Chapter 12 - SARAH'S CONFESSION
Nobody spoke.
Sarah stood at the bottom of the stairs with her hands trembling.
Detective Reed kept his weapon lowered but ready.
I couldn't take my eyes off my daughter.
“What did you do?”
Sarah looked at me.
“I was seventeen when Dad disappeared.”
“You were twenty-two.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“That's what they told you.”
My stomach turned.
“What are you saying?”
“Dad didn't disappear twelve years ago.”
She looked at Thomas.
“He disappeared twenty-one years ago.”
Thomas stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
Sarah nodded.
“I know.”
She walked toward the desk.
“He discovered the research program when I was seventeen.”
I remembered that year.
Sarah had suddenly become withdrawn.
She stopped talking to her father.
She started spending more time away from home.
I had thought it was teenage rebellion.
It wasn't.
“Dad asked me to help him.”
“With what?”
“Getting evidence.”
She opened a drawer.
Inside were old audio tapes.
“He recorded everything.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because they were watching you.”
“Who?”
Sarah looked at the photographs.
“The people who controlled the program.”
I shook my head.
“You've known all these years?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
My voice broke.
“You let me believe my husband died.”
Sarah started crying.
“Because they made me choose.”
“Choose what?”
“You or Dad.”
Silence.
“They told me if I helped Dad escape, they would kill you.”
I stared at her.
“What happened?”
“Dad escaped.”
“And?”
“They caught him.”
I felt dizzy.
“They kept him alive.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“But you said he disappeared twenty-one years ago.”
“He was moved from facility to facility.”
“Then why did they tell me he died?”
“Because they needed you to stop looking.”
I wiped my tears.
“And the body?”
Sarah looked away.
“It wasn't Dad.”
My entire world seemed to collapse.
The funeral.
The coffin.
The flowers.
The people who had hugged me.
The priest.
All of it had been built around a lie.
“Why did you let me bury a stranger?”
Sarah sobbed.
“Because I was seventeen.”
Her voice cracked.
“I was scared.”
I wanted to forgive her.
I wanted to hate her.
I couldn't do either.
Then Detective Reed asked:
“Why did you continue working with them?”
Sarah looked at him.
“I didn't.”
“Then explain the account in your mother's name.”
Her face went pale.
“They opened it without my knowledge.”
“Why does the file list you as the contingency?”
Sarah stared at the document.
“I've never seen that.”
Detective Reed picked up another folder.
“Then why did you visit the warehouse three days ago?”
Sarah froze.
“I didn't.”
“We have surveillance footage.”
She shook her head.
“That wasn't me.”
The detective showed her the image.
Sarah stared at it.
Then she whispered:
“She has my face.”
“What?”
Sarah stepped closer.
“She isn't me.”
I looked at the photograph.
The woman was Sarah.
Same hair.
Same height.
Same face.
But something was different.
A small scar.
Sarah had one on her left eyebrow.
The woman in the photograph didn't.
Detective Reed noticed it too.
“Someone is impersonating you.”
Sarah nodded.
“That's what they do.”
“Who?”
She looked at me.
“People who don't want witnesses.”
Then her eyes moved toward Mason's photograph.
“And now they're going to come for him.”
I hugged myself.
“Why?”
“Because Mason's genetic marker is different.”
“We know that.”
“No.”
Sarah shook her head.
“You don't understand.”
She opened another file.
“Mason isn't just carrying the mutation.”
She pointed to a chart.
“He inherited two separate markers.”
Thomas stared at the page.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the research program finally got what it wanted.”
“What?”
“A child who may naturally resist the disease they've been trying to treat for thirty years.”
I stared at my grandson's photograph.
“So they want him for research.”
Sarah shook her head.
“Worse.”
“They want his cells.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“Because they believe his cells can reverse the damage.”
“Then why hurt him?”
Sarah's expression hardened.
“They didn't mean to hurt him.”
I stared at her.
“Someone did.”
She nodded.
“Someone inside the program.”
“Who?”
Sarah looked toward Thomas.
“Your son knows him.”
Thomas stepped backward.
“No.”
May you like
Sarah whispered:
“Richard Kane.”
