Chapter 23
VANESSA BENNET'S POV
NEW ORLEANS
Nov 2024
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I hated this day.
The sky was overcast, a dull gray that matched my mood as we stood in front of my dad’s grave. The year since we lost him hadn’t softened the edges of the pain. If anything, the anniversary carved it deeper, reminding me of everything I’d lost. Dad had been my rock, my safe place in a world that didn’t seem to have room for someone like me.
I glanced at my mom, Claire, who stood stiffly at the headstone. She looked as polished as ever, her tailored black coat perfect against the wind. She wasn’t crying—she never cried. My little brother Joe stood between us, clutching my hand as though I might vanish like Dad had. He was only twelve, and I had to be strong for him.
“I miss you, Dad,” I whispered, kneeling to place the white lilies on the grave. They were his favorite flowers. Mom shifted uncomfortably, probably checking the time in her head. I knew she’d head back to the mayor’s office as soon as this was over. Work always came first for her.
Joe tugged at my hand, pulling me from my thoughts. “Can we go now?” he asked, his voice small.
“Yeah, buddy. Just a minute,” I replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
That’s when I heard it. A banging sound, faint but unmistakable. My head jerked up.
“Did you hear that?” I asked Joe.
He frowned and shook his head. “Hear what?”
“It sounded like…” I trailed off, listening harder. There it was again. A muffled thudding, followed by something that sounded like a cry for help. I turned to my mom, my heart starting to race.
“Mom, there’s someone in the tomb.”
She raised an eyebrow, her usual no-nonsense expression firmly in place. “Vanessa, don’t be ridiculous. No one’s in there. These graves haven’t been touched in centuries.”
“No, I’m serious,” I insisted, already moving toward the source of the sound. My family’s mausoleum stood at the edge of the cemetery, its stone facade weathered and cracked with age. The banging grew louder as I approached, my pulse quickening.
“Vanessa!” Mom called, exasperated. “It’s probably just your imagination.”
But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. “Mom, I’m telling you, someone’s in there!”
She sighed, but when she saw the determination on my face, she reluctantly followed. Joe trailed behind, wide-eyed. As we got closer, the sound became clearer—panicked thuds and a voice, hoarse and desperate.
“There!” I pointed at the oldest tomb, one that belonged to our great-great-great-grandmother. The stone door was sealed tight, the edges covered in moss and grime. “Someone’s trapped inside.”
Mom hesitated, clearly torn between disbelief and concern. Finally, she motioned to the cemetery’s security guard, who had been watching us from a distance.
“Open it,” she ordered.
The guard gave her a skeptical look but obeyed, pulling out a crowbar to pry the door open. It took several grunts and a lot of effort, but eventually, the stone shifted. The moment the gap was wide enough, I saw her.
A girl stumbled out, her movements sluggish and unsteady. She was a mess—her gray dress was torn and filthy, her skin streaked with dirt, and her wild black curls were matted. But it was her eyes that struck me the most—wide and filled with fear, like she didn’t know where she was or how she’d gotten here.
“Oh my God,” Mom whispered, rushing forward. “Are you okay? Who are you? How did you end up in there?”
The girl didn’t answer. She just looked at us, her expression dazed and disoriented. I stepped closer, ignoring the way her ragged appearance made my skin crawl.
“Here, let me help you,” I said gently, taking her arm. She flinched at first but let me guide her out of the tomb. Her body was trembling, and she looked like she might collapse at any moment.
“We need to get her to the hospital,” I said firmly. “Uncle Zack will know what to do.”
Mom nodded, still looking shaken. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
The car ride was tense. Joe sat quietly in the backseat, his eyes darting nervously toward the girl, who was sitting beside me. She hadn’t spoken a single word, and I couldn’t stop wondering who she was and how she had ended up in our family’s tomb. Had someone tried to kill her? Was this some sick ritual? The questions swirled in my mind, making me feel sick.
When we arrived at the hospital, Uncle Zack was waiting for us in the emergency room. He was my mom’s brother, a no-nonsense kind of guy with a calm demeanor that instantly put people at ease.
“Who’s this?” he asked, looking at the girl with concern.
“We found her in a tomb,” I explained quickly. “She seems confused, maybe traumatized. Can you help her?”
Uncle Zack nodded and guided her to an exam room. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
I stayed outside with Joe and Mom, pacing nervously. After what felt like an eternity, Uncle Zack came back out. His expression was grim.
“She’s severely dehydrated and malnourished, but she’s stable for now. I asked her some questions, but she doesn’t remember much. She doesn’t even know her name.”
“What?” I asked, stunned. “Nothing at all?”
He shook his head. “All she said was that she doesn’t know who she is or how she got here. The only clue we have is this.” He held up a delicate silver necklace with a pendant that read Elizabeth.
“Elizabeth,” I repeated softly. It suited her somehow, though the mystery of her identity only deepened.
“She’s probably in her early twenties,” Uncle Zack continued. “Too old for the foster system, and without any ID, it’ll be hard to track down her family.”
Mom sighed, her hands on her hips. “She can stay with us for now. At least until we figure out what to do.”
I blinked, surprised by her quick decision. Mom wasn’t exactly the nurturing type, but I was glad she hadn’t turned Elizabeth away. “I’ll stay with her tonight,” I offered. “Make sure she’s okay.”
Mom smiled faintly and put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Vanessa. If you hadn’t heard her…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “You saved her life.”
I nodded, but her words didn’t bring me any comfort. How had I heard her? The banging, the screams—no one else had noticed them until we were right on top of the tomb. It was like I’d felt her presence somehow, like an instinct I couldn’t explain.
As Mom left for the mayor’s office, I stood by the door of Elizabeth’s room, watching her through the small window. She looked so fragile, lying there with an IV in her arm, her face pale and drawn. A part of me wanted to believe that this was just a strange, tragic accident. But another part of me—a part I didn’t want to acknowledge—felt like there was something more to this. Something I didn’t understand yet.
When Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked at me, I saw a flicker of something—fear, confusion, and maybe even recognition. But when I stepped inside and asked her if she was okay, she just whispered the same question she’d asked Uncle Zack earlier.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in New Orleans,” I told her softly. “You’re safe now.”
Her brow furrowed, and she looked away, as if the name meant nothing to her.