Chapter 5: Emily’s Return

Derek’s eyes fill with tears. He swallows hard, voice trembling.

"R-really?"

His whole body shakes—a tangle of fear, hope, and disbelief.

I hold up a hand, stopping him. "So here’s what we do: we figure out which of these eight isn’t supposed to exist. That’s the key."

"But first, I need you to answer a question, Mr. Mason."

Derek gets a grip on himself, nodding, deadly serious. "Ask anything. I swear, everything I’ve said is true. No secrets."

I study the hallway, the geometry of doors and angles.

"These people aren’t close, but they’re all here because of your wife, Emily Johnson. So—where is Emily Johnson?"

The silence stretches, thick as syrup.

Finally Derek speaks, voice hesitant. "Ms. Harper, you don’t know?"

I blink. "How would I know?"

He hesitates, then says, "I figured you’d sense the owner when you walked in."

Something clicks in my mind. My heart thuds. I blurt out, "Emily Johnson—the writer who made millions before she was twenty? Didn’t she—"

I catch myself, suddenly awkward. "Sorry."

Derek’s voice drops, heavy with grief. "Emily died three years ago."

An hour later, I sit in the first-floor study. Rain taps against the windows, and the room smells of fresh-ground coffee. Derek sits across from me, hands wrapped around his mug, staring into the middle distance.

"Everyone talks about the real and fake daughter, but both her birth and adoptive parents were poor. Emily started writing at sixteen, was famous by twenty. At twenty-one, her birth parents found her—said she’d been switched at birth. She longed for family, so she bought this place, let both sets of parents and her switched sister move in."

"I met her at a charity drive. She hid who she was at first. We fell in love like regular people. I’ve never met anyone so empathetic. She’d cry over stories on the news, lose sleep over other people’s problems."

"My sister Nora and I were orphans, scraping by on scholarships. Emily helped us get through college—never let us feel like charity cases."

"She did charity work in the Appalachians, met Taylor Young—just a kid with talent but no options. She brought him here, mentored him, gave him a shot at a real life."

He falls silent, eyes rimmed red. I sit, letting the weight of his grief fill the room, letting it settle into my bones.

Thunder cracks outside, rattling the windowpanes. After a long pause, Derek whispers, "She was so good, maybe even Heaven wanted her back. Three years ago, on her twenty-ninth birthday, she died of a rare disease."

"I miss her. So much. Sometimes this whole bedroom thing—sometimes I almost wish it meant she’d come back. Even as a ghost, a spirit—just to see her again, I’d do anything."

For a second, I wonder what it’s like to have this many people under one roof, even if they all look ready to bolt. There’s a sharp ache in my chest—envy, longing, maybe both.

Lightning splits the sky, rain hammering the glass. I turn back to Derek, who’s clutching his head, lost in pain.

"Mr. Mason, have you considered that if Emily did come back this way, it could only mean one thing?"

He looks up, confusion cutting through his tears. "What?"

I say it slow, each word heavy as stone:

"It means she’s got a grievance—a pain so deep she’d risk her soul to return and settle the score."

Derek stares, heart in his eyes.

I exhale, the air sharp with ozone and rain.

"And now, she’s already here."

Lightning flashes again, and for just a heartbeat, I swear I see a shadow flicker across the hallway mirror—one face too many, watching us both.