“Are you Rachel? »
I agreed.
She looked at me for a long time.
“You look very much like him. »
I didn’t answer.
“Where is she? »
The receptionist hesitated.
“She left about twenty minutes ago. »
“Party? »
“Yes. She finished her appointment, she got a call, and then she left the firm. His phone was almost unloaded. She asked us to call you if she didn’t come back. »
I felt my heart accelerate.
“Are you sure it was my sister? »
She looked down.
“I don’t know your sister. But the woman who was here looked so much like you that I thought you had already come this morning. »
Then she opened a drawer.
She pulled out a black phone.
I recognized him immediately.
It was exactly the same model that Clara had ten years earlier.
I took it in my hands.
The screen was lit.
Only one notification appeared.
Voice message — unknown number.
I looked at the receptionist.
“Can I listen to it? »
She nodded her head.
I supported.
A male voice was heard.
Calm.
Bass.
And strangely familiar.
“You should never have gone back there. »
The message stopped.
I stood still.
Then the phone vibrated.
A new message.
This time, there was only one sentence:
“Does Rachel know what really happened that night? »
My fingers became cold.
I walked out of the office with the phone in my hand.
For ten years, I accepted the official version.
Clara had left a party around 11 p.m.
She was driving alone.
The road was slippery.
She had lost control of her car.
The car had left the road.
She died before the rescue arrived.
An accident.
Simple.
