PART 3: THE NIGHT EVERYONE LIED
\nMercer stared at the photograph on my phone for so long that I finally grabbed his arm.
\n\u201cWhat didn\u2019t you tell me?\u201d
\nHe swallowed.
\n\u201cNathan, we need to get somewhere secure.\u201d
\n\u201cMy wife is tied up in my living room and a woman who supposedly disappeared fifteen years ago is standing behind her. I\u2019m done going anywhere until somebody tells me the truth.\u201d
\nHis eyes shifted toward the station entrance.
\nThen toward the parking lot.
\nThat tiny movement told me everything.
\nMercer was afraid someone was watching us.
\n\u201cGet in my car,\u201d he said.
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cNathan\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cTalk.\u201d
\nHis jaw tightened.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Finally, he pulled me toward a concrete stairwell beside the building.
\nThe heavy door slammed behind us.
\nMercer lowered his voice.
\n\u201cOctober 8, 2011 wasn\u2019t the first time Claire Holloway disappeared.\u201d
\nI stared at him.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cShe disappeared once before.\u201d
\n\u201cWhen?\u201d
\n\u201cFour months earlier.\u201d
\nMy anger briefly gave way to confusion.
\n\u201cThat wasn\u2019t in the file.\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause there was never a report.\u201d
\n\u201cThen how do you know?\u201d
\nMercer looked me directly in the eye.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause I found her.\u201d
\nThe stairwell suddenly felt colder.
\n\u201cYou said you inherited the case eight years ago.\u201d
\n\u201cI did.\u201d
\n\u201cThen how could you have found Claire in 2011?\u201d
\nMercer closed his eyes.
\n\u201cWhen I told you I inherited the official investigation eight years ago, that was true.\u201d
\n\u201cThat isn\u2019t what I asked.\u201d
\n\u201cI wasn\u2019t a detective in Bellridge back then.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat were you?\u201d
\n\u201cA deputy in the next county.\u201d
\nMy pulse quickened.
\n\u201cAnd you found Claire?\u201d
\n\u201cOn June 17, 2011, at approximately two in the morning.\u201d
\n\u201cWhere?\u201d
\n\u201cWalking barefoot along County Road 6.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
He paused.
\n\u201cShe was covered in blood.\u201d
\nI felt my stomach tighten.
\n\u201cWhose blood?\u201d
\n\u201cWe never found out.\u201d
\nMercer continued before I could interrupt.
\n\u201cShe was disoriented. Terrified. She had bruises around both wrists. She kept asking me not to take her home.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cShe wouldn\u2019t say.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did you do?\u201d
\nMercer looked ashamed.
\n\u201cI took her to a hospital.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd?\u201d
\n\u201cShe disappeared from the emergency room before sunrise.\u201d
\n\u201cAgain?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cDid you tell anyone?\u201d
\n\u201cI filed an incident report.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why wasn\u2019t it in Claire\u2019s missing-person file?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause the report disappeared.\u201d
\nI stared at him.
\n\u201cPolice records don\u2019t just disappear.\u201d
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd you never questioned that?\u201d
\n\u201cI questioned everything.\u201d
\n\u201cApparently not enough.\u201d
\nMercer accepted that without defending himself.
\nThen he said, \u201cThree days later, Claire came to my apartment.\u201d
\nThat stopped me.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cShe knew my name from the report. She knocked on my door at eleven at night.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did she want?\u201d
\n\u201cShe wanted help.\u201d
\nMercer\u2019s voice became quieter.
\n\u201cShe told me someone was trying to erase her.\u201d
\nI almost laughed because the sentence sounded ridiculous.
\nThen I remembered the photograph of two identical women.
\nI remembered Rebecca saying Claire was her sister.
\nAnd I stopped laughing.
\n\u201cWhat did she mean by erase?\u201d
\n\u201cShe said someone had been changing records connected to her family. Medical records. School files. Birth certificates.\u201d
\n\u201cWho?\u201d
\n\u201cShe wouldn\u2019t tell me.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause she said I would think she was insane.\u201d
\nMercer rubbed his face.
\n\u201cThen she told me she had a twin.\u201d
\nRebecca.
\nMy chest tightened.
\n\u201cDid she give you her name?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cRebecca?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nI stared at him.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cThe name Claire gave me was Rachel.\u201d
\nEvery answer created another question.
\n\u201cThen who is Rebecca?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\n\u201cYou told me they were sisters.\u201d
\n\u201cYour wife told you that.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd you believed her.\u201d
\n\u201cI believed the photograph.\u201d
\nI suddenly understood.
\n\u201cYou don\u2019t know which woman in that photograph is which.\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nThe realization hit hard.
\nWe had assumed the woman in front was Claire because the photograph had been stored in Claire\u2019s family file.
\nBut nobody had identified the woman in the mirror.
\nWhat if we had it backward?
\nMy phone buzzed.
\nAnother message from the unknown number.
\nMIDNIGHT IS STILL THE DEADLINE.
\nBelow it was a second photograph.
\nRebecca was still bound to the couch.
\nBut something had changed.
\nThe woman standing behind her was gone.
\nOn the coffee table sat a small black box.
\nI recognized it immediately.
\nMy father\u2019s old lockbox.
\nMy blood ran cold.
\n\u201cWhat is that?\u201d Mercer asked.
\n\u201cIt belonged to my father.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy would Claire have it?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\nMy father, Henry Brooks, had died nine years earlier.
\nHe had been an accountant.
\nQuiet.
\nPredictable.
\nThe kind of man who saved every receipt and polished his shoes every Sunday.
\nThat lockbox had been in his office for as long as I could remember.
\nAfter his death, I inherited it.
\nBut I had never opened it.
\nI didn\u2019t have the key.
\nEventually, Rebecca suggested storing it in the attic.
\nI hadn\u2019t thought about it in years.
\nUntil now.
\nAnother message arrived.
\nYOUR FATHER KNEW CLAIRE.
\nI felt my knees weaken.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s impossible.\u201d
\nMercer read the message over my shoulder.
\n\u201cWas your father ever in Ohio?\u201d
\n\u201cNot that I know of.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did he do for work?\u201d
\n\u201cHe was an accountant.\u201d
\n\u201cFor whom?\u201d
\n\u201cDifferent companies.\u201d
\n\u201cNames.\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know all of them.\u201d
\nMercer stared at me.
\n\u201cYou need to think.\u201d
\nI tried.
\nMy father had traveled when I was young.
\nChicago.
\nPittsburgh.
\nCleveland.
\nCleveland.
\nMy stomach dropped.
\n\u201cHe worked in Cleveland for a while.\u201d
\n\u201cWhen?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. Maybe fifteen or sixteen years ago.\u201d
\nMercer and I exchanged a look.
\nExactly when Claire disappeared.
\nMy phone rang.
\nUnknown number.
\nMercer reached for it.
\n\u201cPut it on speaker.\u201d
\nI answered.
\nNeither of us spoke.
\nFor several seconds, all I heard was breathing.
\nThen a woman said:
\n\u201cNathan?\u201d
\nIt sounded like Rebecca.
\nExactly like Rebecca.
\n\u201cWho is this?\u201d
\n\u201cYou already know.\u201d
\n\u201cClaire?\u201d
\nA soft laugh.
\n\u201cThat depends on who told you my name.\u201d
\nI looked at Mercer.
\n\u201cWhere is my wife?\u201d
\n\u201cSafe.\u201d
\n\u201cYou tied her to a couch.\u201d
\n\u201cFor her protection.\u201d
\n\u201cProtection from who?\u201d
\nThe woman went silent.
\nThen she said:
\n\u201cFrom Detective Mercer.\u201d
\nMercer\u2019s face hardened.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s enough.\u201d
\nThe woman laughed again.
\n\u201cOh, Thomas. You still sound exactly the same.\u201d
\nMy eyes snapped toward him.
\nMercer said nothing.
\n\u201cYou know him,\u201d I said into the phone.
\n\u201cI know what he did.\u201d
\nMercer stepped closer.
\n\u201cClaire, where is Rebecca?\u201d
\nThe woman\u2019s voice changed instantly.
\n\u201cDon\u2019t call me Claire.\u201d
\nMercer froze.
\nI felt my heartbeat pounding against my ribs.
\n\u201cThen what should we call you?\u201d I asked.
\n\u201cRachel.\u201d
\nThe name hit me like a punch.
\nMercer whispered, \u201cJesus.\u201d
\nRachel continued.
\n\u201cClaire Holloway died fifteen years ago.\u201d
\nI couldn\u2019t breathe.
\n\u201cBut you look exactly like her.\u201d
\n\u201cWe were twins.\u201d
\n\u201cThen Rebecca\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cRebecca is not my sister.\u201d
\nEverything stopped.
\nI looked at Mercer.
\nHe looked just as stunned as I felt.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cYour wife is not Claire.\u201d
\nRachel\u2019s voice trembled slightly.
\n\u201cShe isn\u2019t Rachel.\u201d
\n\u201cThen who is she?\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s what your father spent years trying to discover.\u201d
\nI gripped the phone.
\n\u201cStop speaking in riddles.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m trying to keep you alive.\u201d
\n\u201cThen tell me the truth.\u201d
\nRachel was silent.
\nFinally she said:
\n\u201cOpen your father\u2019s lockbox.\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t have the key.\u201d
\n\u201cRebecca does.\u201d
\nMy eyes moved toward the photograph of my wife bound to the couch.
\n\u201cWhy would Rebecca have my father\u2019s key?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause your father gave it to her.\u201d
\n\u201cThat makes no sense.\u201d
\n\u201cIt will.\u201d
\n\u201cRachel, who is my wife?\u201d
\nBefore she answered, I heard something in the background.
\nA door.
\nThen footsteps.
\nRachel\u2019s breathing changed.
\n\u201cSomeone\u2019s here.\u201d
\n\u201cWho?\u201d
\n\u201cI have to go.\u201d
\n\u201cRachel!\u201d
\n\u201cDo not trust Mercer.\u201d
\nThe line went dead.
\nMercer immediately grabbed my arm.
\n\u201cShe\u2019s manipulating you.\u201d
\nI pulled away.
\n\u201cShe knew you.\u201d
\n\u201cShe knew my name fifteen years ago.\u201d
\n\u201cShe knew your voice.\u201d
\n\u201cNathan\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cShe said Claire died.\u201d
\nMercer looked at me.
\n\u201cRachel was unstable.\u201d
\n\u201cHow convenient.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m telling you the truth.\u201d
\n\u201cNo. You\u2019re telling me pieces of it.\u201d
\nI stepped backward.
\n\u201cWhy did she tell me not to trust you?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause fifteen years ago I made a mistake.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat mistake?\u201d
\nMercer looked away.
\nI waited.
\nFinally, he spoke.
\n\u201cI told someone where Claire was hiding.\u201d
\nMy anger vanished.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cAfter she came to my apartment, I contacted her father.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cI thought she needed her family.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd?\u201d
\n\u201cHer father picked her up.\u201d
\nMercer\u2019s voice cracked.
\n\u201cI never saw Claire again.\u201d
\nThe date suddenly clicked.
\n\u201cOctober 8?\u201d
\nHe nodded.
\n\u201cThe night she officially disappeared.\u201d
\nMy skin went cold.
\n\u201cYou handed her over to the people she was afraid of.\u201d
\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know.\u201d
\n\u201cDid you tell investigators?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause Claire\u2019s father was powerful.\u201d
\n\u201cHow powerful?\u201d
\nMercer looked at me.
\n\u201cPowerful enough to make police reports disappear.\u201d
\n\u201cWho was he?\u201d
\n\u201cDr. Samuel Holloway.\u201d
\nThe name meant nothing to me.
\nBut apparently my face changed anyway because Mercer narrowed his eyes.
\n\u201cYou recognize it?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nThen I remembered.
\nNot the name.
\nThe initials.
\nS.H.
\nMy father\u2019s lockbox had those initials scratched underneath it.
\nI had noticed them years ago.
\nI assumed they were from the manufacturer.
\n\u201cWhat did Holloway do?\u201d
\nI asked.
\n\u201cHe was a psychiatrist.\u201d
\n\u201cWhere?\u201d
\nMercer hesitated.
\n\u201cAt a private behavioral research facility outside Bellridge.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat kind of research?\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s where things become complicated.\u201d
\n\u201cI think we passed complicated an hour ago.\u201d
\nMercer nodded.
\n\u201cThe facility specialized in memory.\u201d
\nI stared at him.
\n\u201cMemory?\u201d
\n\u201cTrauma. Identity disorders. Suggestibility. Recovered memory. That kind of thing.\u201d
\nMy stomach twisted.
\n\u201cAnd Claire?\u201d
\n\u201cAccording to Rachel, Claire wasn\u2019t just his daughter.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d
\n\u201cShe was one of his subjects.\u201d
\nI felt sick.
\nBefore I could ask more, the stairwell door opened.
\nA uniformed officer appeared.
\n\u201cDetective?\u201d
\nMercer turned.
\nThe officer looked at me.
\nThen back at Mercer.
\n\u201cThere\u2019s someone here asking for Mr. Brooks.\u201d
\nMy pulse jumped.
\n\u201cWho?\u201d
\nThe officer hesitated.
\n\u201cA woman.\u201d
\nMercer and I exchanged a look.
\n\u201cWhat woman?\u201d he asked.
\n\u201cShe says her name is Rebecca Brooks.\u201d
\nMy blood froze.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s impossible.\u201d
\nThe officer frowned.
\n\u201cShe showed ID.\u201d
\nI pulled out my phone and showed him the photograph.
\n\u201cMy wife is tied up inside my house.\u201d
\nThe officer stared at the screen.
\nThen slowly looked toward the hallway.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s the woman waiting downstairs.\u201d
\nNobody moved.
\nMercer drew his weapon.
\n\u201cStay behind me.\u201d
\nWe followed him through the corridor.
\nEvery step felt louder than the last.
\nAt the end of the hall was a small interview room with a glass window.
\nA woman sat inside.
\nDark hair.
\nGray sweater.
\nHands folded calmly on the table.
\nMy wife.
\nShe looked up.
\nOur eyes met.
\nShe stood immediately.
\n\u201cNathan.\u201d
\nI couldn\u2019t move.
\nSame face.
\nSame voice.
\nSame wedding ring.
\n\u201cRebecca?\u201d
\nShe rushed toward the glass.
\n\u201cOh, thank God.\u201d
\nMercer opened the door but kept his hand near his holster.
\nRebecca stepped toward me.
\nI stepped backward.
\nPain crossed her face.
\n\u201cNathan?\u201d
\n\u201cDon\u2019t.\u201d
\nShe stopped.
\n\u201cWhat\u2019s happening?\u201d
\nI held up my phone.
\n\u201cExplain this.\u201d
\nShe looked at the photograph.
\nHer face drained of color.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s not me.\u201d
\n\u201cYou\u2019re sitting on our couch.\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cIt\u2019s your face.\u201d
\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t me.\u201d
\n\u201cThen who is it?\u201d
\nRebecca stared at the image.
\nThen whispered:
\n\u201cClaire.\u201d
\nMercer and I looked at each other.
\n\u201cYou said Claire was your sister,\u201d I said.
\nRebecca\u2019s eyes widened.
\n\u201cI never said that.\u201d
\nI felt dizzy.
\n\u201cYes, you did.\u201d
\n\u201cWhen?\u201d
\n\u201cOn the phone less than an hour ago.\u201d
\nRebecca shook her head slowly.
\n\u201cNathan, I haven\u2019t spoken to you since this morning.\u201d
\nI pulled up my call history.
\nThere it was.
\nRebecca.
\nForty-seven minutes ago.
\nSix-minute call.
\nI showed her.
\nShe reached into her purse and handed me her phone.
\nHer call history showed nothing.
\nMercer said, \u201cCalls can be spoofed.\u201d
\nRebecca looked at him.
\nThen something changed in her expression.
\nRecognition.
\n\u201cYou.\u201d
\nMercer stiffened.
\n\u201cYou know me?\u201d
\nRebecca backed away.
\n\u201cYou were there.\u201d
\n\u201cWhere?\u201d
\n\u201cThe hospital.\u201d
\nMercer\u2019s face went pale.
\n\u201cWhat hospital?\u201d
\nRebecca touched her temple.
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\nHer breathing became shallow.
\n\u201cI remember your face.\u201d
\nMercer stepped toward her.
\n\u201cRebecca, what year?\u201d
\nShe shook her head.
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\n\u201cTry.\u201d
\n\u201cI said I don\u2019t know!\u201d
\nShe suddenly screamed it.
\nThen she covered her mouth, horrified by her own reaction.
\nI moved toward her instinctively.
\n\u201cNathan,\u201d she whispered.
\nHer eyes filled with tears.
\n\u201cThere are things I never told you.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat things?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t remember my childhood.\u201d
\nI stared at her.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cNot pieces of it. Almost all of it.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy did you tell me stories about your parents?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause those were the stories I was given.\u201d
\n\u201cGiven by who?\u201d
\nShe shook her head.
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\nMercer looked stunned.
\nRebecca continued.
\n\u201cMy first clear memory is waking up in a hospital when I was twenty-two.\u201d
\nMy chest tightened.
\n\u201cWhat year?\u201d
\n\u201c2011.\u201d
\nThe same year.
\nAlways the same year.
\n\u201cYou never told me that.\u201d
\n\u201cI was ashamed.\u201d
\n\u201cAshamed of what?\u201d
\n\u201cNot knowing who I was.\u201d
\nShe wiped her eyes.
\n\u201cThey told me my name was Rebecca. They gave me documents. Photographs. An entire life.\u201d
\n\u201cWho are they?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\n\u201cYou married me without knowing who you were?\u201d
\n\u201cI thought the memories would return.\u201d
\n\u201cDid they?\u201d
\n\u201cSome.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat do you remember?\u201d
\nRebecca looked directly at Mercer.
\n\u201cA room with no windows.\u201d
\nMercer went completely still.
\n\u201cA man asking me questions.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat questions?\u201d
\n\u201cWho I was.\u201d
\nShe swallowed.
\n\u201cEvery time I answered wrong, he started over.\u201d
\nI felt my skin crawl.
\n\u201cWho was the man?\u201d
\n\u201cI never remembered his face.\u201d
\nShe looked at Mercer again.
\n\u201cBut I remember you standing outside the door.\u201d
\nMercer whispered, \u201cNo.\u201d
\nRebecca\u2019s eyes narrowed.
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cNo, Rebecca.\u201d
\n\u201cYou were there.\u201d
\n\u201cI never worked at that facility.\u201d
\n\u201cYou were there!\u201d
\nMercer stepped backward.
\nThen Rebecca noticed something.
\nHis left wrist.
\nA thin scar.
\nHer face changed.
\n\u201cYou had that scar.\u201d
\nMercer covered it instinctively.
\nI saw the fear in his eyes.
\n\u201cYou remember me?\u201d he whispered.
\nRebecca nodded.
\nAnd suddenly Mercer looked like a man whose past had finally caught him.
\nBefore anyone could speak, every light in the station went out.
\nDarkness swallowed the hallway.
\nSomeone shouted.
\nAn alarm began screaming.
\nMercer grabbed me.
\n\u201cStay down!\u201d
\nA gunshot exploded somewhere downstairs.
\nThen another.
\nRebecca screamed.
\nEmergency lights flickered red.
\nFootsteps thundered through the corridor.
\nSomeone was coming toward us.
\nFast.
\nMercer raised his weapon.
\nThe footsteps stopped.
\nSilence.
\nThen a voice came from the darkness.
\n\u201cNathan.\u201d
\nRebecca grabbed my arm.
\n\u201cThat\u2019s her.\u201d
\nThe woman stepped into the red emergency light.
\nMy heart nearly stopped.
\nShe looked exactly like Rebecca.
\nBut there was blood on her sleeve.
\nAnd she was holding my father\u2019s black lockbox.
\n\u201cRachel?\u201d I whispered.
\nThe woman smiled sadly.
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nBehind me, Rebecca began trembling.
\nMercer raised his gun.
\n\u201cDon\u2019t move.\u201d
\nThe woman ignored him.
\nShe looked only at me.
\n\u201cYou\u2019ve spent all day asking the wrong question.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat question should I be asking?\u201d
\nShe placed the lockbox on the floor.
\nThen she reached into her pocket.
\nAnd pulled out a key.
\n\u201cNot who your wife is.\u201d
\nShe slid the key toward me.
\n\u201cAsk why your father chose her for you.\u201d
\nMy stomach dropped.
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\nRebecca stared at me.
\n\u201cNathan, I don\u2019t understand.\u201d
\nNeither did I.
\nThe woman looked at Rebecca.
\nThen at me.
\n\u201cYour marriage wasn\u2019t an accident.\u201d
\nI felt as if someone had punched me in the chest.
\n\u201cI met Rebecca at a bookstore.\u201d
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cHow could you know that?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause your father arranged it.\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cHe arranged the bookstore.\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cHe arranged her job.\u201d
\n\u201cStop.\u201d
\n\u201cHe arranged the apartment she lived in.\u201d
\n\u201cStop!\u201d
\n\u201cAnd three months before you met her, he received a photograph of you from Dr. Holloway.\u201d
\nThe hallway seemed to tilt.
\nRebecca whispered:
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\nThe woman\u2019s eyes filled with tears.
\n\u201cBecause Nathan was the final part of the experiment.\u201d
\nMercer fired.
\nThe gunshot deafened me.
\nThe woman dropped behind the corner.
\nRebecca screamed.
\nI tackled Mercer before he could fire again.
\nHis gun slid across the floor.
\n\u201cWhy did you shoot?\u201d
\n\u201cShe\u2019s lying!\u201d
\nMercer shoved me away.
\n\u201cShe\u2019s trying to turn you against everyone!\u201d
\n\u201cThen tell me what\u2019s in the box!\u201d
\nMercer froze.
\nThat was enough.
\nHe knew.
\nI grabbed the key.
\nRebecca grabbed the lockbox.
\nWe ran into the nearest office and slammed the door.
\nMercer pounded from the other side.
\n\u201cNathan! Don\u2019t open it!\u201d
\nI locked the door.
\nRebecca placed the box on the desk.
\nMy hands shook as I pushed the key into the lock.
\nIt turned.
\nClick.
\nInside were dozens of envelopes.
\nPhotographs.
\nMedical records.
\nCassette tapes.
\nAnd a thick folder bearing my name.
\nNATHAN BROOKS.
\nI opened it.
\nThe first page was dated sixteen years ago.
\nOne year before Claire disappeared.
\nAt the top were two names.
\nDR. SAMUEL HOLLOWAY.
\nHENRY BROOKS.
\nMy father.
\nBelow them was a title:
\nPROJECT SECOND LIFE \u2014 SUBJECT PAIRING PROTOCOL.
\nRebecca leaned over my shoulder.
\n\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d
\nI turned the page.
\nThere were photographs of me.
\nLeaving college.
\nBuying groceries.
\nWalking into my first apartment.
\nPhotographs taken before I ever met Rebecca.
\nSomeone had been watching me.
\nThen I found photographs of her.
\nExcept the captions didn\u2019t say Rebecca.
\nSUBJECT 7.
\nMy hands went numb.
\nRebecca covered her mouth.
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\nThe next page contained a handwritten note from my father.
\nSubject 7 continues to demonstrate stable identity reconstruction. Emotional attachment to Nathan may provide the permanent anchor Holloway requires.
\nRebecca began crying.
\n\u201cI was an experiment.\u201d
\nI couldn\u2019t answer.
\nBecause underneath that note was something worse.
\nA photograph of three identical young women.
\nClaire.
\nRachel.
\nAnd a third woman.
\nRebecca.
\nThree.
\nNot two.
\nOn the back, my father had written:
\nOnly one of them was born a Holloway.
\nI stared at the sentence until the words blurred.
\nRebecca whispered:
\n\u201cThen what are we?\u201d
\nA pounding came from outside.
\n\u201cNathan!\u201d Mercer shouted.
\n\u201cDo not believe what you\u2019re reading!\u201d
\nI turned over another page.
\nA birth certificate fell onto the desk.
\nCLAIRE ELIZABETH HOLLOWAY.
\nThen another.
\nRACHEL ELIZABETH HOLLOWAY.
\nThen a third.
\nREBECCA ANNE VALE.
\nSame birth date.
\nSame hospital.
\nDifferent parents.
\nRebecca touched the third certificate.
\n\u201cVale.\u201d
\nHer voice shook.
\n\u201cI know that name.\u201d
\n\u201cFrom where?\u201d
\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d
\nThen she suddenly grabbed her head.
\nA memory hit her so hard she nearly collapsed.
\nI caught her.
\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d
\nShe stared at me in horror.
\n\u201cMy mother.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cI remember my mother.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat did she look like?\u201d
\nRebecca\u2019s lips trembled.
\n\u201cShe looked exactly like your mother.\u201d
\nI stopped breathing.
\n\u201cWhat did you say?\u201d
\nBefore she could answer, my phone rang.
\nMom.
\nMy mother, Margaret Ellis.
\nThe woman Rebecca had supposedly stayed with the night before.
\nI answered slowly.
\n\u201cMom?\u201d
\nThere was silence.
\nThen my mother said:
\n\u201cNathan, I need you to listen very carefully.\u201d
\nMy entire body went cold.
\n\u201cWhere are you?\u201d
\n\u201cSomewhere safe.\u201d
\n\u201cIs Rebecca with you?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cMom, do you know Dr. Samuel Holloway?\u201d
\nSilence.
\nThat silence answered me.
\n\u201cYou do.\u201d
\n\u201cNathan\u2014\u201d
\n\u201cWho is Rebecca?\u201d
\nMy mother began crying.
\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t ask me that over the phone.\u201d
\n\u201cWho is she?\u201d
\n\u201cI wanted to tell you.\u201d
\n\u201cTell me what?\u201d
\n\u201cI wanted to tell you before your father died.\u201d
\nRebecca stood beside me, staring at the phone.
\n\u201cMom.\u201d
\nMy voice broke.
\n\u201cRebecca just remembered a woman she thinks was her mother.\u201d
\nMargaret stopped breathing.
\n\u201cShe says that woman looked exactly like you.\u201d
\nFor several seconds, nothing came through the phone.
\nThen my mother whispered:
\n\u201cOh, Henry\u2026 what did you do?\u201d
\n\u201cMom?\u201d
\n\u201cNathan, open the bottom of the lockbox.\u201d
\nI looked down.
\nThere was a false panel beneath the documents.
\nI lifted it.
\nOne envelope remained.
\nOn the front, in my father\u2019s handwriting, were the words:
\nFOR NATHAN \u2014 ONLY IF THEY FIND HIM.
\nMy hands shook as I opened it.
\nInside was one photograph.
\nMy father.
\nMy mother.
\nDr. Holloway.
\nAnd three little girls who appeared to be about six years old.
\nClaire.
\nRachel.
\nRebecca.
\nAll three were holding identical dolls.
\nBut there was a fourth child in the photograph.
\nA boy.
\nStanding beside my father.
\nI stared at him.
\nHe had my eyes.
\nMy nose.
\nMy face.
\nBut the photograph had been taken years before I was born.
\nOn the back, my father had written one sentence:
\nNathan must never learn he was not the first Nathan.
\nI couldn\u2019t breathe.
\nRebecca whispered:
\n\u201cWhat does that mean?\u201d
\nThen the woman outside the office began laughing.
\nNot loudly.
\nAlmost sadly.
\nAnd through the locked door she said:
\n\u201cNow you\u2019re finally asking the right question.\u201d
\nI stared at the photograph of the little boy with my face.
\nAnd for the first time in my life, I wondered whether Nathan Brooks was even my real name……………..<\/p>\n
PART 3: THE NIGHT EVERYONE LIED Mercer stared at the photograph on my phone for so long that I finally grabbed his arm. \u201cWhat didn\u2019t you tell me?\u201d He swallowed. … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5199,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6530","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-story"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6530","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6530"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6530\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6535,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6530\/revisions\/6535"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/5199"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6530"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6530"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/echostoryus.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6530"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}