CHAPTER 5 — THE WOMAN BEHIND THE WALL
CHAPTER 5 — THE WOMAN BEHIND THE WALL
The door upstairs opened with a slow, deliberate creak.
Nobody moved.
For several seconds, the only sound in the abandoned mansion was the wind pressing against the broken windows.
Then Daniel whispered:
“She's awake.”
I turned toward him.
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
His eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
Jonathan's face had gone completely pale.
“Daniel,” he said quietly.
The boy shook his head.
“No.”
Jonathan stepped toward him.
“You don't know who that is.”
“I do.”
“How?”
Daniel's voice trembled.
“She used to sing.”
My heart tightened.
“Who used to sing?”
Daniel looked at me.
“The woman behind the wall.”
A cold shiver moved through me.
“What wall?”
Jonathan grabbed my arm.
“We need to leave.”
“No.”
“Elena—”
“You know something.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
He hesitated.
“Your mother.”
The word hit me harder than any bullet could have.
I stared at him.
“My mother is dead.”
Jonathan shook his head.
“No.”
I couldn't breathe.
“You said she disappeared.”
“I said Victor made her disappear.”
“Where is she?”
Jonathan looked toward the ceiling.
“In this house.”
We climbed the staircase slowly.
The mansion seemed to breathe around us.
Every step creaked.
Every shadow looked like someone standing just beyond the light.
Daniel stayed between me and Jonathan.
Marcus walked behind us, weapon raised.
At the top of the stairs was a long hallway.
Portraits covered the walls.
Most had been damaged.
Faces scratched out.
Eyes painted black.
Names removed.
But one portrait remained untouched.
A young woman with long dark hair.
She was smiling.
I stopped.
I knew that face.
Not from memory.
From the photograph I had kept beside my bed for most of my childhood.
My mother.
Isabella Vale.
My fingers trembled.
“That's her.”
Jonathan nodded.
“Yes.”
I touched the portrait.
“When did she disappear?”
“The night you were taken.”
“I wasn't taken.”
“You were moved.”
“Where?”
“From the Vale house to the Blackwood estate.”
“Why?”
“To protect you.”
I turned.
“From who?”
Jonathan didn't answer.
“From Victor?”
“Yes.”
“But Victor wanted me.”
“He wanted your blood.”
I stared at him.
“Then why would he let me go?”
“Because Alexander made a deal.”
“What deal?”
Jonathan looked at Daniel.
“He gave Victor the wrong child.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
Jonathan's voice became quieter.
“Victor believed you were the genetic match he needed.”
“But I wasn't.”
“No.”
“Then who was?”
Jonathan looked at Daniel.
Daniel's face turned white.
I shook my head.
“No.”
Jonathan nodded.
“Daniel.”
Silence.
Daniel looked at me.
“I didn't know.”
I stepped toward him.
“What does that mean?”
“Victor believed Daniel was Subject 001.”
I stared at him.
“Then why was I called Subject 001?”
“Because Alexander changed the files.”
My mind spun.
“My father falsified everything?”
“Yes.”
“To protect Daniel?”
“To protect both of you.”
I looked at the portrait again.
“And my mother?”
Jonathan said nothing.
I understood.
“She helped him.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Jonathan pointed down the hallway.
“Behind that wall.”
The wall looked ordinary.
Dark wood.
Old wallpaper.
A portrait.
Nothing unusual.
I walked toward it.
“How long has she been there?”
Jonathan didn't answer.
“Jonathan.”
“Eleven years.”
My stomach turned.
“Eleven years?”
“Yes.”
“She has been here for eleven years?”
“Yes.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
I touched the wall.
“Then why didn't anyone tell me?”
“Because Victor had people watching you.”
I turned.
“You're telling me my mother was alive for eleven years and nobody told me?”
Jonathan lowered his eyes.
“Alexander tried.”
“When?”
“After he escaped.”
“What happened?”
“He came here.”
“Did he see her?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't he free her?”
Jonathan's silence was enough.
“He couldn't.”
“Why?”
“Because she was being watched.”
I felt anger rising.
“You all keep saying that.”
Jonathan looked at me.
“Because it's true.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You're all using the same excuse.”
I pointed toward the hidden room.
“My father supposedly protected me.”
“My mother supposedly protected me.”
“You supposedly protected my father.”
“And Daniel supposedly protected me.”
I shook my head.
“Everybody was protecting somebody.”
I looked toward the wall.
“But nobody was protecting her.”
Then I heard it.
A faint sound.
Three knocks.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Daniel whispered:
“She knows you're here.”
I stepped back.
Another three knocks.
I placed my hand against the wall.
“Mom?”
Silence.
I swallowed.
“Mom, it's me.”
Nothing.
Then a woman's voice came through the wall.
Weak.
Almost a whisper.
“Lena?”
My knees nearly gave out.
Nobody had called me that in years.
I pressed my forehead against the wall.
“Mom?”
A sob came from the other side.
“Oh, my God.”
I closed my eyes.
“It’s me.”
“Lena?”
“Yes.”
“My baby.”
Tears streamed down my face.
“Mom, I'm here.”
“I knew you would come.”
I looked at Jonathan.
“How do we open this?”
He pointed toward the portrait.
“There is a mechanism.”
Marcus examined the frame.
“Move.”
He removed the portrait.
Behind it was a keypad.
Four numbers.
I looked at Jonathan.
“What code?”
He shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Daniel stepped forward.
“Her birthday.”
I looked at him.
“My mother's?”
“No.”
He pointed toward the keypad.
“Yours.”
I entered the date.
Nothing happened.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
Then Daniel whispered:
“Dad said the code wasn't your birthday.”
“What was it?”
“Your first word.”
I stared at him.
“I don't remember.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“I do.”
“What was it?”
“Moon.”
I typed four numbers corresponding to the word.
The wall clicked.
Then slowly moved.
A narrow passage appeared.
Cold air rushed out.
I stepped inside.
And there she was.
My mother.
Alive.
Sitting on a small bed.
Her hair had turned almost completely gray.
Her face was thinner.
Older.
But her eyes were the same.
The moment she saw me, she covered her mouth.
“Lena.”
I ran to her.
She caught me in her arms.
For a few seconds, neither of us could speak.
Then she cried.
“I thought you were dead.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I waited.”
“I looked for you.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Your father showed me.”
I pulled back.
“My father?”
She nodded.
“He came here.”
“When?”
“Three years before he died.”
My heart tightened.
“Why didn't he take you?”
She looked away.
“Because I wouldn't leave.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel was still here.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Daniel stood there.
My mother saw him.
Her face changed.
“Daniel?”
He froze.
She stood.
Her hands trembled.
“My son.”
Daniel stared at her.
“Mom?”
She walked toward him.
He didn't move.
Then she wrapped her arms around him.
Daniel broke down.
I watched them.
For the first time in my life...
my family was standing in the same room.
My mother.
My brother.
Me.
And yet something still felt wrong.
Because my mother wasn't surprised to see Daniel.
She was terrified.
I noticed.
I stepped closer.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
“What?”
“Why are you afraid?”
She shook her head.
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
She looked toward Jonathan.
Then Marcus.
Then the hallway.
Finally she whispered:
“Because Victor isn't the one you should fear.”
I felt cold.
“Who then?”
She didn't answer.
I grabbed her hand.
“Who?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“The man who helped your father.”
Jonathan stiffened.
I looked at him.
“My father had help?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
My mother whispered a name.
“Harold Crane.”
The same name from the photograph.
Senator Crane.
The man my father's evidence identified as the person behind his murder.
I stared at her.
“You knew him?”
“Yes.”
“Did he help my father?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he kill him?”
My mother looked at me.
“Because Alexander discovered what Crane was really doing.”
“What?”
“He wasn't helping Victor.”
She swallowed.
“He was using Victor.”
Silence.
“Using him for what?”
My mother walked to a small cabinet.
She opened it.
Inside were dozens of old photographs.
Documents.
Medical records.
And a thick black folder.
She placed it on the table.
“This is everything I know.”
I opened it.
The first page was marked:
PROJECT M-17
My blood went cold.
“This is the program.”
“No.”
My mother shook her head.
“This is what came after.”
I turned the page.
There were photographs of children.
Not one.
Not three.
Dozens.
Some were infants.
Some were teenagers.
Some were adults.
Each had a number.
I stared at them.
“How many?”
“Thirty-seven.”
My stomach turned.
“Thirty-seven children?”
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
My mother looked at me.
“Most are dead.”
Daniel lowered his head.
“How many survived?”
“Five.”
I turned the page.
The five names were listed.
Daniel.
Elena.
Jonathan.
Damian.
And one final name.
The fifth name had been blacked out.
I looked at my mother.
“Who is this?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“I don't.”
“Mom.”
She began crying.
“I swear.”
I looked at Jonathan.
He was staring at the name.
His face had gone white.
“You know.”
He didn't answer.
“Jonathan.”
He stepped closer.
“That name isn't a subject.”
“What is it?”
He pointed to the page.
“It's the architect.”
My heart stopped.
“Architect of what?”
“The entire program.”
My mother whispered:
“Your grandfather.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
“My grandfather?”
She nodded.
“Victor's father.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“My grandfather created the program?”
“Yes.”
“Then Victor inherited it?”
“No.”
My mother shook her head.
“Victor tried to destroy it.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She continued.
“Victor was cruel.”
“He was corrupt.”
“He did terrible things.”
“But he wasn't the architect.”
I remembered Victor's recording.
His confession.
His fear.
His warning.
Then I understood.
Victor had been afraid of someone.
Not Elena.
Not Daniel.
Someone above him.
“Who?”
My mother looked toward the ceiling.
“The person who owns the Blackwood empire now.”
I frowned.
“Victor is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Then who owns it?”
She looked at me.
“You.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Victor changed his will.”
“When?”
“Before he died.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
“To make you the legal heir.”
I couldn't speak.
Jonathan stepped forward.
“That wasn't supposed to happen.”
“What wasn't?”
“Victor's death.”
I looked at him.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“Then who killed him?”
Jonathan's eyes shifted toward the folder.
“The same person who has been killing everyone who knows about M-17.”
My mother suddenly grabbed my wrist.
“Lena.”
“What?”
“You have to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because they know you're here.”
“How?”
She pointed toward the ceiling.
A tiny red light was blinking.
A camera.
Marcus looked up.
“Damn it.”
My mother whispered:
“They've been watching this room.”
Then the entire mansion shook.
A massive explosion erupted downstairs.
Glass shattered.
Smoke filled the corridor.
Daniel screamed.
Jonathan pulled my mother away from the door.
Marcus shouted:
“Everyone down!”
Gunfire erupted outside.
Dozens of rounds.
The attackers had arrived.
My mother grabbed my hand.
“There's another way out.”
“Where?”
“Behind the bed.”
We moved it.
A hidden tunnel appeared.
But before we could enter, a voice echoed through the mansion's speakers.
Calm.
Cold.
Familiar.
“Hello, Elena.”
I froze.
It wasn't Victor.
It wasn't Harrison.
It wasn't Crane.
It was Damian.
His voice continued.
“I'm sorry.”
My heart dropped.
“Damian?”
The speaker crackled.
“I tried to warn you.”
I looked at Jonathan.
He looked terrified.
Damian continued:
“Don't trust my father.”
A pause.
“Don't trust Crane.”
Another pause.
“And whatever you do...”
His voice became almost a whisper.
“Don't trust Jonathan.”
I slowly turned toward Jonathan.
He didn't move.
Damian's final words echoed through the house.
“Because he is the reason Alexander died.”
The speakers went silent.
Jonathan closed his eyes.
My mother screamed:
“No!”
I raised my gun.
Jonathan opened his eyes.
“Listen to me.”
I pointed the weapon at him.
“Don't move.”
“Elena—”
“You lied to me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“You knew my mother.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me the truth.”
Jonathan stared at me.
“I couldn't.”
“Why?”
His voice broke.
“Because Alexander made me promise.”
“Promise what?”
Jonathan looked at my mother.
Then Daniel.
Then me.
“To never tell you who really pulled the trigger.”
I stared at him.
“Who?”
Jonathan's eyes filled with tears.
He whispered:
“Alexander wasn't killed by Crane.”
My finger tightened around the trigger.
“He was killed by someone he trusted.”
“Who?”
Jonathan looked directly into my eyes.
Then said the one name I never expected.
“Your mother.”
The room went silent.
My mother collapsed against the wall.
Daniel stared at her in horror.
And I realized the truth I had spent twelve years searching for had just become more complicated than the lie.
May you like
Because the woman I had spent my entire life believing I had lost...
might have been the woman who took my father away.
