WHITMORE CHILDREN
Mark opened it.
Empty.
“She's already taken it.”
A sound echoed from deeper inside the Archive.
A woman crying.
“Chloe?”
They ran.
They found her sitting on the floor.
Anna's diary lay beside her.
Blood covered Chloe's hands.
Mark rushed forward.
“Chloe!”
She looked up.
“Don't touch me.”
“Are you hurt?”
Chloe stared at the blood.
“It isn't mine.”
Eleanor looked around.
“Whose is it?”
Chloe pointed toward the darkness.
A man lay behind a row of cabinets.
Eleanor approached slowly.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Her legs nearly failed.
“Richard.”
She dropped beside him.
He was alive.
Barely.
Seventeen years of grief disappeared in one breath.
Richard opened his eyes.
“Ellie.”
Eleanor touched his face.
“You're alive.”
“I'm sorry.”
She wanted to strike him.
Embrace him.
Demand answers.
Instead she whispered:
“Who did this?”
Richard looked toward Chloe.
“She found me.”
Chloe shook her head.
“No. Tell them.”
Richard closed his eyes.
“Chloe—”
“Tell them what you told me!”
Mark stepped toward his wife.
“What?”
Chloe looked at him.
Tears streaked her face.
“Our marriage wasn't an accident.”
Mark froze.
“What does that mean?”
“They arranged it.”
“Who?”
“The Curator.”
Mark stared.
“Why?”
Chloe laughed through her tears.
“Because they needed me close to you.”
Eleanor's stomach tightened.
“For what?”
Chloe looked toward Richard.
“To find him.”
Anna suddenly whispered:
“Where's the diary?”
Everyone turned.
The diary was gone.
It had been beside Chloe seconds earlier.
Then the steel door slammed shut.
Locks engaged.
The Archive lights turned red.
A speaker crackled overhead.
A woman's voice filled the room.
“Welcome home, Eleanor.”
Eleanor slowly stood.
She knew that voice.
But she couldn't place it.
“Who are you?”
Soft laughter.
“You really don't remember me?”
A monitor flickered on.
A woman appeared.
Approximately Eleanor's age.
Elegant.
White hair.
Perfect posture.
A thin scar crossed her forehead.
Eleanor stared.
Then recognition hit.
“No.”
The woman smiled.
“Hello, sister.”
Mark looked at Eleanor.
“Sister?”
Eleanor couldn't breathe.
“My sister died when we were children.”
The woman leaned closer to the camera.
“That's what Father told you.”
Eleanor's childhood returned in fragments.
A lake.
Two girls.
Screaming.
Her father's bloodied shirt.
A funeral with an empty coffin.
Eleanor whispered:
“Margaret.”
The woman smiled.
“Finally.”
Richard tried to rise.
“Don't listen to her.”
Margaret's expression instantly hardened.
“You've lied enough, Richard.”
Screens throughout the Archive switched on.
Hundreds of them.
Each displayed photographs from Eleanor's life.
Her wedding.
Mark's childhood.
Richard's funeral.
The Grandview.
Her mansion.
Chloe.
Everything.
Margaret had been watching for decades.
“Why?” Eleanor whispered.
Margaret's smile disappeared.
“Because Father gave you everything.”
The screens changed.
A legal document appeared.
Eleanor moved closer.