Chapter 5 - The House That Remembered Everything
The old house door opened before I touched it.
A voice whispered from inside: "Emma, I've been waiting for you."
When I stepped into the Carter family house, I found my father's missing journal on the dusty table.
The last page contained one sentence written in his handwriting: "Never trust the man who says he saved you."
I suddenly realized my entire life had been built on a lie.
I stood outside the house for almost a minute.
I couldn't move.
The photograph on my phone showed the impossible.
My father.
Richard Carter.
Standing in front of the old family home.
Alive.
Waiting.
Every logical part of my mind told me it couldn't be true.
My father had died.
That was what everyone told me.
The newspapers.
The official records.
The people who attended the funeral.
The memories I had been given.
But now I understood something terrifying.
Memories could be created.
Records could be changed.
People could disappear.
And apparently, dead people could return.
Dominic stood behind me.
"Emma."
I didn't turn around.
"Did you know he was here?"
Silence.
That was becoming his answer to everything.
I finally looked at him.
"Did you know?"
His face showed pain.
"No."
I watched him carefully.
"You hesitated."
"I didn't know he was here."
"But you knew he could be."
Dominic didn't argue.
And that hurt.
Because every time I discovered another secret, I also discovered another reason not to trust him.
Victoria stepped closer.
"Emma, you shouldn't go inside alone."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
Her expression changed.
"Because if Richard wanted you to come here, there is a reason."
I laughed quietly.
"Everyone keeps saying that."
I looked between them.
"Everyone knows something except me."
Then I opened the door.
The house smelled exactly the same.
Old wood.
Dust.
A faint scent of my mother's perfume.
I stopped.
My mother's perfume.
A memory appeared.
A woman brushing my hair.
A woman's voice singing softly.
A hand holding mine.
Then it disappeared.
I grabbed the doorway.
Dominic noticed.
"Emma?"
"I remember this place."
Nobody spoke.
I stepped inside.
Every room felt familiar.
Not like a house I had visited.
Like a house I had lost.
The living room.
The staircase.
The old fireplace.
The small crack in the wall near the hallway.
I touched it.
A memory flashed again.
My younger self hiding something behind the wall.
Something important.
Something I was told never to show anyone.
I pulled my hand away.
"What is happening to me?"
Dominic looked at me.
"I don't know."
But this time, I believed him.
Because he looked just as confused.
We walked deeper into the house.
The furniture was covered with white sheets.
Everything looked abandoned.
But it didn't feel abandoned.
It felt like someone had been waiting.
At the end of the hallway was my father's office.
The door was locked.
Victoria stopped.
"That's strange."
"What?"
"Richard never locked this door."
Dominic looked at the handle.
"Someone did."
I stared at the lock.
"Can you open it?"
Dominic took out a small tool from his jacket.
I looked at him.
"You carry that around?"
He didn't smile.
"Not anymore."
The door opened.
Slowly.
Inside was darkness.
Dominic turned on the light.
The room was exactly as I remembered.
A large wooden desk.
Bookshelves.
Old photographs.
And a chair facing the window.
The chair where my father used to sit.
I walked toward the desk.
My fingers touched the surface.
Then I saw it.
A small mark carved into the wood.
A symbol.
A circle with a line through the middle.
My breathing stopped.
Because I knew that symbol.
I had seen it before.
On the necklace.
The necklace Dominic had asked about.
I touched my neck.
The necklace was still there.
Dominic noticed.
"Where did you get that?"
I looked at him.
"You gave it to me."
"No."
His answer came too quickly.
My heart dropped.
"What?"
"I didn't give you that necklace."
I stared at him.
"Yes, you did."
He shook his head.
"Emma, I never bought that necklace."
The room went silent.
"Then who did?"
Nobody answered.
I walked toward the desk.
A drawer was slightly open.
Inside was a notebook.
Old.
Black.
My father's handwriting was on the cover.
Richard Carter.
My hands shook as I opened it.
The first pages were normal.
Business notes.
Names.
Dates.
Then the entries changed.
The words became rushed.
Fearful.
October 14, 2019.
"She finally remembers pieces of the truth."
I froze.
The next line:
"Dominic still believes protecting her means controlling what she knows."
I looked up.
Dominic was watching me.
"Why is your name here?"
He stepped closer.
"I don't know."
I continued reading.
"Emma cannot know who caused the accident."
My heart started racing.
The accident.
The one everyone told me was random.
The one that destroyed my memory.
The one that changed my life.
Another page.
"Victoria knows the truth."
Another page.
"Richard Vale is coming."
Then the final entry.
The ink looked different.
Newer.
Written with a shaking hand.
"If Emma finds this journal, it means I failed."
I stopped breathing.
The next sentence was underlined.
"Dominic is not the enemy."
I looked at my husband.
For the first time in days, confusion replaced anger.
Then I read the final words.
"But he is not the man Emma thinks he is."
I closed the journal.
"What does that mean?"
Nobody answered.
Then we heard something.
A sound upstairs.
A floorboard.
Someone walking.
Dominic immediately moved in front of me.
A protective instinct.
The same instinct that had confused me from the beginning.
"Stay behind me."
I almost laughed.
"Still protecting me?"
His expression softened.
"Yes."
The footsteps continued.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Someone wanted us to know they were there.
Victoria whispered:
"Richard?"
No answer.
Dominic looked toward the staircase.
Then he reached for something inside his jacket.
A gun.
I stared.
"You brought a gun?"
His eyes remained on the stairs.
"I told you."
"What?"
"Your life was never as simple as you believed."
The footsteps stopped.
A shadow appeared on the wall.
Someone was standing at the top of the stairs.
I couldn't see the face.
But I saw the outline.
Tall.
Still.
Watching us.
Then the person slowly walked down.
One step.
Two steps.
Three.
My heart started racing.
Because even before I saw his face...
I knew him.
Not from memory.
From somewhere deeper.
Somewhere I had buried.
The person reached the bottom of the stairs.
Dominic whispered:
"Richard..."
My father looked directly at me.
Then he said:
"Emma, you need to know what Dominic did the night you lost your memory."
I turned toward Dominic.
His face changed.
Because my father wasn't accusing him.
He was warning me.
Then Richard pulled something from his pocket.
A small recording device.
He pressed one button.
May you like
And my own voice from six years ago filled the room...
"I know who tried to kill me."
