Chapter 12
The Face in the Doorway
The woman in the doorway looked at Elise as if she were the reflection and not the original.
Simon made a small sound behind the desk. Bell raised his weapon. Lena backed into the wall.
“Put the key down,” Bell said.
The woman smiled. “You told her not to answer leading questions.”
“I told you to put it down.”
She tossed the brass key onto the carpet.
It landed beside the broken glass.
Elise looked at her own face, at the tiny scar under the left eyebrow, the one she had received at twelve when she fell from the greenhouse roof. The woman had the scar too.
But the angle was wrong. Elise’s scar bent toward the temple. This one bent toward the eye.
“Who are you?” Elise asked.
“You know.”
“I don’t.”
“You know what Mara called me.”
Bell moved between them. “Nobody moves.”
The woman lifted both hands. “I came to return something.”
She held up a small red memory card.
On its label was a single word: MOUTH.
Elise’s stomach turned. “What is that?”
“The part of you Mara removed.”
Simon gripped the desk. “Don’t listen to her.”
“You told her the program ended,” the woman said. “You told her Celia was the first witness. You never told her what happened after the fire.”
Bell kept his weapon trained on her. “What happened?”
The woman looked at Elise. “Your wife asked me to become you.”
For a moment, Elise heard nothing but the ringing in her own ears.
Then the woman stepped backward into the hall.
Bell lunged. The hallway light went out.
Someone slammed the study door.
When Bell opened it, the hall was empty. The front door stood ajar. Rain blew across the tiles, carrying in the smell of the garden.
The red memory card remained on the carpet.
Bell picked it up with a handkerchief.
“We take this to the lab.”
Elise stared at the doorway. “She knew about the scar.”
“It could be copied.”
“She knew how Mara wore the key.”
“It could be copied.”
“She knew the name.”
Bell looked at her. “What name?”
Elise did not answer.
Simon said, “Mara called her June.”
The name passed through the room with the force of a confession.
Elise remembered a winter three years earlier. Mara had come home with mud on her shoes and a bruise around her wrist. When Elise asked who had hurt her, Mara said, “June is learning to stand.”
Elise had thought it was a metaphor.
The tablet on the desk lit up.
A new message appeared from the missing account.
JUNE IS NOT A COPY. JUNE IS THE WITNESS WHO SURVIVED YOU.
Below it was a recording.
Elise pressed play.
Her own voice said, “I consent to the record.”
The recording ended with Mara whispering, “That was the last time you were allowed to speak for yourself.”