Chapter 7
882 Words
Nathan bolted upright in bed, his breath ragged, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. His room was dark except for the faint glow of his alarm clock—3:47 AM. His heart was still pounding, his body aching as if he had truly been with her.
But that wasn’t possible… right?
He ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying to shake off the dream. Except it didn’t feel like a dream at all. The touch of her hands still lingered on his skin, her whispered words echoing in his ears.
"Find me in your dreams, Nathan."
He swallowed hard, reaching for his phone. His fingers hovered over Janelle’s contact before he hesitated. What if she answered? And worse… what if she didn’t?
Determined to find answers, he grabbed his hoodie and slipped out into the night.
---
Nathan arrived at the one place he thought he’d never return to—the Madrigal estate. The house was silent, its towering gates closed like the mouth of a beast waiting to devour trespassers. But he knew a way in.
Scaling the wall with practiced ease, he landed silently in the garden. He avoided the security cameras and slipped toward the back entrance.
The mansion was too quiet. Too still.
As he crept inside, he felt it—a presence watching him.
"Nathan," a voice whispered.
He spun around, his heart lurching. But no one was there.
Then… a single breath against his ear.
"You shouldn’t be here."
The voice wasn’t Janelle’s. It was older, softer, filled with something close to pity.
Nathan swallowed his fear and pushed forward. He needed answers.
Then he saw it—a painting in the hallway, covered in dust. A portrait of a woman who looked exactly like Janelle.
But the name beneath it wasn’t hers.
"Veronica Madrigal. 1893—1912."
His stomach twisted. This wasn’t just about Janelle.
It was about something far older.
---
Nathan took a picture of the portrait before continuing down the hall. If the Madrigals had secrets, he was going to expose them.
He reached the study—Janelle’s father’s private office. The door was locked, but he had come prepared. He picked the lock, stepping inside carefully.
Piles of documents covered the desk, but one in particular caught his attention: a family tree.
His breath hitched as he traced the names.
Veronica Madrigal.
Helena Madrigal.
Celeste Madrigal.
Janelle May Madrigal.
Each name carried the same birth year—but no recorded death date.
Nathan’s blood ran cold. These women… they were the same.
Janelle wasn’t just a girl from Section J. She was part of a cycle, a lineage of women who never seemed to die.
Or worse… they were replaced.
---
A creak sounded behind him.
Nathan turned just in time to see a figure standing in the doorway.
It was Janelle.
Or at least, the one who wore her face.
"You found it," she said, her voice unreadable.
Nathan clenched his fists. "Who are you?"
She stepped closer, her dark eyes locking onto his. "I’m Janelle," she said simply. "Just… not the one you knew."
His stomach twisted. "Where is she?"
Janelle sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You always ask the wrong questions, Nathan. Instead of asking where she is, you should be asking who she was."
His pulse pounded. "What does that mean?"
She smiled—a sad, almost regretful smile. "Come with me," she whispered. "And I’ll show you."
Against every instinct, he followed her.
---
Janelle led him down a hidden staircase behind a bookshelf. The air grew colder the deeper they went, the stone walls damp with age.
At the bottom, a massive wooden door stood before them. Janelle placed her palm against it, and with a low rumble, it creaked open.
Nathan stepped inside… and nearly collapsed.
There were bodies.
Or rather, preserved figures—each one looking exactly like Janelle.
Rows upon rows of them, frozen in time, their faces serene as if asleep.
His stomach twisted. "What the hell is this?"
Janelle stepped beside him, her voice soft. "A legacy. A curse. A choice."
Nathan turned to her, his chest heaving. "Where is the real Janelle?"
She hesitated. Then, she pointed to the farthest end of the room.
Nathan’s breath caught as he saw a single glass coffin.
Inside… was her.
The real Janelle.
But she wasn’t breathing.
---
Nathan stumbled forward, pressing his hands against the glass.
"Janelle!" he choked out.
No response.
He turned to the imposter, rage burning in his eyes. "Wake her up."
Janelle—the other Janelle—sighed. "It’s not that simple."
Nathan grabbed her shoulders, his entire body trembling. "Then make it simple!"
She gazed at him, something unreadable in her expression. Then, she whispered, "Would you die for her?"
Nathan froze. "What?"
Janelle gestured toward the coffin. "Only one of us can exist at a time. To bring her back… you have to take her place."
His blood turned to ice.
That was the choice.
Save Janelle… but erase himself from existence.
Or let her sleep forever.
Nathan’s heart pounded. Could he do it? Could he give everything for the girl he loved?
Then… a weak whisper shattered the silence.
"Nathan…"
His head snapped toward the coffin.
Janelle’s eyes were open.
- Writer
