Lily wasn’t just stealing. She was being trained, conditioned. And the next test, the next step in this macabre “Project Chrysalis,” was to get rid of me.
Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.
I froze in the middle of the room, surrounded by the thousands of faces of my daughter watching me from the walls.
“Hello?” a male voice called. Deep. Calm.
The neighbor from number 42 had returned.
I looked around for a hiding place, but this room had no bed, no wardrobe. Just the desk and the accusing walls.
The footsteps were approaching down the hall. Slow. Methodical. He knew someone had broken in. He’d seen the window, or the forced door to the office.
There was no way out.
I gripped the screwdriver so tightly my knuckles turned white. If this man wanted to eliminate me, I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
The figure appeared in the doorway. It was a man in his fifties, with metal-framed glasses and an unassuming appearance. The kind of man you’d forget five seconds after seeing him. But his eyes… his eyes were two black wells, devoid of any human emotion.
He looked at me. He looked at the screwdriver in my hand. And then he smiled, a sad, tired smile.
“Mrs. Carter,” she said gently, “you’re earlier than expected. I was hoping Lily would handle this before you had to see… the background.”
“What have you done to my daughter?” I growled, raising the screwdriver like a dagger.
He sighed and adjusted his glasses.
—I haven’t done anything to him, Olivia. I’m just documenting the process. I’m not the creator. I’m the observer.
—Observer of what? Get away!
The man took a step inside, partially closing the door behind him.
—From evolution. Your daughter is special. Very special. She has an innate capacity for moral dissociation that we haven’t seen in decades. She’s perfect for the show.
“It’s a girl!” I shouted.
“She was a child,” he corrected. “Now she’s an asset. And I’m afraid you’ve become a liability.”
He put his hand in his jacket pocket.
I didn’t wait to see what he’d pull out. I lunged at him with a scream of pure desperation, driving the screwdriver into his shoulder.
The man moved with unnatural speed, dodging the blow and grabbing my wrist with steely strength. He twisted my arm, and the screwdriver fell to the floor. He shoved me against the desk, making me crash into the map and the notes about my own death.
“I don’t want to hurt her, Olivia,” he said, immobilizing me. “I really don’t. Lily’s supposed to do it. It’s part of her graduation. If I do it, it’ll invalidate the data.”
“He’s crazy!” I gasped, struggling uselessly against his grip.
—Perhaps. But look at the photos. Look at your daughter. Do you see fear in her eyes? Do you see remorse? No. She enjoys the power. We just gave her a channel to express it.
Suddenly, a loud crash of breaking glass came from the front of the house.
The man tensed, turning his head toward the hallway. His grip loosened for a split second.
“Police!” shouted a voice not far away, but it didn’t sound like the police. It sounded young. Forced.
The man from number 42 frowned. “What…?”
I took advantage of his confusion. I kneed him in the groin with all my might. He groaned and doubled over. I broke free, grabbed a heavy metal stapler from the desk, and smashed it against his temple.
He fell to the ground, stunned, bleeding.
I didn’t stay to check if she was unconscious. I ran out of the room and into the hallway.
There, in the living room, standing on the remains of the front window that she had just broken with a brick, was Lily.
But she wasn’t alone. Behind her were Leo, Sarah, and two other boys I didn’t know. They were all wearing ski goggles, but I recognized their clothes. And they were all carrying baseball bats, iron bars… and Lily, in the middle, was holding the gun I’d seen in the photo.
I stopped dead in my tracks at the end of the corridor.
Lily saw me. Her eyes widened behind the mask, which had been pulled up to her forehead. The gun was pointing vaguely at the ground, but her finger was close to the trigger.
“Mom?” she said. Her voice was that of a child again, full of confusion and real panic. “What are you doing here?”
Behind me, I heard the man from number 42 groan and try to get up.
“Lily…” I began, my voice breaking, raising my hands. “That man… he has photos. He says you…”
Lily looked over my shoulder, towards the office door where the man was appearing, with blood running down his face.
Lily’s expression changed in an instant. The confusion vanished. The girl disappeared. The coldness returned, more intense than ever.
He raised the gun. He didn’t point it at me. He pointed it over my shoulder, directly at the neighbor’s head.
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