CHAPTER 11 — UNDER THE HOUSE
I didn't touch the file.
I couldn't.
For eleven years, I had believed my father died protecting me.
Now a lawyer was standing in my doorway holding a folder with my name on it.
SUBJECT 17.
“What does that mean?”
Mercer looked at Rachel.
“She knows.”
Rachel looked away.
“Knows what?”
“She knows why your father brought you into this family.”
My stomach tightened.
“Rachel?”
She couldn't meet my eyes.
I opened the file.
The first page was an old photograph.
A group of children standing outside a large brick building.
They looked between six and ten years old.
I recognized one face.
Mine.
I dropped the photograph.
“No.”
Mercer stepped inside.
“You were seven.”
“What is this place?”
“Bennett Research Center.”
“My father owned it?”
“Yes.”
“What happened there?”
Mercer closed the door.
“Experiments.”
I stared at him.
“What kind?”
“Behavioral.”
“On children?”
“Yes.”
I felt sick.
“My father wouldn't.”
“He did.”
Rachel whispered,
“He wasn't always the man you thought he was.”
I flipped through the file.
Medical charts.
Psychological assessments.
Blood tests.
Photographs.
Every child had a number.
Mine was 17.
“Why was I there?”
Mercer answered quietly.
“Because your grandfather believed certain children had inherited traits that could predict behavior.”
I laughed.
“This is insane.”
“Your grandfather funded the program.”
“And my father?”
“He tried to shut it down.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“Robert discovered what his father had done.”
“And he ended it?”
“He tried.”
“What happened?”
Mercer looked at Rachel.
“That's when Evelyn became involved.”
I flipped another page.
There was a photograph of Evelyn standing beside my father.
A younger Evelyn.
Behind them was a hospital.
I read the caption.
PROJECT CROSS-BENNETT — PHASE III
“What does this have to do with Emma?”
Mercer didn't answer.
I looked at him.
“What does it have to do with my daughter?”
He sighed.
“Emma carries something your grandfather spent his life searching for.”
“What?”
“An inherited genetic marker.”
Rachel interrupted.
“That's why Daniel wants her.”
Mercer shook his head.
“Not exactly.”
I stared at him.
“Then why?”
“Because Emma is the only confirmed descendant who carries the marker.”
“What marker?”
“A genetic trait associated with extraordinary memory retention.”
I frowned.
“So?”
“Your grandfather believed people carrying the marker could remember events from extremely early childhood.”
I thought about Emma.
The things she'd told me.
The details.
The doghouse.
The dishes.
The dates.
The phone calls.
“She remembers.”
Mercer nodded.
“She remembers more than she should.”
I stared at Rachel.
“She knew about the notebook.”
“She saw it before.”
“What?”
Rachel looked down.
“When she was three.”
My chest tightened.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she started describing things she couldn't possibly remember.”
“What things?”
“The hospital.”
I froze.
“What hospital?”
“St. Mary's.”
Emma had been two when Sarah died.
She had never been old enough to remember her birth.
Yet she had described the nursery.
The lights.
The smell.
A woman crying.
A blue bracelet.
And a man taking another baby away.
I felt dizzy.
“Emma remembers the night she was born?”
Mercer nodded.
“She may.”
“Then why hasn't she told me?”
“Because someone trained her not to.”
“Who?”
Mercer looked at Rachel.
Rachel's eyes filled with tears.
“I did.”
I stared at her.
“You trained my daughter?”
“I taught her what to say if strangers asked questions.”
“Why?”
“Because people were looking for her.”
“And you thought lying to me was okay?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Rachel whispered,
“Because Sarah made me promise.”
I closed my eyes.
Sarah.
Every secret came back to her.
I opened the file again.
Near the bottom was a document titled:
PROJECT TERMINATION ORDER
Signed by Robert Bennett.
My father.
The date was eleven years ago.
Three weeks before his death.
I read the final paragraph.
All records relating to Subject 17 and the Cross-Bennett lineage must be destroyed.
My hands trembled.
My father had ordered the records destroyed.
But someone kept them.
Mercer nodded toward the file.
“Your father destroyed most of them.”
“Who kept this?”
“Daniel Cross.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted leverage.”
“Against whom?”
“Your father.”
“Why?”
Mercer looked at me.
“Your father knew Daniel had killed someone.”
The room went silent.
“Who?”
Mercer hesitated.
“Thomas Cross.”
Rachel gasped.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Daniel killed his own brother?”
Mercer nodded.
“Thomas discovered Daniel had continued the experiments after your father shut them down.”
I looked at Rachel.
“And my father knew?”
“Yes.”
“That's why he died.”
Mercer didn't answer.
I understood.
The highway accident hadn't been an accident.
My father had been killed.
Just like Sarah.
Just like perhaps Evelyn.
Just like anyone who got too close.
Then Emma screamed upstairs.
I ran.
Her bedroom door was open.
The window was open.
The bed was empty.
“EMMA!”
I searched the room.
Bathroom.
Closet.
Hallway.
Nothing.
My heart stopped.
Then I heard a tiny voice.
“Daddy?”
I turned.
Emma was standing behind the curtains.
I dropped to my knees.
“Emma!”
I pulled her into my arms.
She was shaking.
“Someone came.”
“Who?”
“A man.”
“What did he look like?”
She closed her eyes.
“He had a scar.”
My blood froze.
“Did he touch you?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
Emma whispered,
“He said he knows where Mommy is.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Your mother?”
Emma nodded.
“He said Mommy isn't dead.”
Rachel came running upstairs.
“What happened?”
I looked at her.
“Emma says Sarah is alive.”
Rachel froze.
Emma suddenly pointed toward the window.
“He left this.”
On the floor was a photograph.
Sarah.
Alive.
Standing beside Evelyn.
And behind them was a little girl.
I picked up the photograph.
The girl wasn't Emma.
She was older.
About five.
And on her wrist was a pink bracelet.
The same bracelet Emma had worn since birth.
I looked at my daughter.
Then at the photograph.
“Emma…”
She looked at me.
“Daddy?”
“Do you know her?”
Emma stared at the girl.
Her face went pale.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“That’s me.”
