Chapter 15 - The Woman in the Recording
The voice sounded calm.
Almost kind.
That frightened me more than shouting would have.
“Who are you?”
No answer.
Dad pulled his weapon.
The doctor moved behind the security console.
“Emergency power is down.”
Dad looked at Daniel.
“Get the doors open.”
Daniel was already working.
Ethan stood beside me.
Noah was asleep in the carrier.
The intercom crackled.
“You've spent your whole life asking the wrong question, Camila.”
I stared at the speaker.
“What question?”
“Who are my parents?”
Dad's face tightened.
The voice continued.
“The better question is: why were you selected?”
I felt cold.
“Selected for what?”
The speaker went silent.
Then a different sound played.
A recording.
A child's voice.
My voice.
“Daddy?”
Dad staggered backward.
The recording continued.
“I don't like this place.”
My breath caught.
Another voice.
A woman.
“It's only for a little while.”
I knew that voice.
I didn't know how.
I knew it.
Mom.
My supposed mother.
“Why can't I go home?”
“Because your father wants you safe.”
“Is Daddy coming?”
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
The recording ended.
I stared at Dad.
“You said she was dead.”
“She was.”
“You said she was killed.”
“She was.”
“Then why is there a recording?”
“Camila, I don't know.”
The intercom clicked.
“That part is true.”
Everyone looked up.
The voice continued.
“Your mother died trying to get you out.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“Stop.”
“You never told her the truth, Michael.”
Dad's expression changed.
“Who are you?”
The answer came softly.
“You know me.”
A door at the end of the room unlocked.
Nobody moved.
Then a projector turned on.
The wall filled with an image.
A woman.
Dark hair.
The same eyes I had seen in old family photographs.
My mother.
Alive.
Older than I remembered.
Standing in a room filled with children.
Behind her was the C-12 symbol.
I walked toward the screen.
“Mom?”
Dad whispered, “That's not possible.”
The woman looked directly at the camera.
“This is for Camila.”
My heart stopped.
“If you're seeing this, then Michael has finally failed to keep you away from the program.”
Dad's face went white.
The recording continued.
“I need you to understand something.”
The woman took a breath.
“You were never placed into C-12 because you were dangerous.”
She looked directly at the camera.
“You were placed there because someone believed you were valuable.”
The video cut.
A document appeared.
Genetic Compatibility Assessment.
My name.
My birth date.
A list of markers.
One sentence was highlighted.
SUBJECT DEMONSTRATES INHERITED TRAIT REQUIRED FOR PROJECT CARTER.
I felt sick.
“What is Project Carter?”
Dad shook his head.
“I don't know.”
The woman appeared again.
“Michael thinks the program ended.”
She looked frightened.
“It didn't.”
“Then who continued it?”
Another person entered the frame.
Richard Vale.
Young.
Healthy.
Standing beside my mother.
Dad whispered, “Vale.”
My mother turned toward him.
“You promised the children would be released.”
Richard smiled.
“They will.”
“When?”
“When the project is complete.”
My mother shook her head.
“They're not equipment.”
Vale's expression hardened.
“You knew what you signed.”
The recording ended.
I turned toward Dad.
“You signed.”
“I didn't know.”
“You did.”
“I was told it was a rescue program.”
“Your signature is on the transfer form.”
“I was injured.”
“That doesn't erase your signature.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“I know.”
The doors opened.
Daniel had finally restored partial power.
“We need to leave.”
Nobody moved.
Then Ethan spoke.
“Dad…”
Michael looked at him.
“What was Project Carter?”
“I don't know.”
Ethan looked at me.
“He does.”
I turned.
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw the expression on his face.”
Dad looked away.
I stepped closer.
“You know.”
“I remember pieces.”
“Then tell me the pieces.”
He closed his eyes.
“I remember a room.”
“What room?”
“Children.”
“How many?”
“Dozens.”
I felt my breath catch.
“Children like me?”
“Yes.”
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
“Were you supposed to take me?”
“I was supposed to move all of them.”
I stared.
“You were the person who transported children in this program?”
He nodded.
“I thought it was a protective operation.”
“Who ordered it?”
“Vale.”
“Who funded it?”
“I don't know.”
“Who was Voss?”
Dad's expression changed.
“Voss wasn't his name.”
“Then what was it?”
“He was one of the project administrators.”
“What was his real name?”
Dad looked at me.
“Victor Sloan.”
The intercom crackled again.
“Close.”
Dad looked toward the speaker.
The voice laughed.
“Michael, you still have so much to remember.”
Then another image appeared.
A birth certificate.
Mine.
But the father listed on it wasn't Michael Moretti.
It was another name.
Edward Carter.
I stared.
“What?”
Dad's face went completely blank.
“No.”
“You know that name.”
He didn't answer.
“Dad?”
He whispered:
“Edward Carter died before you were born.”
“Then why is he on my birth certificate?”
Dad didn't speak.
The lights flickered.
The screen changed one last time.
A photograph of a young woman.
Not my mother.
A woman I had never seen.
She stood beside Richard Vale.
In her arms was a baby.
The baby wore the same C-12 bracelet I'd seen in my childhood photograph.
The baby was me.
May you like
Underneath the photograph were four words.
THE OTHER MOTHER.
