Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN IN THE PHOTOGRAPH We drove there after sunset.
The white house stood at the end of a narrow road surrounded by dead trees and overgrown fields.
No lights.
No vehicles.
No sign anyone had lived there recently.
But the front door wasn't locked.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and old medicine.
A photograph hung above the fireplace.
I walked closer.
My hands began to shake.
Serena.
Standing beside Adrian Vale.
And Rhea.
The photograph had been taken four years earlier.
Before Serena's death.
Before my grief.
Before Rhea became my fiancée.
On the back was a handwritten date.
And beneath it:
Project Aurora — Phase Two.
Ellis found a locked cabinet.
Inside were medical files.
Most were destroyed.
One wasn't.
A file labeled with a name that made the world tilt.
SERENA KIERAN.
Not deceased.
Not missing.
Patient.
My eyes blurred.
There were notes about sedation.
Memory impairment.
Neurological trauma.
Then a final entry:
Transferred to private care following emergency intervention.
Ellis looked at me.
“This doesn't prove Rhea did anything.”
“No,” I said.
“But it proves someone lied.”
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Ellis drew her weapon.
We searched the second floor.
Nothing.
Then we heard a door slam downstairs.
Someone had been inside the house.
Someone who knew exactly what we were looking for.
On the kitchen table sat a single envelope.
My name was written across it.
Inside was one photograph.
Serena.
Alive.
Older.
Paler.
Standing beside a hospital window.
May you like
On the back:
YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO FIND HER.
Related Stories
