Chapter 8 — The Second Camera
Chapter 8 — The Second Camera
The screen went black.
For three seconds, there was nothing.
Then a single red light appeared.
Not on the computer.
On the security monitor.
A camera feed.
My house.
The living room.
I watched myself on the screen.
Standing in the hospital hallway.
Except the timestamp was wrong.
It showed two hours earlier.
Someone had been watching us.
The feed changed.
The kitchen.
The dining room.
The hallway.
Then Ethan's bedroom.
My blood ran cold.
“How many cameras are in my house?”
Harris looked at me.
“Three.”
“No.”
I pointed at the screen.
“Four.”
He frowned.
“Where?”
I stared at the image.
There was a tiny black circle above the bookshelf.
I had never seen it.
“That's the fourth.”
Harris zoomed in.
Then his expression changed.
“That isn't one of ours.”
My stomach tightened.
“Then whose is it?”
The screen went black again.
A message appeared.
YOU MISSED ONE.
We returned to my house under police protection.
Every room was searched.
Every vent.
Every light fixture.
Every smoke detector.
Nothing.
Then Ethan's voice came from the hallway.
“Mom?”
I turned.
He was standing there.
Alive.
Safe.
I ran to him.
I hugged him so tightly he complained.
“Mom, you're hurting me.”
I laughed and cried at the same time.
“I'm sorry.”
He looked at Harris.
“Did you find it?”
“Find what?”
“The second camera.”
Harris crouched.
“You knew about it?”
Ethan nodded.
“I saw Dad install it.”
My heart stopped.
“When?”
“Before Christmas.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Dad told me it was a baby monitor.”
I looked at Harris.
“How many cameras did Nathaniel install?”
Ethan held up two fingers.
“Two.”
I froze.
“One was in the living room.”
“And the second?”
He pointed upstairs.
“Behind Grandma's painting.”
The painting was an old portrait of my husband's mother.
Margaret.
We removed it from the wall.
Behind it was a tiny camera.
Harris stared.
“This one is wired directly into the house network.”
“Can you access it?”
“Maybe.”
He connected his equipment.
The screen came alive.
A video archive appeared.
Hundreds of recordings.
Dates.
Times.
Names.
I felt sick.
“This camera has been running for months.”
Harris nodded.
“Maybe longer.”
We opened the oldest file.
The date was fourteen years ago.
I stared.
“That's impossible.”
Harris looked at the equipment.
“The camera itself may have been replaced.”
“But the server wasn't.”
He opened the archive.
Fourteen years of recordings.
Fourteen years of my life.
Captured.
Stored.
Watched.
Every argument.
Every birthday.
Every conversation.
Every time I cried.
Every time Nathaniel entered the house.
Someone had been watching.
I whispered:
“Who?”
Harris opened the first recording.
The video showed my father's house.
Fourteen years ago.
My father was alive.
He sat at his desk.
Michael stood across from him.
They were arguing.
The audio was faint.
Harris enhanced it.
My father's voice became clear.
“You promised me she would be safe.”
Michael answered:
“She will be.”
“You've already lied.”
“I haven't.”
“You forged the documents.”
“For her protection.”
My father slammed his hand against the desk.
“Don't you dare use that word.”
Michael looked calm.
“You know what happens if she learns the truth.”
“She deserves the truth.”
“She deserves to live.”
My father stared at him.
Then said:
“You're afraid of Eleanor.”
Michael smiled.
“Everyone should be.”
The video ended.
I stared at the screen.
My mother.
My father.
Michael.
They had been fighting over me.
But why?
The next recording was two days later.
My father walked into the study.
He looked pale.
A man followed him.
I recognized him immediately.
Dr. Hale.
My father's doctor.
They spoke quietly.
Then my father handed him an envelope.
Hale opened it.
His face changed.
My father said:
“If anything happens to me, give this to Sarah.”
Hale nodded.
“What's inside?”
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
My father looked toward the camera.
Straight toward us.
For one terrifying moment, I felt as if he were looking at me.
Then he said:
“Everything.”
The recording ended.
Harris stared at me.
“He knew.”
“He knew he was being watched.”
“Then why didn't he destroy the camera?”
I shook my head.
“He wanted someone to find it.”
We opened the next recording.
My mother entered the room.
She was crying.
My father stood.
“What happened?”
“Michael knows.”
“About the trust?”
“Yes.”
“Then we move Sarah tonight.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere he can't find her.”
My mother shook her head.
“He already knows.”
“Who told him?”
Silence.
My father looked at her.
“Eleanor.”
She began crying.
“I didn't.”
“Then who?”
“I don't know.”
My father stepped closer.
“You're the only person who knew.”
“I swear.”
He stared at her.
Then softened.
“I believe you.”
They hugged.
Then my mother whispered:
“I'm pregnant.”
My breath stopped.
Harris looked at me.
“Adrian.”
I nodded.
My father smiled.
“We'll protect both children.”
Then the video ended.
The next recording was darker.
My father was alone.
He looked directly into the camera.
“If Sarah ever sees this, listen carefully.”
I leaned closer.
“Your mother didn't kill me.”
My breath caught.
“She thinks she did.”
I stared.
“What?”
My father continued.
“Someone switched the medication.”
He looked exhausted.
“I know who did it.”
He paused.
“Michael didn't.”
My heart stopped.
“Then who?”
The video ended before he said the name.
Harris cursed.
“The file is damaged.”
“Can you recover it?”
“I'm trying.”
I looked at the timestamp.
Two hours later.
Another file.
I opened it.
My father was dead.
My mother stood beside him.
She was holding a syringe.
I covered my mouth.
“No.”
Harris froze.
The recording showed my mother placing something into my father's IV.
Then she walked away.
The file ended.
I stared.
“She did it.”
Harris shook his head.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Look at the timestamp.”
11:41 p.m.
Then he opened the hospital record.
My father had been pronounced dead at 11:12 p.m.
I stared.
“He was already dead.”
“Exactly.”
My mother hadn't killed him.
She had injected something into a dead man.
But why?
Harris zoomed in.
There was another figure behind her.
A shadow.
Someone was standing in the doorway.
Harris enhanced the image.
The face appeared.
I recognized him.
Michael.
But there was something else.
A second man stood beside him.
Nathaniel.
Only younger.
Alive.
And holding a gun.
I looked at Nathaniel.
He was watching the footage.
His face was white.
“I don't remember that.”
“You were there.”
“I don't remember.”
“You held a gun.”
“I was forced.”
“By Michael?”
Nathaniel shook his head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
He looked at the screen.
“My brother.”
Silence.
“You have a brother?”
“I did.”
“What was his name?”
Nathaniel swallowed.
“Daniel.”
My heart stopped.
“Daniel was your brother?”
“Yes.”
“The real Daniel.”
“Yes.”
“So you didn't steal his identity.”
“No.”
“Then why did everyone say you did?”
Nathaniel looked at me.
“Because Daniel was the one who stole mine.”
The room went silent.
Nathaniel continued.
“Fourteen years ago, Michael gave Daniel my identity.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel had killed someone.”
“Who?”
“Emily.”
My blood froze.
“Your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel killed her?”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Michael covered it up.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel was his son.”
I stared.
Michael had a son.
Daniel.
My supposed husband.
The man whose identity had been used to marry me.
The man everyone said was dead.
I couldn't breathe.
“Then who did I marry?”
Nathaniel looked at me.
“You married Daniel.”
I shook my head.
“But you said—”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“From him.”
“Where is Daniel?”
Nathaniel didn't answer.
Harris did.
“He's alive.”
The camera archive suddenly updated.
A new file appeared.
LIVE FEED.
Harris clicked it.
The screen showed a room.
A man sat in a chair.
His face was hidden.
His hands were tied.
A woman stood behind him.
I recognized the room.
My childhood bedroom.
My breath stopped.
“That's my house.”
Harris nodded.
“Someone is inside.”
The man lifted his head.
The camera zoomed.
I knew the face.
Daniel.
The real Daniel.
My husband.
Alive.
But beside him stood someone else.
A woman.
My mother.
She turned toward the camera.
Then spoke.
“Sarah.”
I froze.
“I'm sorry.”
The feed ended.
We ran upstairs.
The bedroom door was locked.
Harris broke it open.
Empty.
No Daniel.
No Eleanor.
Only a small black box on the floor.
Inside was a memory card.
And a note.
THE SECOND CAMERA WAS NEVER MEANT TO RECORD YOU.
I turned the note over.
Another sentence.
IT WAS MEANT TO RECORD THE PERSON WHO WOULD COME BACK FOR YOU.
I looked at Harris.
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
The memory card contained one final recording.
I played it.
My mother appeared.
She was sitting in a dark room.
“Sarah, if you're watching this, then Michael failed.”
She looked directly into the camera.
“That's good.”
She took a breath.
“I need you to understand something.”
“I didn't create the trust to protect your inheritance.”
She paused.
“I created it to protect you from your brother.”
I froze.
“Adrian.”
She shook her head.
“Not Adrian.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Daniel.”
She whispered:
“Daniel is not your father's son.”
I stared.
“Then who is he?”
My mother looked terrified.
“Your father's first wife had a child.”
I whispered:
“Adrian.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Adrian is your father's son.”
“Then Daniel?”
She looked down.
“Daniel is mine.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Daniel is your half-brother.”
The screen went black.
I stared at it.
My husband.
The man I had married.
The man who had raised my son.
Was my mother's son.
My half-brother.
And suddenly every piece of the nightmare rearranged itself.
The trust.
The insurance.
The fake medical records.
The identities.
The deaths.
The secret cameras.
My mother's disappearance.
And the final message.
THEY ARE ALL STILL ALIVE.
I turned toward Harris.
“Where is Ethan?”
He looked at his phone.
His expression changed.
“Sarah…”
“What?”
“The hospital just called.”
My blood froze.
“What happened?”
“They found a second tracking capsule.”
“Where?”
“In Ethan's room.”
“And Ethan?”
Harris looked at me.
“Missing.”
Again.
I ran downstairs.
But before I reached the door, my phone buzzed.
A message.
A photograph.
Ethan standing beside a man.
The man was Daniel.
My husband.
His real face.
Alive.
And beneath the photograph were six words:
HE WANTS TO MEET HIS SISTER.
My blood turned to ice.
Then another message arrived.
Come alone.
May you like
Or your son dies first.
To be continued...
