CHAPTER 7 — THE MEMORY THAT WASN'T MINE
The cassette sat between us.
Neither Dominic nor I touched it.
For almost a minute, the warehouse was completely silent.
Then I heard my own breathing.
Fast.
Shallow.
Unsteady.
My mother's blood was still on the floor.
Richard Whitmore was gone.
And the only thing he had left behind was a recording from my dead father.
I stared at the cassette.
“Play it.”
Dominic didn't move.
“Avery—”
“Play it.”
“You don't know what's on it.”
“I know.”
“That isn't what I mean.”
He looked at me.
“You've just been told that someone may have manipulated your memories.”
“I know.”
“You may hear something that changes everything.”
I swallowed.
“Everything has already changed.”
That was enough.
Dominic picked up the cassette.
We found an old player inside a security room.
He checked it first.
No wires.
No explosives.
Nothing unusual.
Then he inserted the tape.
Static filled the room.
My father's voice followed.
Older.
Weaker.
But unmistakably his.
“Avery.”
My fingers curled around the edge of the table.
“If you're hearing this, then I failed to protect you.”
I closed my eyes.
“No,” I whispered.
Dominic looked at me.
The recording continued.
“You will probably hate me.”
A pause.
“You may hate your mother.”
Another pause.
“And you may hate the Moretti family.”
Dominic's jaw tightened.
“But you cannot afford to hate blindly.”
The tape crackled.
“Because the person responsible for what happened to you is not the person you think.”
I opened my eyes.
My father continued.
“When you were seventeen, I discovered that someone had been accessing the Carter files.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“The files contained information about the Whitmore network.”
I listened.
“I realized they weren't looking for money.”
My father paused.
“They were looking for a witness.”
The room became colder.
“You.”
I stared at the machine.
“At seventeen, you saw something you were never supposed to see.”
My heart began pounding.
“What?”
The tape continued.
“You saw the murder.”
I stopped breathing.
Dominic looked at me.
“What murder?”
My father's voice answered before I could.
“The murder of the man who was supposed to become Dominic Moretti.”
Silence.
Dominic froze.
I looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
The tape continued.
“You were there when they took him.”
Dominic's face had gone completely still.
“Your father tried to stop them.”
My hands began shaking.
“The man who came home after that night was not the same man.”
Dominic slowly turned toward me.
“No.”
My father's voice continued.
“He looked like Dominic.”
My stomach dropped.
“He spoke like Dominic.”
Dominic whispered:
“Stop.”
But the tape didn't stop.
“He knew things only Dominic could know.”
Dominic's eyes hardened.
“But he wasn't my son.”
Silence.
I looked at Dominic.
He had gone pale.
“My father…”
The recording continued.
“Someone replaced him.”
I covered my mouth.
The tape clicked.
Then my father's voice became quieter.
“Avery, you were the only person who saw it happen.”
My memory flashed.
A dark room.
A boy.
Blood.
A man's hand over my mouth.
Someone screaming.
I grabbed my head.
“No.”
Dominic reached for me.
I stepped back.
“Don't.”
“Avery.”
“Don't touch me.”
My knees weakened.
I sat down.
The memories were coming.
Not one at a time.
All at once.
A hallway.
A red door.
A man's ring.
My father shouting.
My mother crying.
A young Dominic on the floor.
And another boy standing beside him.
Identical.
No.
Not identical.
Similar.
Enough to fool anyone who didn't know them intimately.
I gasped.
“I saw two.”
Dominic crouched in front of me.
“What?”
“Two boys.”
His face changed.
“You remember?”
“I think so.”
“Tell me.”
“One was bleeding.”
“Which one?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Avery.”
I looked into his eyes.
And suddenly another memory surfaced.
The boy on the floor looked at me.
His lips moved.
He whispered one word.
Run.
I began crying.
“I didn't run.”
Dominic's expression softened.
“What happened?”
“I tried to help him.”
“Then?”
“My father grabbed me.”
“What did he say?”
I closed my eyes.
“He said…”
The memory sharpened.
Don't look at the other one.
I opened my eyes.
“Why?”
Dominic didn't answer.
The tape continued.
“If you remember this, Avery, you will begin to question everything.”
My father's voice became faint.
“But remember one thing.”
A pause.
“Memory can be damaged.”
The tape hissed.
“But instinct cannot.”
The recording ended.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Dominic stood.
“My father had a twin.”
I stared at him.
“You never told me.”
“I didn't know.”
“Then who was the man everyone called Dominic?”
He looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“And where is your real father?”
“I don't know.”
I stood.
“Then we find out.”
He nodded.
But before we could move, a phone rang.
Not mine.
Not Dominic's.
My father's old phone.
I stared at it.
It had been inside the safe.
Impossible.
Dominic picked it up.
The screen showed one incoming call.
VANESSA WHITMORE.
He answered.
“Where are you?”
Her voice came through.
“Alive.”
“Where is your father?”
A pause.
“You already know.”
“No.”
“You will.”
Dominic's voice became colder.
“Where is Linda?”
Vanessa laughed.
“You still care about the wrong woman.”
My blood went cold.
“What does that mean?”
Vanessa spoke directly to me.
“Avery.”
I stepped closer.
“Where's my mother?”
“Safe.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“You're not ready.”
“Ready for what?”
Vanessa's voice softened.
“To remember.”
The call ended.
I looked at Dominic.
“She knows.”
“Yes.”
“She knows what happened to me.”
“Yes.”
“And she knows my mother.”
“Yes.”
I grabbed my jacket.
“Then we're finding her.”
Dominic nodded.
But before we left, I noticed something on the phone.
A message had arrived.
One line.
MIDNIGHT. ST. AGNES CHAPEL. COME ALONE.
I showed Dominic.
He immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“I'm going.”
“Not alone.”
“She asked for me.”
“That's exactly why you shouldn't go.”
I looked at him.
“Then come with me.”
“No.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because if she thinks I'm there, she won't show herself.”
I stared at the message.
“Then what do we do?”
He looked at me.
“You go.”
My stomach tightened.
“And you?”
“I'll be close.”
“How close?”
“Close enough.”
I nodded.
Then he handed me a small earpiece.
“Don't take it out.”
I put it in.
His fingers briefly touched my ear.
The contact lasted less than a second.
Still, something passed between us.
Fear.
Trust.
Something neither of us was ready to name.
“Come back,” he said.
I looked at him.
“That's an order?”
“No.”
“What is it?”
His voice dropped.
“A request.”
At midnight, St. Agnes Chapel was empty.
Rain hit the stained-glass windows.
I walked through the doors alone.
The chapel smelled of old wood and candle wax.
“Vanessa?”
Nothing.
I walked farther.
A figure appeared near the altar.
Not Vanessa.
My mother.
I stopped.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
Her face was bruised.
Her eyes were exhausted.
But she was alive.
I ran toward her.
She held up a hand.
“Don't.”
I stopped.
“Why?”
“Because we don't have much time.”
“Where have you been?”
“Running.”
“From who?”
“Everyone.”
“Mom…”
She looked at me.
“You remember the boys?”
My heart stopped.
“I remember two.”
She closed her eyes.
“Then it's beginning.”
“What happened that night?”
She whispered:
“You saw Dominic die.”
My body went cold.
“What?”
“The real Dominic.”
She looked toward the chapel doors.
“He was seventeen.”
My voice shook.
“Then who is the man outside?”
She stared at me.
“I don't know.”
A sound came from behind us.
Footsteps.
My mother grabbed my hand.
“We have to go.”
“Who is coming?”
“The man who replaced him.”
I froze.
“Who?”
My mother looked at me.
Then whispered:
“Matteo.”
The chapel doors slammed open.
A man stood in the entrance.
Matteo Moretti.
Dominic's uncle.
He smiled.
“Linda.”
My mother pulled me behind her.
Matteo looked at me.
“You've grown.”
I stared at him.
“You killed my father.”
He smiled.
“No.”
He took one step forward.
“Your father killed himself.”
I felt rage surge through me.
My mother whispered:
“Don't listen.”
Matteo laughed.
“Still protecting her after all these years.”
Then he looked at me.
“Ask your mother what happened after your father died.”
My mother shook her head.
“Avery, don't.”
Matteo smiled.
“Ask her who carried your unconscious body out of the Black Room.”
My mother's face collapsed.
I stared at her.
“Mom?”
She began crying.
Matteo continued.
“Ask her why she let everyone believe you had forgotten.”
My mother whispered:
“Because you weren't supposed to remember.”
Then the chapel windows shattered.
Gunfire erupted.
Matteo disappeared through a side door.
My mother fell.
I caught her.
“Mom!”
She looked at me.
“Run.”
I heard Dominic through the earpiece.
“Avery, get down!”
I dropped.
More shots.
Then silence.
Dominic entered the chapel.
He looked at my mother.
Then at me.
“What happened?”
I stared at him.
“Matteo knows.”
Dominic's face hardened.
“Knows what?”
I swallowed.
“Everything.”
Then my mother whispered:
“No.”
She looked directly at Dominic.
“He doesn't know everything.”
Dominic crouched beside her.
“What are you talking about?”
She reached for my hand.
“There was never one Dominic.”
I froze.
“There were three.”
And suddenly, somewhere deep inside my memory, a third face appeared.
A face I had completely forgotten.
A face that looked exactly like Dominic.
Except for the scar beneath his eye.
I looked at the man beside me.
May you like
Dominic had no scar.
My blood ran cold.
