyes were glassy, confused. A voice from off-camera asked questions in a monotone rhythm.
What is your name?
Elara Sinclair, her recorded self said automatically.
Who do you trust?
Silence.
The voice repeated, firmer this time. Who do you trust?
Elara on the screen flinched, her lips trembling.
I.. I don’t know.
A sound followed, something mechanical, buzzing, and her body jolted. She screamed.
Elara slammed the laptop shut.
Her stomach turned violently, hands shaking.
Damian crouched beside her. You don’t have to watch the rest.
Yes, I do, she said through clenched teeth. I need to.
He didn’t argue, just stayed beside her as she opened the next file. This one showed her mid-trial, hair damp with sweat, muttering to herself.
They’re making me forget… they’re making me forget…
I never authorized this, Damian muttered under his breath.
You were there, Elara said sharply. Weren’t you?
He met her gaze. Not then. But later… yes.
You didn’t stop them.
I didn’t know who to trust either, he said. But I swear to you, I’ve been trying to make this right ever since.
She stared at him, wounded. You can’t make this right. They stole pieces of me.
And we’ll steal them back, he said, softly but with fire.
She turned her attention to the remaining files, skipping through hours of footage, brain scans, injections, reports detailing how her identity was stripped layer by layer. Each clip was another knife to the chest, but buried within them was something else, something crucial.
A name.
Vivian Sinclair.
Elara froze the frame where it appeared in one of her own handwritten logs, scrawled in a shaky hand beside the phrase: Do not trust her.
Her pulse quickened. Vivian...?”
Damian leaned closer. Your sister.
She was presumed dead.
No, he said. She disappeared the same week you did. But unlike you, no body, no trace. Everyone assumed she ran.
Elara shook her head. This log says not to trust her. Why?
I don’t know, Damian said. But if she’s alive, she might be the missing piece in all of this.
Thunder crashed outside as the storm fully settled over the city. The atmosphere inside the condo shifted, tense, electric. Elara looked down at the final video file in the folder. It had no label. Just a timestamp: the day she disappeared.
Should I? she asked.
Damian hesitated. Only if you’re ready.
I’m not, she said. But I have to anyway.
She clicked.
This time, the video was handheld, shaky. Someone was running down a corridor. The camera caught her face briefly in a mirror, terrified, breathless. She was holding the same flash drive now in her hand.
Then a voice echoed from behind the camera.
Stop her!
Gunfire. Shouts.
Elara on screen ducked behind a stairwell, fumbling with the locket, pressing it into the velvet pouch alongside the drive. Damian, if you find this, she whispered in the video, you have to believe me, they’re coming. Vivian is….
The screen went black.
Vivian is what? Elara gasped.
That’s all there is? Damian asked, quickly rewinding, scanning frame by frame.
Yes. It cuts off there.
Damian raked a hand through his hair. She knew something. Maybe Vivian wasn’t just a victim, maybe she was part of it.
Elara grabbed the locket from the desk and pried it open.
Inside was a photo.
Two young girls, Elara and a woman who looked nearly identical, standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Their arms were wrapped around each other, smiles wide and real.
But something was off.
Behind them in the photo was a blurred figure. A man in a lab coat.
Elara, Damian said quietly, taking the locket and examining the background. That’s the original Genotek facility. In Italy.
Her breath caught. Then we go there.
Damian nodded. Agreed. But we need to be smart. If Vivian is alive, and involved, she’ll know we’re coming.
Suddenly, a loud c***k echoed from outside.
Elara darted to the window.
A black SUV idled across the street. Tinted windows. No lights.
We’ve been followed, she whispered.
Damian grabbed the files, the flash drive, and stuffed them into a go-bag. Move. Now.
They slipped out the back of the condo and into the underground garage. Damian punched in a code and an unmarked car rolled out from a hidden platform beneath the concrete. Bulletproof. Reinforced.
Where are we going now? she asked.
He looked over his shoulder, voice hard as steel.
To find the truth. And burn everything else down.
- Writer
