Chapter 12 - The Man Behind the Camera
We escaped through the surgical corridor because the main hallway had already been breached.
Reyes moved first.
Sarah stayed behind him.
I kept Emily between us.
The entire hospital had become a maze of red emergency lights, locked doors, and distant gunfire.
My daughter was limping.
I wanted to stop.
She refused.
“Keep moving.”
“You're hurt.”
“I know.”
“You need a doctor.”
“I need answers more.”
That was my daughter.
Stubborn.
Terrified.
Still moving.
We reached an underground parking level.
Reyes unlocked an unmarked SUV.
Before I got in, Sarah grabbed my arm.
“We need to go east.”
Reyes turned.
“No.”
“The old Hart property is west.”
“That property is compromised.”
Sarah stared at him.
“Exactly.”
Reyes's eyes narrowed.
“What do you know?”
“My father kept a facility beneath it.”
I froze.
“What?”
Sarah looked at me.
“The house wasn't the facility.”
“What was?”
“The basement.”
Reyes swore under his breath.
I got into the vehicle.
Emily climbed beside me.
Sarah sat in front.
Reyes drove.
For several minutes nobody spoke.
Then Emily broke the silence.
“Open the card.”
Reyes glanced at the rearview mirror.
“No internet.”
“I don't think it needs internet.”
I looked at the memory card.
“Do you have a reader?”
“Yes.”
He handed me a small encrypted laptop.
I inserted the card.
There were six folders.
SUBJECTS.
VICTORIA.
SARAH.
DAVID.
FATHER.
My pulse accelerated.
I opened VICTORIA.
There were hundreds of files.
Medical records.
School records.
Photographs.
Handwriting samples.
Voice recordings.
Psychological evaluations.
I opened one.
A child's voice played.
“What's your name?”
The girl answered.
“Victoria Hart.”
“What's your mother's name?”
“Marisol Hart.”
“What's your father's name?”
“Thomas Hart.”
I stopped breathing.
It was me.
I knew my childhood voice.
I'd heard recordings from old birthday tapes.
But this was different.
There was another question.
“Do you remember the fire?”
Silence.
The child answered.
“No.”
“Do you remember the other girl?”
“No.”
“What other girl?”
No answer.
The recording ended.
I looked at Sarah.
“What other girl?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
I opened the 1989 folder.
One video.
The date was September 14, 1989.
I clicked it.
A grainy security feed appeared.
A laboratory.
Men in white coats.
My father.
My mother.
And a little girl.
My blood froze.
The little girl was about six years old.
She looked exactly like me.
Not similar.
Exactly.
Emily leaned forward.
“That's you.”
I stared.
“No.”
Sarah whispered.
“That isn't you.”
I looked at her.
“How would you know?”
“Because I was shown that footage.”
“Then who is she?”
The video continued.
My father said something to a technician.
The audio was damaged.
My mother was crying.
Then a man walked into the frame.
General Vale.
Much younger.
I stared.
He looked into the camera.
“We cannot proceed.”
My father turned.
“We don't have a choice.”
Vale shook his head.
“The child isn't the asset.”
My father answered.
“She is the key.”
The footage cut.
My hands were cold.
Reyes leaned closer.
“Open Father.”
I did.
One file.
One audio recording.
My father's voice.
“If Victoria ever hears this, the system has failed.”
My throat tightened.
“I need you to understand something.”
Static.
“You were never created.”
I stopped.
Reyes looked at me.
The recording continued.
“You were selected.”
Static.
“We took the identity of a dead witness and placed it over you.”
My world tilted.
Emily grabbed my hand.
My father kept speaking.
“Victoria Hart died on September 14, 1989.”
I couldn't breathe.
“The girl you remember becoming is not the girl who died.”
Reyes stared at the screen.
My father continued.
“You are our daughter, but you were given Victoria Hart's identity because the people hunting our family were hunting her.”
I pressed a hand against my mouth.
Emily whispered, “Mom.”
“Keep listening.”
My father's voice broke.
“Your mother believes the identity can protect you permanently.”
A pause.
“I don't.”
The recording became softer.
“They will eventually discover that the girl they thought died in 1989 survived under another name.”
I looked at Sarah.
“What name?”
The recording answered before she could.
“Victoria was never the person.”
Static.
“Victoria was the identity.”
The recording ended.
I stared at the screen.
Reyes said nothing.
Emily was crying.
I wasn't.
I couldn't.
The world had become too strange for tears.
I opened another folder.
SARAH.
Inside were surgery photographs.
Training reports.
Behavioral evaluations.
A document with my father's signature.
AUTHORIZED SUBJECT: SARAH-03.
PURPOSE: SECONDARY VICTORIA REPRESENTATION.
I whispered, “He made her.”
Sarah turned.
“My father did.”
“But why?”
“Because your mother demanded a replacement.”
I looked at her.
“A replacement for me?”
Sarah nodded.
“After David discovered the project, your mother decided you were no longer controllable.”
My chest tightened.
“David discovered this?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did he marry me?”
Sarah looked away.
“He didn't know everything when he met you.”
My heart hurt.
“Did he love me?”
She finally looked at me.
“Yes.”
The answer came instantly.
“He loved you enough to die for you.”
Reyes suddenly grabbed the laptop.
“What?”
The screen changed.
A remote connection had opened.
A live video appeared.
David.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar across his cheek.
But alive.
He looked directly at me.
“Victoria.”
I couldn't speak.
Emily began sobbing.
“Dad?”
David's expression broke.
“Emily.”
She covered her mouth.
I stared.
“You're alive.”
“I know.”
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Who has you?”
“Nobody.”
I almost laughed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
He looked past the camera.
“They're listening.”
“Who?”
David lowered his voice.
“Your mother.”
My blood went cold.
“She is not the person you think she is.”
I stood.
“David, tell me the truth.”
His eyes filled with something that looked like grief.
“The worst thing I did was stay close to her.”
“Who?”
“Marisol.”
The screen suddenly distorted.
David looked over his shoulder.
His face changed.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Victoria.”
“Yes?”
“Do not trust the woman who says she made Sarah.”
“What?”
David looked into the camera.
“Sarah was not made by your father.”
The feed cut.
I looked at Sarah.
She was crying.
Reyes whispered, “Then who did?”
May you like
Sarah answered.
“Your mother.”
