CHAPTER 4 — THE MOTHER WHO NEVER DIED
CHAPTER 4 — THE MOTHER WHO NEVER DIED
The hidden door opened without a sound.
No alarm.
No warning.
Just a slow movement of steel sliding against steel.
I stood frozen in the middle of the laboratory.
My daughter slept against my chest.
Luka was already reaching for the weapon beneath his jacket.
My father stared at the opening.
For the first time since I had seen him again, he looked genuinely afraid.
“Dad?”
He didn't answer.
“What's behind that door?”
Still nothing.
I stepped toward him.
“You knew this was here.”
His eyes met mine.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“A room I prayed you'd never find.”
The words made my stomach tighten.
“Why?”
“Because your mother was kept there.”
I stopped breathing.
“My mother?”
He nodded.
“She was the last person to enter this room.”
I looked toward the darkness.
“Is she still alive?”
My father closed his eyes.
“I don't know.”
Luka looked at him sharply.
“You said she was alive.”
“I said she survived.”
“That's not the same thing.”
My heart pounded.
“Stop talking around me.”
I stepped forward.
“Tell me the truth.”
My father finally whispered:
“Your mother disappeared twenty-four years ago.”
“Where?”
“Inside this facility.”
“And you never found her?”
“I found evidence she escaped.”
“Then why did you say you didn't know?”
“Because I didn't know whether she escaped alone.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
He looked toward the hidden door.
“It means she may have taken someone with her.”
“Who?”
He looked at my daughter.
I felt cold.
“Who did she take?”
My father didn't answer.
Then a sound came from the room beyond.
A soft metallic knock.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
My daughter stirred.
Luka raised his weapon.
My father whispered:
“Don't open that door.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because if she's still there…”
He swallowed.
“…she may not be the woman you remember.”
I opened the door.
The room beyond was smaller than the laboratory.
Much colder.
The walls were covered with photographs.
Hundreds of them.
Children.
Families.
Pregnant women.
Medical charts.
Every photograph had a number.
I walked slowly through the room.
Then I saw it.
A photograph of a little girl.
Six years old.
Dark hair.
A white dress.
A small scar above her left eyebrow.
Me.
I touched the glass.
“Why is my photograph here?”
My father said nothing.
I looked at another.
My mother.
Holding me.
Another.
My mother.
Holding another little girl.
Mara.
Then another photograph.
My mother was standing beside a medical table.
On it was a newborn baby.
My daughter began crying.
I stepped back.
“What is this?”
Luka moved closer.
“Don't touch anything.”
But I had already seen the file beside the photograph.
SUBJECT E-06.
Underneath:
ELENA VALE.
Then:
SUBJECT E-07.
MARA VALE.
Then a third file.
SUBJECT E-08.
I opened it.
The name had been blacked out.
But underneath was one sentence:
GENETIC COMPLETION SUCCESSFUL.
My hands began shaking.
“What does this mean?”
Luka looked at my father.
He whispered:
“Your mother found out about E-08.”
“What is E-08?”
“A child.”
“Whose child?”
My father looked at my daughter.
“Yours.”
I stared at him.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It wasn't supposed to.”
The laboratory lights flickered.
A computer screen suddenly turned on.
A video began playing.
My mother's face appeared.
I stopped breathing.
She looked exactly as I remembered.
Dark hair.
Soft eyes.
The small smile she used whenever she thought I was frightened.
“Hello, Elena.”
I covered my mouth.
Her voice broke me.
“If you're watching this, then you've found the laboratory.”
I began crying.
My mother continued.
“I don't know how old you are now.”
A pause.
“But I know you will have a daughter.”
My heart stopped.
“How?”
She looked directly into the camera.
“Because they told me.”
The video changed.
My mother was sitting in a hospital room.
She looked exhausted.
There were bruises around her wrists.
A medical monitor was beside her.
“They wanted to know whether the genetic sequence could be transferred naturally.”
She swallowed.
“They tested it on me first.”
I looked at my father.
He looked away.
My mother's voice continued.
“They believed Elena was the successful carrier.”
The screen changed again.
A photograph of me as a child.
Then Mara.
Then another child.
A baby.
“E-08 was created from the genetic material of all three subjects.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
Luka stared at the screen.
My mother continued:
“E-08 was never meant to be born.”
The video stopped.
The room went silent.
I turned toward my father.
“What is she talking about?”
He looked at me.
“She was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From the truth.”
“I've had enough of lies.”
I stepped toward him.
“You told me my mother died.”
“Yes.”
“You told me Mara didn't exist.”
“Yes.”
“You told me M-17 was destroyed.”
“Yes.”
“You told me I was your daughter.”
His face changed.
I stopped.
“Are you?”
He didn't answer.
That was enough.
I backed away.
Luka reached for me.
I pulled away from him too.
“No.”
My voice shook.
“Everyone has lied to me.”
“Not everyone,” Luka said.
“How would I know?”
“You don't.”
He looked at my father.
“But we can find out.”
My father nodded.
“There is one final test.”
“What test?”
“Your DNA.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Another DNA test?”
“This one can't be altered.”
“Why?”
“Because the sample is already here.”
He pointed toward a cabinet.
Inside were three sealed containers.
One labeled:
MOTHER.
One:
FATHER.
One:
ELENA.
I stared.
“Those are…”
“Your mother's.”
My heart stopped.
“She left them behind.”
“And yours?”
My father nodded.
“Mine too.”
“Then test them.”
He hesitated.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
He looked at me.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He placed the samples into an old machine.
Luka stood beside me.
The machine began processing.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Then the screen displayed:
MATERNAL MATCH: CONFIRMED.
I exhaled.
My mother was my mother.
At least that part was true.
Then the second result appeared.
PATERNAL MATCH: 0.00%
I couldn't breathe.
I turned toward the man who had raised me.
“You're not my father.”
He closed his eyes.
“No.”
The room disappeared around me.
My entire childhood.
Every birthday.
Every Father's Day.
Every time he had told me he loved me.
A lie.
“What are you?”
He looked at me.
“I was your mother's protector.”
“Then who is my father?”
Silence.
Luka looked at him.
“Tell her.”
My father's expression hardened.
“It's not that simple.”
“Tell me!”
He whispered:
“Your biological father died before you were born.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the photograph of my mother.
“Adrian Moretti.”
I turned toward Luka.
His face had gone completely white.
“Your father?”
Luka didn't speak.
I stared at him.
“My father is your father?”
He slowly shook his head.
“No.”
Then the laboratory computer made a sound.
A new result appeared.
PATERNAL DNA: MATCH FOUND.
I looked at the screen.
The name appeared.
LUKA MORETTI.
I froze.
“No.”
Luka stared at the result.
“That can't be right.”
The machine printed another page.
PATERNITY PROBABILITY: 99.98%
My daughter.
Luka.
Me.
The three of us stood in silence.
Then my father whispered:
“M-17 has done it again.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
He pointed to the screen.
“That isn't your daughter's paternity result.”
I looked closer.
The sample ID was different.
It belonged to me.
The machine had tested my DNA.
Not my daughter's.
My hands began trembling.
The result was telling me that Luka Moretti was my biological father.
I looked at Luka.
He looked as horrified as I felt.
“No.”
He stepped backward.
“Your father…”
I could barely speak.
“…is my brother.”
Before Luka could answer, the lights went out.
A gunshot echoed through the laboratory.
Glass exploded behind us.
Luka grabbed me.
“Down!”
I fell to the floor.
My daughter cried.
My father moved toward the control panel.
Another shot.
The monitor shattered.
Someone shouted from the hallway.
“Take the child!”
Luka fired back.
I crawled behind the laboratory table, clutching my baby.
My father shouted:
“There's a second exit!”
“Where?”
“Behind the medical chamber!”
Luka grabbed my arm.
“Move!”
We ran.
The attackers entered the room.
Four men.
Black clothing.
Masks.
One of them shouted:
“Subject E-08 is alive!”
I froze.
They weren't calling my daughter by her name.
They were calling her a subject.
Luka pulled me through the hidden passage.
My father stayed behind.
“Dad!”
“Go!”
“I won't leave you!”
“You already lost twenty-five years.”
He looked at me.
“Don't lose another minute.”
The door slammed shut.
We ran through darkness.
My daughter cried against my chest.
Luka pulled me toward an underground tunnel.
Then I heard something behind us.
A voice.
A woman's voice.
Soft.
Familiar.
“Luka.”
He stopped.
I stopped too.
The voice came again.
“Elena.”
My blood turned cold.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it in the video.
I had heard it in childhood memories.
My mother's voice.
“Mom?”
Silence.
Then footsteps.
A woman stepped out of the darkness.
Long dark hair.
Pale face.
A scar beneath her eye.
Older than the woman in my memories.
But unmistakable.
My mother.
Alive.
She looked at me.
Then at my daughter.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Oh, Elena.”
I couldn't move.
She came closer.
“I've waited so long.”
I whispered:
“You're alive.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you leave me?”
She began crying.
“I didn't.”
“What?”
“They took me.”
“Who?”
She looked toward the tunnel behind us.
Then her expression changed.
Fear.
“They're coming.”
Luka stepped between us.
“Who?”
My mother looked at him.
“You.”
Luka froze.
“What?”
She pointed at him.
“You're the reason they never stopped.”
I looked between them.
“Mom, what are you talking about?”
She took my hand.
“Your daughter isn't M-17's final subject.”
I stared.
“Then what is she?”
My mother looked at the baby.
“The key.”
“To what?”
“To the original program.”
She swallowed.
“And the man who created it is still alive.”
I thought of my grandfather.
“Grandfather?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
My mother's eyes moved toward Luka.
“The man who raised you.”
I froze.
“My father?”
“He isn't your father.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“He isn't your protector.”
“Then what is he?”
My mother looked terrified.
“He is the man who stole you from me.”
Behind us, the tunnel door began to shake.
Someone was trying to break through.
My mother grabbed my face.
“Listen to me.”
“What?”
“The man you've called Dad for twenty-five years…”
The door cracked.
“He was the first director of M-17.”
I stopped breathing.
May you like
My mother's final words were almost inaudible.
“And he never stopped experimenting on his own family.”
