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The Substitute
She took a semester-long substitute teaching job in a quiet coastal town. Then she met Milo — the silent nine-year-old who draws the same burning house every day, with the words SHE'S STILL IN THERE. As Nora digs into a twenty-year-old fire, she uncovers a truth about herself she's spent her whole life running from. A 20-chapter mystery with two twists you won't see coming.
Chapter 17 — Confrontation
“Hello, Nora,” Thomas Ashford said. “Or do you prefer Lena? You’ve been so confused about that.”
Nora positioned herself between Thomas and Milo, her mind racing. *Dead. He was supposed to be dead. Car accident, 2010, Nova Scotia.*
“You’re dead,” she said.
“Reports of my death,” Thomas smiled, “were convenient. A burned car, a borrowed corpse — a John Doe from a Halifax morgue. The Nova Scotia police were very cooperative. Very incurious. It helps to have money.”
“Where are Tom and Sarah?”
“Sedated. Upstairs. They’ll wake up with headaches.” He stepped closer. “I’m not here to hurt anyone, Nora. I’m here to finish something.”
“Stay back.”
“You don’t understand. I’ve been watching you — since you arrived in Greyport. I had to know. Were you her? Were you my Lena?” His eyes were bright, feverish. “And then the DNA test — Margaret told me. You’re Nora. The quiet one. The spare.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It’s what you were. Eleanor’s favorite was always Lena. The brave one. The special one. You were —” He shrugged. “You were extra.”
Milo made a small sound behind her. Nora’s hands clenched into fists.
“Where’s Lena?” she demanded. “Your daughter. The one you kidnapped. The one you kept in a house with no windows.”
Thomas’s face changed. “She’s dead.”
“She called me. An hour ago. She’s alive.”
“No.” Thomas shook his head. “No, she’s — she can’t be. I —” He stopped, confused. “She died. In 2010. The car. She was with me. She —”
“She wasn’t in the car, Thomas. You faked your death alone. Lena got away. She’s been living in Portland for years. She has a family.” Nora took a step forward. “You lost, Thomas. She’s free. We’re both free.”
“No!” Thomas lunged — not at Nora, but at Milo. He grabbed the boy, pulling him up from the chair. “You don’t understand. It was never supposed to be like this. The fire was supposed to — Eleanor was supposed to —” He was rambling, unraveling. “I loved them. I loved all of you. But the money — I needed the money — and Lena, she saw — she was always watching —”
“Let him go,” Nora said.
“She’s still in there!” Thomas screamed, and Nora realized — with horror — where Milo had gotten the words. Not from Eleanor. From Thomas. “Don’t you see? She’s still in the house! I left her! I left her in the fire!”
“Thomas —”
“I went back!” He was crying now, dragging Milo toward the stairs. “I went back for her, but the stairs were gone, and the firefighters held me, and she was screaming —”
“Which one, Thomas?” Nora shouted. “Which one was in the fire?”
He stopped. Stared at her.
“What?”
“There were two girls, Thomas. Twins. Lena and Nora. You took one and left one in the basement. Which one did you leave in the fire?”
Thomas’s face crumpled. “I don’t — I don’t know. They looked the same. I grabbed — I thought I grabbed Lena —”
“You grabbed me,” said a voice from the top of the stairs.
They all looked up.
A woman stood there — Nora’s face, Nora’s chin, but with a scar. The scar. Lena’s scar.
Lena Ashford. Alive. Real. Holding a fireplace poker like a weapon.
“Hello, Daddy,” she said.