Chapter 3 - The Echoes of a Ghost
The heavy oak doors of Ethan’s private study clicked shut, locking the chaos of the mansion outside. The room was dimly lit by a crackling fireplace, smelling of leather and old paper.
Noah, exhausted by his own tears, had finally fallen asleep in Lauren’s arms. She sat rigidly on the edge of a velvet Chesterfield sofa, holding the boy as if letting him go would cause the world to end.
Ethan poured a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter, his hands still unsteady. He downed it in one swallow, then turned to face her.
“Tell me everything,” he demanded softly. “Where have you been for two years, Clara?”
Lauren swallowed hard, fresh tears pricking her eyes. “Mr. Caldwell, I swear to you, my name is Lauren. That’s what the hospital bracelet said when I woke up. Two years ago, I woke up in a charity ward in a small town upstate. I had traumatic brain injuries. I didn’t know my name, my age, or how I got there. The doctors said I was found washed up on the riverbank miles from here.”
Ethan felt the air leave his lungs. The riverbank. Clara’s car had been run off the cliff into the torrential rapids of the Blackwood River. The police had dredged the waters for weeks, finding only pieces of the car and her blood-stained coat. They had declared her dead.
“You have amnesia,” Ethan breathed, realizing the tragic depth of what had happened. He walked over to his mahogany desk, opened a locked drawer, and pulled out a silver-framed photograph. He knelt in front of Lauren and held it out to her.
Lauren looked down. The woman in the photo was radiant, wearing a white silk dress, laughing as a handsome Ethan spun her in the air. The woman had the exact same eyes, the exact same smile, and the exact same crescent scar above her brow.
A sharp, agonizing spike of pain shot through Lauren’s temples. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as fractured images flashed behind her eyelids: Rain hitting a windshield. The screech of tires. Falling into dark, freezing water. A woman in a red coat standing at the top of the cliff, watching her drown.
“Clara?!” Ethan dropped the frame, catching her shoulder as she swayed.
“My head,” she whimpered. “It hurts… the water… someone was watching me fall.”
Outside the study door, hidden in the shadows of the hallway, Vanessa stood listening. Her blood ran cold. The bitch was remembering.
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Vanessa pulled out her phone, her hands shaking as she dialed a blocked number. “Silas,” she hissed into the receiver. “We have a massive problem. The ghost just came back to life, and she’s starting to remember. We need to finish the job we started two years ago. Tonight.”
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