Chapter 4: The Memory Hole
843 Words
The wrought-iron gates of the Castille estate swung shut with a heavy, final thud that echoed through the armored glass of the limousine. To the world outside, this was a sanctuary of power and prestige. To me, it was a dungeon.
As we stepped into the grand foyer, the marble floors polished to a mirror shine, my father didn’t wait for the staff to take my coat. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into the muscle with a bruising intensity, and hauled me toward his private study, the same room where he’d tried to erase me forty-eight hours ago.
"Leave us," he spoke at the house manager.
The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut. The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the steady tick-tick-tick of a grandfather clock that sounded like a countdown.
"Where is the drive, Clara?" He didn't waste time with a "welcome home." He stood behind his desk, the green shaded lamp casting ghoulish shadows across his face. "I know you didn't leave it in the Valley. And I know Vega didn't find it, or he wouldn't have let you walk out of that jungle."
I leaned against the door, my heart hammering against my ribs, but my face remained a mask of exhausted confusion. I had practiced this with Mateo in the back of the SUV, our faces inches apart in the dark. Never give him a straight answer. Give him a mystery he has to solve.
"I hid it," I whispered, my voice trembling. "But I was drugged, Dad. My head is... it's a mess. I remember the cathedral. I remember the fire. But the location? It’s a blur."
He slammed his fist onto the desk, the sound like a gunshot. "You expect me to believe that? You’re playing a dangerous game, girl. You think because you’re back under my roof, you’re untouchable? I am the law in this city. I can make you a martyr or a madwoman by morning."
"Then do it," I snapped, a flash of real defiance breaking through the act. "Kill your only daughter on the night of her miraculous return. See what that does to your polling numbers."
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine shock crossing his features. He wasn't used to me biting back. He was used to the "Golden Daughter" who smiled and nodded at gala dinners.
"Go to your room," he hissed, the venom in his voice cold enough to frost the windows. "Don't leave it. My security will be at the door. If you so much as open a window, I’ll have you sedated and sent to a facility where even Mateo Vega won't find you."
I didn't wait for a second invitation. I turned and fled up the grand staircase, my breath coming in jagged hitches.
But when I pushed open the double doors to my bedroom, I froze.
The air was sterile, smelling of industrial bleach instead of my vanilla candles. My vanity had been stripped bare. The photos of my mother, my books, my clothes, everything was gone. The room looked like a high-end hotel suite, scrubbed of every trace of the woman who had lived there for twenty-four years.
He hadn't just tried to kill me; he had already deleted me.
The adrenaline spiked again, sharp and electric. I walked to the center of the empty room, my boots clicking on the hardwood. I reached into the waistband of my leggings and pulled out a small, flat device no larger than a coin; the bug Mateo had pressed into my palm during our final goodbye.
“The first one goes in the study,” Mateo’s voice echoed in my mind. “The second goes in the vents. I need to hear his whispers, Clara. I need to hear him bleed.”
I moved to the air conditioning grate near the ceiling. I dragged a chair over, my hands shaking as I unscrewed the vent with a dime I’d found on the floor. Just as I was about to click the device into place, I heard it.
The heavy click of a lock from the outside of my door.
I scrambled down, shoving the chair back into place just as the vent cover snapped shut. I collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the burner phone. One message was waiting.
Are you in?
I typed back with trembling thumbs: The room is empty. He scrubbed my life. I’m locked in.
Seconds later, the phone buzzed.
Good. A ghost is harder to kill than a girl. Look under the third floorboard by the balcony. I left you a gift before your father bought this house. He thinks he knows this fortress. I built it.
My blood turned to liquid fire. Mateo hadn't just sent me back; he had been preparing for this war for years.
- Writer
