The Girl Who Was Buried Twice

Welcome Home

Chapter Four: Welcome Home

Amara couldn't move.

The study door stood open.

She was certain her mother had locked it.

She had watched her do it.

Yet now the door was open by itself, revealing a darkness that seemed deeper than the small room could possibly contain.

Her mother pulled her backward.

"Don't look inside."

Amara's eyes remained fixed on the doorway.

"Someone is in there."

"I know."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

The woman's voice came again.

Soft.

Almost affectionate.

"Amara."

Amara's skin prickled.

The voice sounded familiar.

Not familiar like a stranger she had met once.

Familiar like a voice from childhood.

A lullaby.

A memory.

Something buried so deeply inside her that she couldn't reach it.

She took a step forward.

Her mother grabbed her.

"Don't!"

"Mummy, I know that voice."

Her mother went completely still.

"What did you say?"

"I know her."

"How?"

"I don't know."

Amara stared into the darkness.

The blackness seemed to move.

Then something stepped forward.

A woman.

She was young.

Perhaps twenty-five.

She wore a long white dress that was soaked from the hem to the waist.

Her hair hung loosely around her face.

Water dripped from her fingertips onto the wooden floor.

Amara stopped breathing.

The woman looked exactly like the girl in the photograph.

Except older.

Much older.

And there was something wrong with her eyes.

They were almost completely black.

The woman smiled.

"You're finally home."

Amara's mother screamed.

The woman turned toward her.

"You kept your promise."

Amara's mother backed away.

"Stay away from my daughter."

The woman laughed.

"Your daughter?"

She looked at Amara.

"Is that what you told her?"

Amara looked between them.

"What is she talking about?"

Her mother said nothing.

The woman took another step.

Amara's mother moved in front of her.

"I said stay away."

The woman's expression changed.

For the first time, the smile disappeared.

"You lied to her."

Her mother began shaking.

"I protected her."

"You stole her."

Amara's eyes widened.

"Stole me?"

The woman looked at her.

"Ask your mother what happened on the night you were born."

Amara turned toward her mother.

"Mummy?"

Her mother couldn't speak.

The woman continued.

"Ask her who carried you out of the river."

Amara's mother suddenly shouted:

"Enough!"

The woman smiled again.

"She deserves the truth."

"You're not real."

The woman's head tilted slightly.

"Then why can she see me?"

Her mother had no answer.

Amara stared at the woman.

"Who are you?"

The woman looked directly into her eyes.

"I am the reason you survived."

Amara's breathing became shallow.

"What does that mean?"

"Ask your father."

"He's dead."

The woman smiled.

"No."

Amara's heart stopped.

"What?"

"Your father is not dead."

Her mother screamed.

"Don't listen to her!"

The woman turned toward her.

"You buried the wrong man."

Amara's entire body went cold.

"What did you say?"

But the woman was already stepping backward.

The darkness behind her seemed to swallow her.

"Wait!"

Amara rushed forward.

Her mother grabbed her waist.

"Amara!"

The woman disappeared.

The study door slammed shut.

Silence.

Amara turned toward her mother.

"Open it."

"No."

"Open it!"

"No!"

"You said Daddy was dead."

"He is!"

"But she said—"

"She's lying."

"How do you know?"

Her mother began crying.

"Because I watched him die."

Amara stared.

"You said there was no body."

"I watched him die."

"Then how?"

Her mother covered her face.

"I was there."

"Where?"

"The river."

Amara's stomach tightened.

"What happened?"

Her mother slowly lowered her hands.

"Your father took me there."

"When?"

"The night before he disappeared."

"Why?"

"He said he had to finish what he started."

"What did he start?"

Her mother looked toward the study.

"The night you were born."

Amara's heart began pounding.

"I was born in 1997."

"Yes."

"And the photograph is from 1996."

"Yes."

"Then what happened?"

Her mother closed her eyes.

"Your father found a woman by the river."

"What woman?"

"The woman you just saw."

Amara froze.

"What?"

"She was holding a baby."

Amara couldn't speak.

Her mother continued.

"She was standing in the middle of the river."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Was she drowning?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"She was waiting."

"For Daddy?"

"No."

Her mother's voice became barely audible.

"For you."

Amara felt a strange pressure in her chest.

"But I wasn't born."

Her mother looked at her.

"That's what your father believed."

"What did he find?"

"A basket."

"What was inside?"

Her mother hesitated.

"A baby."

Amara's heart stopped.

"What?"

"Your father found a baby floating in the river."

"Me?"

"I don't know."

"You just said—"

"I don't know if it was you."

Amara shook her head.

"Then how did you know?"

"Because the baby had your face."

Silence.

The words hung between them.

Amara felt suddenly dizzy.

Her mother reached for her.

"Sit down."

Amara pushed her away.

"No."

"You're shaking."

"I want the truth."

"I am telling you."

"No, you're telling me pieces."

Her mother began to cry.

"I don't know the whole truth."

"Then who does?"

Her mother looked at the diary.

"Your father."

"He's dead."

Her mother shook her head.

"No."

Amara stared.

"You believe her?"

"I believe your father."

"But you just said—"

"He told me something before he disappeared."

"What?"

Her mother swallowed.

"He said that if he didn't return by sunrise, I should take you and leave."

"Where?"

"Anywhere."

"Why?"

"Because something was coming for you."

"What?"

Her mother whispered:

"The second death."

Amara frowned.

"What second death?"

Her mother looked directly into her eyes.

"Your first death happened before you were born."

Amara felt her stomach drop.

"And the second?"

Her mother began to cry.

"The second is waiting for you."

Before Amara could respond, her phone rang.

Both women jumped.

Amara looked at the screen.

Unknown number.

She answered.

"Hello?"

For several seconds, there was silence.

Then a man's voice.

Gabriel.

"You met her."

Amara looked at her mother.

"How do you know?"

"I know because she only appears when you're close to the truth."

"Who is she?"

"Someone your mother should have killed."

Her mother's face changed.

Amara stood.

"What did you say?"

"I said your mother should have killed her."

"Why?"

"Because she isn't the woman you think she is."

"Then who is she?"

Gabriel was silent.

"Tell me."

His voice became low.

"She's your sister."

Amara's breath caught.

"I don't have a sister."

"You do."

"Who?"

"Her name is Adaora."

Amara looked at her mother.

Her mother had gone completely pale.

"Ask your mother why she buried Adaora alive."

The call ended.

Amara stared at the phone.

"Mummy?"

Her mother didn't move.

"Mummy, who is Adaora?"

Her mother slowly sat down.

Then she whispered:

"My first daughter."

Amara's eyes widened.

"You had another daughter?"

Her mother nodded.

"Before you."

"Where is she now?"

Her mother looked toward the study.

"She died twenty-nine years ago."

Amara felt a chill.

"But I just saw her."

Her mother closed her eyes.

"No."

"Then what did I see?"

Her mother whispered:

"That's what your father spent eleven years trying to find out."

Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.

And somewhere far beyond the house, a church bell began ringing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then stopped.

Amara looked at the clock.

12:00 p.m.

Exactly noon.

The diary on the table suddenly opened by itself.

The pages began turning rapidly.

Then stopped.

A fresh sentence appeared on the final page.

Neither woman had written it.

The ink was still wet.

SHE HAS THREE DAYS.

Amara stared at the words.

Then another sentence appeared beneath them.

ON THE THIRD DAY, SHE WILL REMEMBER HOW SHE DIED.