Chapter 10 - The House With No Mirrors
Elina stared at the photograph until the restaurant disappeared around her.
Lucia sat in what looked like a bedroom.
Bandage around her forehead.
Bruising near one temple.
Alive.
The date was unmistakable.
Three days after the crash.
D’Angelo stood beside her.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
Elina’s fingers tightened.
“It’s a photograph.”
“Could be fake.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
She called Adrian.
No answer.
Of course.
He was with federal investigators.
She called his attorney.
“Tell him it’s urgent.”
Two hours later, Adrian walked into Orelio.
He had not been arrested.
Yet.
Elina handed him the photograph.
His face lost color.
“No.”
“That’s what Frank said.”
He sat.
For almost a minute, he touched the edge of the picture without speaking.
“Where?”
“Under table seven.”
“Who left it?”
“We don’t know.”
Adrian turned the photograph over.
Then froze.
“What?”
“I recognize the room.”
Elina leaned closer.
“How?”
“The wallpaper.”
It was pale with tiny blue flowers.
“My grandmother owned a house north of the city.”
“Moretti property?”
“Technically.”
“Who used it?”
“No one for years.”
“Does Carlo know it?”
“Yes.”
They drove there before sunset.
Federal agents had instructed Adrian not to leave the city.
He ignored them.
The house stood behind trees, forgotten and gray.
Inside, dust covered everything.
No mirrors.
Every bathroom mirror had been removed.
Every decorative mirror too.
“Why?” Elina asked.
Adrian didn’t answer.
Upstairs they found the room.
Same wallpaper.
Same bed frame.
Elina held up the photograph.
Exact match.
“She was here.”
Adrian looked sick.
They searched.
Inside a closet, Elina found hospital packaging.
Pain medication.
Gauze.
Six months old.
In a waste basket beneath newspapers, Adrian found a bracelet.
Lucia’s.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“She was alive.”
Elina didn’t know how to comfort him.
He had buried his wife believing she died instantly.
Now he knew she had survived.
For how long?
And what had happened afterward?
A noise downstairs.
Adrian drew a weapon.
“Stay.”
Elina ignored him.
They found an elderly woman standing near the kitchen.
She raised both hands.
“I’m not armed.”
“Who are you?” Adrian demanded.
“Margaret Shaw.”
Elina recognized the surname from nothing.
But Adrian did.
“You were a nurse.”
“Your grandmother’s.”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
Margaret looked at Elina.
Then began crying.
“I wondered when you’d come.”
They sat at the dusty table.
Margaret explained.
Three days after Lucia’s crash, Enzo arrived with an unconscious woman.
“He told me she had been injured and couldn’t go to a hospital.”
“Why did you help?” Adrian asked.
“I was afraid.”
“Did you know who she was?”
“Not at first.”
Lucia woke the next morning.
Confused.
She knew her name.
She knew Adrian.
She knew Leo.
“She begged me to call you.”
Adrian’s eyes closed.
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
“Enzo caught me.”
Margaret looked down.
“He took my phone.”
“Then?”
“Carlo came.”
Elina’s stomach tightened.
“What did he do?”
“He questioned her.”
“About the ledger?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell him?”
“No.”
“Did he hurt her?”
Margaret hesitated.
Adrian leaned forward.
“Tell me.”
“He threatened Leo.”
That was enough.
Lucia eventually told Carlo about some evidence.
Not all.
“She bought time.”
“For what?”
“To escape.”
Elina’s pulse accelerated.
“She escaped?”
Margaret nodded.
“Six days after the crash.”
Adrian stood.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“She left at night.”
“Was she injured?”
“Yes.”
“How badly?”
“She shouldn’t have been walking.”
“But she did.”
Margaret looked toward Elina.
“Before she left, she wrote something on the wall.”
“Where?”
Upstairs.
Behind peeling wallpaper, they found faint pencil marks.
E.V.
Beneath:
Orelio. Red wine. Seven.
Elina understood.
The clues.
Lucia had escaped and returned to the restaurant somehow.
“Did she make it?” Adrian whispered.
D’Angelo answered when they called.
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never saw her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Then D’Angelo went silent.
“What?”
“There was a fire behind Orelio five months ago.”
Elina remembered.
A homeless woman had been found unconscious near the alley.
She had survived and disappeared before police arrived.
D’Angelo continued.
“She had dark hair.”
Adrian was already moving.
They obtained hospital records through federal agents.
Jane Doe.
Female.
Late twenties.
Head trauma.
Possible memory impairment.
Discharged herself after two days.
No identification.
Security camera footage existed.
Elina watched.
A woman exited the hospital.
Thin.
Dark hair.
Walking with difficulty.
Her face turned toward the camera for one second.
Elina stopped breathing.
Lucia.
Adrian grabbed the table.
Alive.
Five months ago.
“What happened to her?” Elina whispered.
Investigators tracked the woman to a bus station.
Then nothing.
Until one transaction appeared.
A shelter in another state had used an emergency assistance card under the name Lucy Serrano.
Lucia’s adoptive surname.
Three months ago.
Adrian looked at Elina.
“She may still be alive.”
Hope was more painful than grief.
Because grief at least had an ending.
They contacted the shelter.
A worker answered.
“Yes, Lucy stayed here.”
“When?”
“About eleven weeks ago.”
“Where did she go?”
“She left with a woman who claimed to be family.”
Elina felt dread.
“What woman?”
“We have a security image.”
The photograph arrived.
Elina stared.
The woman beside Lucia was Rosa.
Her mother.
Elina’s hands went cold.
Rosa had known.
Again.
She had known Lucia survived.
May you like
And she had said nothing.
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