Chapter 3 The House on Brookline Road

The day she left the hospital, the rain finally stopped. But the world outside still felt strange-like a dream she hadn't fully woken up from.

Mrs. Clarkson met her at the exit with a warm smile and a soft pink hoodie. "You ready, sweetheart?"

The girl nodded, gripping the handle of the small suitcase the hospital had provided. It was filled with things she didn't recognize-donated clothes, a toothbrush, a new journal.

Still no name.

No past.

No family.

Just a silver necklace, a warning note, and a boy named Eli who had vanished after their talk, leaving only more questions in his wake.

The car ride was quiet. The streets blurred past the window like a painting soaked in water. Trees bent under the weight of the storm's aftermath. People hurried along the sidewalks, umbrellas up, faces down.

"Your foster family lives just outside town," Mrs. Clarkson said, hands steady on the wheel. "Nice people. They've taken in kids before. You'll have a room, meals, a place to rest while we continue the search for your identity."

She nodded slowly. "Do they know I don't remember anything?"

"Yes. And they're fine with it."

"What if... someone dangerous is looking for me?"

Mrs. Clarkson hesitated, then offered a calm smile. "That's not something you should worry about. You're safe now."

But the look in her eyes-the way her hands tightened on the steering wheel-told a different story.

The house was white with faded blue shutters and a crooked mailbox that read Thatcher. It sat on a quiet stretch of Brookline Road, wrapped in trees that seemed too tall, too close.

A woman with curly red hair and a flannel shirt waved from the porch as they pulled up.

"Welcome!" she said brightly. "I'm Joanne. Come on in, let's get you settled."

The inside of the house smelled like cinnamon and old books. The living room was cluttered but warm-blankets thrown over couches, pictures of smiling kids on the walls, a cat curled up in the sun.

"This will be your room," Joanne said, pushing open a door upstairs.

It was small but cozy. A single bed. A dresser. A desk with a lamp. A window that looked out at the thick woods beyond the backyard.

The girl stepped inside, taking it in. Everything felt too quiet.

Too perfect.

That night, she couldn't sleep.

Every creak of the house made her flinch. The woods outside whispered through the trees like voices just out of reach.

At midnight, she reached under her pillow for the note again.

"Don't trust them. You weren't supposed to survive."

Her fingers trembled.

Suddenly, a soft knock came at her door.

She froze.

The knob turned slowly.

Joanne's face appeared, lit faintly by the hallway light. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just... thought you might want this."

She stepped in and handed over a framed photo.

"This was left with you at the hospital," she said. "We thought maybe it would help."

The girl looked down at the frame.

The photo was old-faded and a little warped at the edges. It showed two little girls, maybe ten years old, laughing at the edge of a lake.

One of them... looked like her.

Same eyes. Same hair. Same dimple on the left cheek when she smiled.

But it was the girl standing next to her that made her throat go dry.

Because she had seen that face before.

Not in a memory.

In the hospital hallway.

Talking to Dr. Meyers.

A teenage girl with jet-black hair and a cold, perfect smile.

"Do you know who she is?" the girl asked.

Joanne squinted. "No idea, sorry. Maybe a cousin? A friend?"

She nodded, pretending not to care. But inside, her mind raced.

She waited until Joanne left, then pulled the journal from her drawer. She opened to the first page and began to write:

Day One.

Someone left me for dead.

Someone else doesn't want me to remember why.

And now there's a girl from the photo at the hospital.

What do they know that I don't?

Then she drew a single star in the corner of the page, just like the one on her necklace.

A symbol of something.

She just didn't know what.

As she turned off the lamp, thunder rumbled in the distance.

And deep in the trees behind the house, a silhouette moved.

Watching.

Waiting.

She didn't see it.

But she felt it.

For the first time since waking up, she whispered something out loud.

"My name..."

She paused.

Still nothing.

But the girl in the photo-her friend? her enemy?-was out there.

And tomorrow, she'd find her.