I remembered all of it.
Perfectly.
Too perfectly.
I suddenly realized I could not remember a single customer.
Not one.
I could remember shelving books.
Opening boxes.
Sweeping floors.
But no faces.
No conversations.
No actual days.
Only scenes.
Snapshots.
Like pictures arranged in sequence.
My breathing quickened.
“No.”
Julian moved toward me.
“Elena.”
“Don’t.”
I pressed my palms against my temples.
“I remember that summer.”
Daniel’s voice softened.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“What day of the week did you work?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing.
“What bus did you take?”
“I drove.”
“What car?”
“My mother’s.”
“What model?”
I stared at him.
My chest tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“Who worked with you?”
“Mrs. Bell.”
“Anyone else?”
“I…”
Nothing.
A sharp pain formed behind my eyes.
I shut them.
Suddenly, a smell filled my mind.
Bleach.
Not books.
Bleach and wet wood.
A white ceiling.
A fluorescent light flickering.
Someone saying, Don’t let her sleep yet.
My eyes snapped open.
I gasped.
Julian grabbed me before I fell.
“What happened?”
I pushed him away.
“I saw something.”
Daniel went still.
“What?”
“A room.”
“What room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was there a window?”
“Stop.”
“Was there water?”
“Stop.”
“Did you hear a bell?”
My head jerked up.
Somewhere in the deepest part of my mind, a bell rang.
One metallic note.
Then another.
My legs weakened.
Daniel whispered, “She remembers.”
Julian stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel looked terrified.
For the first time since he arrived, truly terrified.
“It means we’re too late.”
A sound came from downstairs.
Glass breaking.
Julian pulled the gun.
Daniel reached inside his jacket and drew one of his own.
I stared at both men.
Another crash.
From the kitchen.
Someone was inside the house.
Julian grabbed my hand.
“Closet.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“I’m not hiding in a closet.”
Daniel crossed to the bedroom window, looked outside, then swore.
“Two in the backyard.”
“How many front?” Julian asked.
“At least one.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“You brought them here.”
Daniel ignored me.
“We need the garage.”
Julian shook his head.
“They’ll expect that.”
“Upstairs window?”
“Twenty-foot drop.”
“There’s the roof over the study.”
They spoke with frightening speed.
I stared at Daniel.
“You’ve done this before.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
The answer sent another chill through me.
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
Then a voice called softly from the foyer.
“Elena?”
I froze.
It was a woman.
Older.
Familiar.
My mother.
My entire body reacted before my mind did.
“Mom?”
Daniel grabbed me.
“No.”
“That’s my mother.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Elena,” the voice called again.
Sweet.
Worried.
Exactly right.
“Baby, come downstairs.”
Tears filled my eyes.
That was what she called me.
Baby.
Always.
Julian’s hand clamped over my mouth before I could answer.
I fought him.
He whispered, “Your mother never calls you baby.”
I stopped.
He was right.
She called me sweetheart.
Sometimes honey.
Never baby.
The voice downstairs continued.
“Elena, please.”
Daniel stared toward the hallway.
“They know enough to imitate her.”
I felt sick.
“How?”
No one answered.
Then the woman downstairs laughed.
Not my mother’s laugh.
Something colder.
“Still clever, Julian.”
Julian’s face went white.
The woman called again.
“Your father always said you were the difficult one.”
Daniel moved toward the door.
“Window. Now.”
We crossed into the study.
Julian shoved open the window.
Below it was a narrow section of roof above the garage.
Daniel climbed out first.
I followed.
Cold air hit my face.
My bare feet slipped against the shingles.
Julian came behind me.
Inside the house, footsteps moved rapidly up the stairs.
Daniel lowered himself to the edge of the roof.
“There’s a trellis.”
“This is insane,” I whispered.
“Correct.”
He dropped.
Julian helped me down.
My hands scraped against wood.
Pain shot through my palms.
I landed badly in the flower bed.
Daniel pulled me up.
A window shattered above us.
Julian dropped beside me.
“Run.”
We ran.
Not toward Daniel’s car.
Not toward Julian’s.
We cut through the neighbor’s yard.
Over a fence.
Across another driveway.
Behind us, no one shouted.
No one chased visibly.
That made it worse.
Daniel led us two blocks away to a gray SUV parked beneath an oak tree.
We climbed inside.
He drove before the doors were fully closed.
I twisted around.
No cars followed.
No figures appeared.
Our street disappeared behind us.
For several minutes, no one spoke.
I looked at my bleeding palms.
At Julian.
At Daniel.
At the old photograph still crushed in my hand.
Finally, I said, “Where are we going?”
Daniel looked at me in the rearview mirror.
“Somewhere they won’t find us immediately.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the best one I have.”
Julian touched my arm.
I moved away.
His face tightened.
I looked out the window.
The city passed in fragments.
Traffic lights.
Coffee shops.
A woman pushing a stroller.
People living inside normal lives.
I wondered how many of my memories were real.
I wondered how many times I had told Julian stories about childhood that had never happened.
I wondered whether my mother was truly my mother.
That thought terrified me most.
I pulled out my own phone.
“No.”
Daniel reached back.
I jerked it away.
“I’m calling her.”
“They can track it.”
“I don’t care.”
“You will.”
I ignored him and dialed my mother.
Julian watched.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then she answered.
“Elena?”
Relief hit me so hard I nearly sobbed.
“Mom.”
“What’s wrong?”
Her voice was normal.
Her real voice.
“I need to ask you something.”
A pause.
“What happened?”
“Did I work at Bellweather Books when I was twenty?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Silence.
My heart sank.
“Mom?”
“Where are you?”
“Answer me.”
“Are you with Julian?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
I could hear her breathing.
“Mom.”
“Elena, listen carefully.”
My hands began to shake.
“Okay.”
“Do not go to Lake Briar.”
My blood turned to ice.
I had not mentioned Lake Briar.
Daniel’s eyes met mine in the mirror.
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