Chapter 3 - The Woman on the Camera
“No,” Charles whispered.
Evelyn gripped the desk.
“That isn't possible.”
Annie stared at the frozen face.
The woman resembled Catherine Whitmore closely enough that nobody in the room needed to ask who they thought they were seeing.
But Annie didn't believe in ghosts.
She believed in people.
And people lied.
“Play it again.”
Daniel obeyed.
The woman walked down the corridor at 2:13 a.m.
She wore a pale dress.
Her face remained visible for approximately four seconds.
Then she entered the service passage.
“Can footage be manipulated?” Annie asked.
Daniel looked offended.
“Anything can be manipulated.”
“Was this?”
“I'll check.”
Charles left without speaking.
Evelyn followed.
Margaret remained.
She looked sick.
“You knew Catherine,” Annie said.
“For twenty years.”
“Is that her?”
Margaret's eyes remained on the monitor.
“No.”
Annie turned.
Everyone else had believed it.
Margaret hadn't.
“How can you tell?”
“Mrs. Whitmore injured her left leg when she was young. She always walked with the slightest limp.”
They replayed the video.
The woman walked evenly.
Annie felt the first solid piece of truth click into place.
“Someone wants this family to believe Catherine is back.”
Margaret nodded.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
But Margaret was lying.
Annie could see it.
Later that evening, Charles announced that nobody would leave the property until security finished reviewing the incident.
Evelyn objected.
Charles refused to argue.
Dinner was tense.
Annie ate downstairs with the staff.
Lucy whispered about ghosts until Margaret told her to stop.
At nine, Annie was preparing to leave when Charles asked her to remain overnight.
“Why me?”
“Because whoever is doing this expected everyone in this house to behave predictably.”
“And I don't?”
“You've been here one day and you've already been fired, rehired, and accused my daughter of knowing more than she's saying.”
“That's fair.”
He offered her a guest room in the staff wing.
At 11:40 p.m., Annie heard footsteps.
She opened her door.
Evelyn stood in the corridor.
“You're following me,” Evelyn said.
“You're outside my room.”
Evelyn almost smiled.
Then she whispered, “Come with me.”
They entered the west wing.
The corridor ended at locked double doors.
“My mother's rooms.”
Evelyn produced a key.
“Father hasn't entered since she died.”
“You have?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“The night before the vase broke.”
Annie stared at her.
Evelyn unlocked the door.
Dust covered the furniture.
Portraits remained on the walls.
Catherine Whitmore smiled from photographs.
Annie immediately saw the resemblance.
Evelyn opened a wardrobe.
“Something was missing.”
“What?”
“My mother's white dress.”
The same kind of dress worn by the woman on the security camera.
Annie looked around.
“Who has a key?”
“My father. Margaret. Me.”
“Anyone else?”
“My mother's personal assistant had one.”
“Who?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Rebecca Vale.”
“Where is she?”
“Nobody knows.”
Rebecca had disappeared shortly after Catherine's death.
Police questioned her because she had been among the last people to see Catherine alive.
No charges were filed.
Then she vanished.
Annie searched the room carefully.
On Catherine's desk sat an old framed photograph.
Catherine.
Charles.
A younger Margaret.
And another woman.
“Rebecca?”
Evelyn nodded.
Annie studied her face.
It wasn't the woman from the camera.
Then she noticed something.
Rebecca wore a silver necklace.
The pendant was distinctive.
It matched the chain visible in the pocket of the disguised figure.
“Evelyn.”
She showed her.
Evelyn went pale.
“That necklace disappeared the night Mother died.”
“Whose was it?”
“Rebecca's.”
“Then whoever staged the vase wants us thinking about Rebecca too.”
Evelyn sank into a chair.
For the first time, Annie saw her cry.
Quietly.
No performance.
No anger.
“I spent thirteen years believing somebody killed my mother.”
Annie sat opposite her.
“And you've spent thirteen years punishing everybody around you for not believing you.”
Evelyn looked up sharply.
Annie didn't retreat.
“That's what you do, isn't it?”
“You don't know me.”
“No. But I know fear when I see it.”
Evelyn wiped her cheek.
“You're afraid all the time.”
The words landed.
Evelyn stared at her.
Annie continued.
“So you make everyone else afraid first.”
“I don't need a maid analyzing me.”
“Good. Because therapy costs more.”
A surprised laugh escaped Evelyn.
It was tiny.
But real.
Then a sound came from behind the wardrobe.
Both women froze.
A knock.
Three times.
From inside the wall.
Annie stood.
Evelyn whispered, “There's another passage.”
They moved the wardrobe.
A narrow door appeared.
Evelyn opened it.
Darkness.
Annie turned on her phone flashlight.
They entered.
The passage descended behind the walls.
After perhaps thirty feet, they found a small room.
Inside were photographs.
Hundreds.
Evelyn sleeping.
Charles working.
Margaret in the kitchen.
Employees entering and leaving.
And Annie.
A photograph of Annie arriving that morning had already been pinned to the wall.
Someone had written beneath it:
SHE DOESN'T BELONG HERE.
Evelyn stepped backward.
“This isn't about the vase.”
“No.”
Annie moved her flashlight.
A desk stood in the corner.
On it was a folder.
Evelyn opened it.
Inside were personnel records.
Every employee fired during the previous year.
Each name had been marked with a red X.
Except Margaret's.
Beside Margaret's name was one word.
NEXT.
Annie reached for the folder.
Then they heard the passage door close behind them.
Darkness swallowed the room.
May you like
A lock clicked.
And somewhere on the other side of the wall, someone began to laugh.
