Chapter 3 - The Photograph Behind the Wall
Pregnancy changed the rules of the house.
Anna was no longer allowed to climb stairs without supervision.
She could not prepare her own food.
She could not close the bathroom door.
Aaron installed a tracking application on the new phone he gave her, though it could only call him, Sylvia and emergency services.
The silver cup now appeared twice a day.
Sylvia called the new mixture prenatal support.
Anna learned to mimic swallowing.
She let some liquid slide down her throat because refusing entirely made Sylvia suspicious. The rest disappeared into towels, flowerpots and shampoo bottles.
She began having nightmares.
In them, she stood in a white room surrounded by women whose faces had been cut from photographs. Each woman held a baby wrapped in silver cloth.
When Anna reached for them, Sylvia whispered from behind her.
Only one child gets to leave.
At twelve weeks, Aaron drove Anna to a private imaging center.
The building had no visible name, only a silver emblem above the entrance: a circle divided by three vertical lines.
Anna recognized it.
The same emblem was engraved on the silver cup.
Inside, a receptionist greeted Sylvia as “Director Vale.”
Anna stopped walking.
“Director of what?”
Sylvia continued toward the elevator.
“A charitable foundation.”
“What does the foundation do?”
“Family research.”
Aaron pressed a hand against Anna’s back.
“Keep moving.”
On the third floor, a technician performed an ultrasound without introducing herself.
She did not allow Anna to see the monitor.
“Can I hear the heartbeat?” Anna asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
The technician looked at Sylvia.
Sylvia nodded once.
The machine remained silent.
After several minutes, the technician printed images and placed them inside a red folder.
“Development is within target range,” she said.
“Target?” Anna asked.
The technician ignored her.
Sylvia took the folder.
“Sex?”
“Too early to confirm.”
“Probability?”
“Sixty-eight percent male based on preliminary markers.”
Aaron exhaled.
Anna stared at him.
“You already tested the baby’s sex?”
“It’s harmless,” he said.
“You never asked me.”
“I don’t need permission to care about my child.”
Outside the imaging room, Anna noticed a photograph hanging crookedly near a storage door.
It showed Sylvia standing beside six pregnant women.
The photograph appeared to be at least twenty years old.
Each woman held the same silver cup.
One face had been scratched away.
Anna moved closer.
“Who are they?”
Sylvia immediately removed the photograph from the wall.
“Former volunteers.”
“For what?”
“A nutrition study.”
“Why was one face destroyed?”
Aaron gripped Anna’s arm.
“We’re leaving.”
As he pulled her away, the storage door shifted open.
Behind it was a narrow corridor lined with file cabinets.
At the end stood another framed photograph.
Anna saw only a portion before Sylvia slammed the door.
A young woman stood beside Sylvia.
The woman had Anna’s eyes.
That evening, Anna pretended to sleep until Aaron began snoring.
She slipped out of bed and entered Sylvia’s office.
The door had never been locked before.
Now it required a code.
Anna tried Aaron’s birthday.
Incorrect.
Sylvia’s birthday.
Incorrect.
Then she entered Julian’s date of death from the family Bible.
The lock turned green.
Inside, the room smelled of paper, dust and the bitter herbs from the silver cup.
Anna searched the desk.
Nothing.
She opened a cabinet and found boxes of medical files identified only by numbers.
AV-01.
AV-02.
AV-03.
AV-04.
The final box read AV-05: Anna Vale.
Before she could open it, headlights swept across the window.
Aaron’s car was in the driveway.
He had not been in bed.
Anna heard the front door open.
She returned the box, closed the cabinet and hurried toward the office door.
Footsteps approached.
There was no time to escape.
Anna slipped behind the heavy curtain.
Aaron entered with another man.
Through a narrow gap in the fabric, Anna saw the visitor’s face.
Dr. Malcolm Kessler.
The same physician who had declared her mother’s death an accident fifteen years earlier.
Aaron placed a red folder on the desk.
“The baby may be male.”
May you like
Dr. Kessler smiled.
“Then after all these years, we may finally have a viable replacement.”
