PART 4 — THE FOURTH DAUGHTER
Three girls had already shattered everything I believed about Emma’s birth.
Now there was a fourth.
But when police finally entered the abandoned Blackwood Fertility Institute, they discovered the fourth child wasn’t the biggest secret hidden there.
Because one sealed medical file contained my name, Rebecca’s name, Natalie’s name—and the name of a woman I had believed died before I was born.
And when Detective Kim opened it, the first line read:
SUBJECT ZERO: SARAH JOHNSON.
Detective Kim read the line twice before speaking again.
I heard the paper shift through the phone.
For several seconds, nobody in Emma’s hospital room moved.
Michael looked at me.
I looked at him.
And for once, he seemed as lost as I was.
“What does Subject Zero mean?” I asked.
Detective Kim didn’t answer immediately.
“We’re inside the lower level of the Blackwood building.”
“You found Margaret?”
“No.”
“Grace?”
“No.”
“Lily?”
“No.”
“The fourth girl?”
“No.”
My chest tightened.
“Then what did you find?”
“A records room.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
More records.
More secrets.
More pieces of my life written down somewhere by people who had decided I didn’t deserve to know them.
Detective Kim continued.
“There are hundreds of files.”
“About the girls?”
“Some.”
“And the others?”
“Adults.”
My stomach dropped.
“What adults?”
“Participants.”
Michael suddenly stood.
“No.”
Detective Kim heard him.
“What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“Michael.”
“I said I don’t know.”
But his face had changed.
Again.
That tiny shift.
Recognition before denial.
I pointed at him.
“You know that word.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“Sarah—”
“You know what Subject Zero means.”
“I heard my mother use it once.”
My heart started pounding.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many years?”
“Before Emma was born.”
The room went cold.
Emma was sitting on the bed, listening to every word.
I hated that.
But there was no way to protect her from a truth that had already swallowed all of us.
“What did Margaret say?”
Michael looked toward the floor.
“She said every project had a beginning.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She said Blackwood began with one successful case.”
My skin prickled.
“And that case was me?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I swear.”
His voice cracked.
“I didn’t know it was you.”
Detective Kim interrupted.
“Sarah, there’s more on the first page.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“Read it.”
“Date of enrollment: March 12, 1986.”
I stopped breathing.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“I was born in 1986.”
“When?”
“August.”
Silence.
Then Detective Kim said quietly, “That may not be what this record means.”
I stared at the wall.
Five months before I was born.
Enrollment.
Not birth.
Not treatment.
Enrollment.
My mother had been pregnant with me.
“What’s my mother’s name on the file?”
More paper shifted.
Detective Kim went quiet.
“Rachel.”
“There are two maternal names.”
My heart lurched.
“What?”
“One listed as gestational.”
“And the other?”
“Genetic source.”
My knees weakened.
“Read them.”
“Gestational mother: Elaine Mercer.”
My mother.
The woman who raised me.
The woman who died when I was sixteen.
“And genetic?”
Detective Kim hesitated.
“Dr. Evelyn Blackwood.”
Nobody spoke.
I almost laughed because the name sounded too obvious.
Too perfect.
Blackwood.
The clinic.
The program.
The woman whose name had apparently been sitting beneath everything.
“Who is Evelyn Blackwood?”
“We’re checking.”
Michael sat down hard.
“I know.”
I turned toward him.
Of course he did.
“Who?”
He looked sick.
“Founder.”
“Of the clinic?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
He hesitated.
“My mother worked for her.”
The room spun.
Margaret.
Again.
Always Margaret.
“What did she do?”
“Research coordination.”
“You told me she was a hospital administrator.”
“She was.”
“Was she?”
Michael didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“Was anything you told me about your family true?”
He looked at Emma.
Then back at me.
“Some of it.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I said, “Tell me about Evelyn.”
Michael swallowed.
“She disappeared.”
“When?”
“Nineteen eighty-seven.”
“One year after I was born.”
“Yes.”
“Died?”
“No body.”
I looked at the phone.
“Rachel, can you confirm that?”
“I’m searching the records now.”
Then I heard an officer in the background.
“Detective.”
“What?”
“Come see this.”
Detective Kim moved.
Her breathing changed.
“What did you find?”
She didn’t answer me.
I heard a metal drawer slide open.
Then another.
Then one of the officers whispered, “Jesus.”
My stomach tightened.
“Rachel.”
“There are photographs.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
I couldn’t speak.
“At what age?”
“Infant.”
I gripped the edge of Emma’s bed.
“There are others.”
“What others?”
“You as a toddler.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Preschool.”
My heart pounded.
“Rachel…”
“Elementary school.”
“No.”
“Sarah, somebody documented you for years.”
I stepped backward.
My childhood memories flashed in pieces.
My mother walking me to school.
Birthdays.
Doctor visits.
A man with a camera at a neighborhood picnic.
I had assumed he belonged to another family.
A woman who sometimes sat two rows behind us at church.
A nurse who always seemed to be present at my annual physical.
Coincidence.
Or surveillance.
“How long?”
Detective Kim kept turning pages.
“Until you were eighteen.”
I stopped breathing.
“After my mother died.”
“Yes.”
“So whoever was doing this kept watching after she was gone.”
“Yes.”
Emma whispered, “Mom?”
I turned.
She looked terrified for me.
That nearly broke me.
I sat beside her.
“I’m okay.”
It was a lie.
But she needed one truth that felt safe.
Detective Kim continued.
“There’s a summary section.”
“Read it.”
“Subject demonstrates expected neurological mirroring response under emotional stress.”
My skin prickled.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Keep going.”
“Memory convergence remains incomplete.”
Michael suddenly stood again.
“No.”
I turned.
“What?”
He stared at me.
“What did she say?”
“Memory convergence.”
His face drained.
“You know that too.”
“My mother talked about it.”
“When?”
“After Emma was born.”
“What does it mean?”
“I thought it was theoretical.”
“Michael.”
He looked at me.
“She believed genetically identical subjects could sometimes develop overlapping memory patterns.”
I stared at him.
“That’s insane.”
“I know.”
“She was testing it on children.”
“I know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“She was testing it on me.”
Michael said nothing.
That silence was enough.
I turned away.
Detective Kim spoke.
“There’s another note.”
“What?”
“Subject Zero was never informed of sibling cohort.”
I froze.
“What sibling cohort?”
My mouth had gone dry.
“Rachel.”
There was a pause.
Then she said, “Sarah, I think you had sisters.”
Emma looked at me.
Michael closed his eyes.
“How many?”
“We don’t know yet.”
The prepaid phone on the bed suddenly buzzed.
Everyone stared at it.
One new message.
NO MORE QUESTIONS OVER THE PHONE.
A location pin appeared.
Blackwood Fertility Institute.
Then another message.
COME BEFORE MIDNIGHT OR THE GIRLS WILL LEARN WITHOUT YOU.
I checked the clock.
8:43 p.m.
Three hours and seventeen minutes.
Dr. Patel stepped forward.
“You’re not leaving with Emma.”
“I know.”
Emma grabbed my hand.
“Mom, I want to go.”
“No.”
“Grace and Lily are there.”
“No.”
“And the other girl.”
“No.”
“She’s like me.”
“That’s exactly why you’re not going.”
Emma’s eyes filled.
“What if they hurt them?”
I couldn’t answer.
Because that was the trap.
Whoever had sent the message knew exactly what would pull me out of the hospital.
Not curiosity.
Not my own past.
The girls.
I looked at Detective Kim’s number.
“Rachel, can you raid the building?”
“We already have teams surrounding it.”
“Then go in.”
“We did.”
“What?”
“The main level is empty.”
My blood chilled.
“Then where are they?”
“We found elevator access beneath the lower records room.”
“Go down.”
“We’re trying.”
“Trying?”
“There’s a biometric lock.”
Michael whispered, “Retinal.”
I turned.
“What?”
“My mother once mentioned the core lab was retinal-locked.”
Detective Kim heard him.
“Whose retina?”
Michael shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
The prepaid phone buzzed again.
A photograph appeared.
A door.
A scanner beside it.
Underneath:
ONLY SUBJECT ZERO CAN OPEN IT.
Everyone looked at me.
“No,” I whispered.
Michael stepped toward me.
“That’s why they need you.”
“Who is they?”
He shook his head.
“I don’t know anymore.”
I laughed bitterly.
“That sentence should be engraved on your headstone.”
He flinched.
Good.
Detective Kim said, “Sarah, we can escort you.”
Dr. Patel objected immediately.
“Absolutely not with Emma.”
“She stays here.”
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Mom—”
“No.”
She started crying.
I cupped her face.
“I am not taking you into that place.”
“They might need me.”
“They already had you.”
That stopped her.
I lowered my voice.
“And they drugged you to keep you quiet.”
Emma looked down.
“I’m going because I need answers.”
“Then I’m coming.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I said no.”
She pulled away.
For one second, she looked exactly like me at ten years old.
Stubborn.
Terrified.
Determined.
Then she whispered, “What if I remember something you need?”
I had no answer.
Michael did.
“She stays.”
We both looked at him.
He stepped closer to Emma.
“She stays here.”
I almost snapped at him.
Then I saw his face.
Not control.
Not manipulation.
Fear.
“What do you know?”
He looked toward the prepaid phone.
“Margaret believed the tenth year mattered.”
“Why?”
“She said that was when neural synchronization stabilized.”
“You’re speaking nonsense.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“What happens at ten?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve said that enough.”
He closed his eyes.
“She said once they turned ten, the girls couldn’t be safely separated after convergence started.”
I stared at him.
“Separated from what?”
“Each other.”
Emma went still.
“So that note—”
THEY MUST NEVER BE TOGETHER AFTER AGE TEN.
Michael shook his head.
“I think we misunderstood it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe it wasn’t a warning to keep them apart.”
My stomach sank.
“Maybe it was a warning that once they met…”
He looked at Emma.
“…they could never be separated again.”
The room went silent.
Then Emma whispered, “I can hear her.”
Every adult froze.
“What?”
I knelt in front of her.
“Who?”
“Grace.”
My heart pounded.
“Where?”
Emma touched her temple.
“Here.”
Dr. Patel moved closer.
“What is she saying?”
Emma squeezed her eyes shut.
“She’s scared.”
“Can you hear words?”
Emma nodded.
“Sometimes.”
“What words?”
She began crying.
“Don’t come alone.”
I looked at Michael.
Then at the phone.
The message had said the opposite.
Come before midnight.
“Anything else?”
Emma gasped.
Her eyes flew open.
“Lily.”
“What about Lily?”
“She’s awake.”
“And?”
Emma looked toward the closed window blinds.
“She says the fourth girl’s name is Nora.”
Nora.
The girl in the photograph.
The one connected to the third monitor.
“What else?”
Emma’s face changed.
Pure confusion.
Then horror.
“She says Nora knows you.”
I stood.
“How?”
Emma’s voice dropped.
“She says you’ve met before.”
Impossible.
I had never seen that child.
At least I didn’t think I had.
“When?”
Emma whispered, “When you were ten.”
I couldn’t breathe.
The room around me blurred.
Ten years old.
I searched my memory.
Fourth grade.
Mrs. Adler’s class.
A yellow bicycle.
My mother cutting my bangs too short.
A field trip to the science museum.
And something else.
A girl.
A girl in a hospital gown.
I staggered backward.
Michael caught my arm.
I pulled away.
“No.”
A memory had surfaced so suddenly it hurt.
I was ten.
Sitting in a white room.
A girl sat opposite me behind glass.
She had my face.
I had always believed it was a dream.
A recurring nightmare from childhood.
The girl had raised her hand.
I had raised mine.
She had whispered something through the glass.
I couldn’t hear it.
Then a woman entered.
White hair.
Pearl earrings.
Margaret.
No.
Margaret would have been younger then.
Dark hair.
Same eyes.
She had placed a mask over my face.
“Sarah?”
Michael’s voice sounded far away.
I grabbed the chair.
“I remember.”
“What?”
“I’ve been in Blackwood.”
Detective Kim went silent on the phone.
“When?”
“When I was ten.”
Emma stared at me.
I looked at her.
And suddenly her symptoms felt terrifyingly familiar.
The headaches.
The fatigue.
The memory gaps.
Because I had had them too.
At ten.
For months.
My mother had said I was growing.
I had forgotten.
Or someone had made me forget.
The prepaid phone buzzed again.
A new video.
This time Margaret appeared.
Alive.
Calm.
Older.
She sat in front of a camera.
“Sarah, if you’re seeing this, your memory has begun returning.”
My hands shook.
“Your mother tried to remove you from the program.”
I stopped breathing.
“She failed.”
Michael whispered, “Oh God.”
Margaret continued.
“Elaine loved you. That was never in question.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“But she was not your biological mother.”
I already knew that now.
“She carried you because Evelyn Blackwood could not.”
The screen shifted.
An old photograph appeared.
A young woman in a lab coat.
Dr. Evelyn Blackwood.
I stared.
She looked like me.
Not vaguely.
Exactly.
Same eyes.
Same mouth.
Same chin.
Margaret’s voice continued.
“Evelyn did not create one embryo.”
A diagram appeared.
“Or two.”
Another.
“She created eight.”
My stomach turned.
Eight.
“She believed genetic duplication could preserve consciousness across generations.”
I whispered, “That’s impossible.”
Margaret smiled sadly at the camera.
“I thought so too.”
Images flashed.
Infants.
Children.
Dates.
Code names.
SUBJECT ZERO.
SUBJECT ONE.
SUBJECT TWO.
SUBJECT THREE.
I stopped the video.
“No.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Detective Kim said, “Sarah?”
I pressed play again.
Margaret continued.
“You were the first surviving birth.”
Subject Zero.
Me.
“The others followed.”
Photographs appeared.
Girls at different ages.
Some resembled me.
Some were identical.
Some had dates crossed out.
My stomach twisted.
“How many survived?” I whispered.
Margaret answered as if she could hear me.
“Five.”
I froze.
Five.
Not four.
Five.
I looked at Emma.
She stared back.
Margaret continued.
“You.”
A photograph of me.
“Emma.”
My daughter.
“Grace.”
Rebecca’s daughter.
“Lily.”
Natalie’s adopted daughter.
“And Nora.”
The fourth girl.
Five.
The number hit me differently now.
Because I wasn’t outside the group.
I was part of it.
Not their mother.
Not exactly.
Not genetically in the ordinary sense.
Their predecessor.
Their template.
The video continued.
“Michael was told the girls were created from Sarah and his genetic material.”
I turned toward him.
He looked destroyed.
“That was false.”
Margaret said.
“They were created from preserved material derived from Subject Zero.”
My stomach dropped.
“Derived from me?”
Detective Kim whispered, “Oh my God.”
Margaret continued.
“The girls are not Sarah’s daughters in the conventional genetic sense.”
Emma began crying.
I stopped the video.
“That’s enough.”
“No.”
Emma grabbed my wrist.
“I want to know.”
“Sweetheart—”
“I want to know.”
I looked into her face.
My face.
Maybe not because she inherited it from me.
Maybe because she was built from the same source.
I pressed play.
“They are genomic replications modified at different developmental stages.”
Michael sat down.
The meaning slowly settled over all of us.
Not twins.
Not sisters.
Not clones in the simple science-fiction sense.
Something stranger.
Variations from the same biological blueprint.
Margaret spoke again.
“And Sarah was not the first design.”
My heart stopped.
The screen changed.
An old black-and-white photograph.
Five women standing outside a research building.
One face had been circled.
Dr. Evelyn Blackwood.
Beneath it:
SUBJECT ORIGIN.
I stared.
Evelyn had not created herself.
Someone else had created her.
The chain went further back.
Margaret continued.
“The Blackwood project did not begin in 1986.”
The next date appeared.
1954.
I felt sick.
“It began with Evelyn’s mother.”
Another photograph.
A woman standing beside military researchers.
I knew that face.
Not from memory.
From a photograph that had hung in my mother’s hallway my entire childhood.
My supposed grandmother.
Helen Mercer.
I whispered, “No.”
Margaret said:
“Elaine was told Helen was her mother.”
My mind fractured.
“But Helen was not related to Elaine.”
Another lie.
Another switched identity.
Margaret continued.
“She was Evelyn Blackwood’s first successful genetic source.”
My phone slipped in my hand.
This wasn’t a family tree.
It was a chain.
People carrying other people.
Children raised under false names.
Generations of women who did not know where they came from.
Margaret looked directly into the camera.
“Sarah, this is why I disappeared.”
Michael whispered, “Mom…”
“I learned Evelyn was still alive.”
The room went silent.
What?
Margaret continued.
“She is ninety-four years old.”
My blood froze.
“Still directing the program.”
Dr. Evelyn Blackwood.
My genetic source.
Alive.
Then Margaret said the sentence that changed everything again.
“And she has been waiting for the five of you to be together.”
The screen went black.
Immediately, Detective Kim shouted through my phone.
“Sarah, we found movement below us.”
“What?”
“Elevator’s coming up.”
Police voices erupted.
Weapons drawn.
Commands.
“Rachel?”
“Stay on the line.”
The elevator doors opened somewhere deep beneath Blackwood.
I heard officers shouting.
“Hands!”
“Show me your hands!”
“Don’t move!”
Then silence.
A woman spoke.
Old.
Weak.
Calm.
“You’re looking for Margaret.”
Detective Kim said, “Who are you?”
The woman answered.
“Evelyn Blackwood.”
My entire body went cold.
She was alive.
The founder.
The origin.
The woman connected to my DNA.
Detective Kim said, “Where are the girls?”
Evelyn laughed softly.
“With Margaret.”
“Where?”
“You won’t find them.”
“Then why did you come up?”
“Because I wanted to meet Sarah.”
I gripped the phone.
Detective Kim said, “She’s listening.”
Silence.
Then Evelyn spoke directly to me.
“Hello, Sarah.”
Her voice was thin.
But something about it made every hair on my arms rise.
“Where are the children?”
“Which children?”
“Emma, Grace, Lily, Nora.”
“Emma is with you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Margaret believes she is saving them.”
“From you?”
“From what happens next.”
My heart pounded.
“What happens next?”
Evelyn said, “Ask Emma what she remembers about tomorrow.”
I looked at my daughter.
“What does that mean?”
Emma suddenly grabbed her head.
“Mom.”
Dr. Patel rushed toward her.
“What hurts?”
“My head.”
Her monitor accelerated.
“Emma?”
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Then she started speaking.
Not to me.
To someone who wasn’t in the room.
“Grace?”
My blood chilled.
Emma whispered, “No.”
Then louder:
“Don’t open it.”
I held her shoulders.
“What is she saying?”
Emma started crying.
“She found a door.”
“Where?”
“Under the clinic.”
Detective Kim heard.
“We’re below the clinic.”
Emma shook her head violently.
“No.”
“Not where the police are.”
She gasped.
“Lower.”
Detective Kim started issuing orders.
Emma screamed.
“GRACE, DON’T!”
Then she collapsed backward.
The monitor alarmed.
Dr. Patel moved.
“Emma!”
I grabbed her hand.
“Sweetheart!”
Her eyes opened.
But something was wrong.
She stared at me without recognition.
“Emma?”
Her lips moved.
“Sarah.”
My blood froze.
She had never called me Sarah.
“Who are you?”
She looked confused.
Then whispered:
“I’m Nora.”
Every person in the room stopped.
Michael stumbled backward.
“No.”
I stared at my daughter’s face.
“Emma?”
She shook her head.
“I’m not Emma.”
Dr. Patel looked at the monitor.
“What the hell is happening?”
Then Emma—or whoever believed she was Nora—looked toward the door.
“She found the fifth room.”
“Who?”
“Grace.”
“What fifth room?”
“The one where they kept Sarah.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“When?”
“Before she was Sarah.”
The lights flickered.
Then the hospital went dark.
Emergency power kicked in seconds later.
But during those seconds, the prepaid phone rang.
I answered.
Margaret.
Her voice was shaking now.
For the first time, she sounded afraid.
“Sarah, listen carefully.”
“Where are the girls?”
“There’s no time.”
“You’ve had ten years!”
“Evelyn opened the lower lab.”
Detective Kim shouted from the phone, “We did not!”
Margaret ignored her.
“If Grace reaches the archive chamber, she’ll see everything.”
“Good.”
“No.”
Margaret’s voice broke.
“You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?”
“The girls were not made to copy you.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“What?”
“They were made to replace you.”
Silence.
Michael whispered, “Replace?”
Margaret continued.
“Evelyn believes memory can be transferred permanently once neurological synchronization reaches full convergence.”
Emma’s eyes widened.
“And when does that happen?”
Margaret answered:
“Tonight.”
I looked at the clock.
9:17 p.m.
“Why tonight?”
“Because Emma turned ten three weeks ago.”
My stomach dropped.
“And the others?”
“Within the same developmental window.”
“What happens at midnight?”
Margaret went silent.
“WHAT HAPPENS?”
“The strongest neural pattern becomes dominant.”
I stared at Emma.
“What does that mean?”
“It means one identity may overwrite the others.”
The room went silent.
No.
No.
No.
Emma had already said she was Nora.
“Can it be stopped?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Keep them apart.”
“But Michael said—”
“Michael misunderstood my warning.”
Michael closed his eyes.
The note.
THEY MUST NEVER BE TOGETHER AFTER AGE TEN.
It had meant exactly what it said.
Margaret continued.
“Evelyn brought Grace, Lily, and Nora together deliberately.”
“Why?”
“To trigger convergence.”
“And Emma?”
“She needs Emma to complete it.”
My daughter grabbed my hand.
Her voice returned to normal.
“Mom?”
Relief nearly knocked me over.
“Emma?”
She started crying.
“What happened?”
I hugged her.
“Nothing.”
Another lie.
Margaret whispered, “Sarah.”
“Yes?”
“There’s one more thing.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“You’re not immune.”
I froze.
“What?”
“You are part of the network.”
My childhood memory.
The mirrored girl.
The headaches.
Subject Zero.
“What happens to me?”
“If all five are connected…”
She stopped.
“What?”
“You may remember the original source.”
“Evelyn?”
“No.”
My blood chilled.
“Then who?”
Margaret whispered:
“The woman Evelyn was copied from.”
Before I could answer, Detective Kim shouted.
“We found the lower elevator!”
Metal screamed.
Officers moved.
Then gunfire.
Two shots.
Emma screamed.
“Rachel!”
Static.
“Rachel!”
Nothing.
Then Detective Kim came back, breathing hard.
“We’re okay.”
“What happened?”
“Someone fired from below.”
“Who?”
“We don’t know.”
Then an officer shouted:
“Detective, we’ve got a child!”
My heart stopped.
“Which one?”
Detective Kim ran.
I heard footsteps.
Then:
“Hey, sweetheart, don’t move.”
A girl was crying.
“Rachel?”
“She looks like Emma.”
“Which one?”
Detective Kim asked the child.
“What’s your name?”
Silence.
Then the girl whispered:
“Nora.”
Emma went rigid beside me.
“No.”
“What?”
“She’s not Nora.”
I looked at her.
“How do you know?”
Emma touched her temple.
“Nora is still downstairs.”
My blood froze.
“Then who did police find?”
Emma closed her eyes.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“That’s Grace.”
Detective Kim said, “The girl says she’s Nora.”
Emma shook her head.
“She doesn’t know who she is anymore.”
The convergence had started.
Detective Kim swore under her breath.
Then another officer shouted:
“We found another one!”
“Alive?”
“Yes!”
“Name?”
The girl screamed.
Not words.
Just terror.
Emma whispered, “Lily.”
Then her face changed again.
She looked at me.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“There’s somebody behind Grace.”
Detective Kim turned.
I heard her shout.
“Stop!”
Footsteps.
A struggle.
Then an old woman’s voice.
Margaret.
“Don’t shoot!”
Detective Kim yelled, “Hands where I can see them!”
Margaret shouted back:
“She’s already started the transfer!”
“Where’s Evelyn?”
“She’s using you!”
“What?”
“The woman upstairs isn’t Evelyn!”
Everything stopped.
Detective Kim said slowly:
“What did you say?”
Margaret screamed:
“Evelyn Blackwood died twenty years ago!”
My chest went hollow.
Then who had police arrested?
The ninety-four-year-old woman upstairs smiled.
I could hear it in her voice when she spoke through Detective Kim’s open line.
“Margaret always was sentimental.”
Michael went white.
He whispered:
“No.”
I turned.
“You know that voice.”
He backed into the wall.
“Michael.”
He shook his head.
“Who is she?”
His lips trembled.
“My mother.”
I stared at him.
“Margaret is downstairs.”
He looked at me.
“No.”
Tears filled his eyes.
“The woman upstairs is my real mother.”
“Then who is Margaret?”
Michael could barely speak.
“My aunt.”
The room spun.
Another identity.
Another replacement.
Another woman raised under the wrong name.
The elderly woman upstairs laughed softly.
Then said:
“Now you understand, Sarah.”
Detective Kim snapped, “Understand what?”
The woman answered:
“Blackwood never needed clones.”
A pause.
“We needed families willing to believe whatever name we gave them.”
Then the hospital monitor beside Emma began beeping in perfect rhythm with a sound coming through Detective Kim’s phone.
One beep.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Five heart rates.
Synchronizing.
Emma screamed.
I grabbed her.
“Emma!”
Her body went rigid.
And then she looked directly at me.
Her voice was not a child’s anymore.
It was older.
Familiar.
Impossible.
“Sarah.”
My blood froze.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it in my dreams since childhood.
The girl behind the glass.
Except now I finally remembered what she had whispered to me when we were ten.
Not help me.
Not who are you.
She had said:
“You’re the copy.”
And now Emma smiled through tears and repeated the same words.
“Sarah, you were never Subject Zero.”
The prepaid phone lit up.
A hidden file unlocked automatically.
One photograph filled the screen.
Two ten-year-old girls behind glass.
One was me.
The other looked exactly like me.
Beneath the photograph:
SUBJECT ZERO — DECEASED 1996
SUBJECT ONE — SARAH MERCER
I stopped breathing.
1996.
The year I was ten.
The year I remembered the white room.
The year the other girl disappeared from my nightmares.
The real Subject Zero had died.
And I had been living her life ever since.
END OF PART 4
