What Was Left Behind

Chapter 3: Shadows Between the Pages

Maia sat at the small kitchen table, the early morning light barely piercing through the heavy gray clouds outside. The papers she had found at the psychiatric facility lay spread out in front of her like puzzle pieces waiting to be assembled. The words blurred as her tired eyes scanned them for the hundredth time. Dr. James Lockhart. Her father's name stood out like a ghost haunting the pages, a reminder of the man she thought she knew.

The air in the apartment felt thick, heavy with the weight of memories she hadn't yet allowed herself to face. Had her father really been involved in something so twisted? Maia couldn't stop asking herself that question. The idea that he had conducted experiments on patients—secret, possibly unethical trials—felt like a nightmare. It didn't fit with the quiet, detached man who had raised her, but the evidence in front of her told a different story.

She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples, willing her thoughts to settle. The more she read, the more it felt like she was uncovering layers of her father's life she had never known existed. The pieces were there—clinical trials, patients referred to only by numbers, dates that aligned suspiciously with when the first girls in Hillstone began to disappear. Everything seemed to connect, but there were still too many gaps, too many unanswered questions.

A knock at the door broke her concentration. Her heart skipped a beat, and she sat up quickly, her eyes darting to the clock. It was early, and she wasn't expecting anyone. She hadn't told anyone what she had found—not yet. Standing slowly, Maia crossed the room and peered through the peephole.

It was Karen again, her neighbor, standing on the other side of the door with that same look of concern she always wore, the one that made Maia's skin crawl. She considered ignoring it, pretending she wasn't home, but the knocking came again, more insistent this time.

With a sigh, Maia opened the door a crack. "Karen, it's early," she said, keeping her voice neutral.

"I know, I'm sorry," Karen replied, her voice soft and filled with sympathy. "I just... I've been thinking about you, Maia. About Camilla. I thought maybe you'd want to talk."

Maia's grip tightened on the door. Talk. That's what everyone wanted to do, wasn't it? Talk about Camilla, about how tragic it was, how unfortunate it was that the police hadn't found her. But no one really wanted to help. They just wanted to gossip, to feel like they were part of something. Karen was no different.

"I'm fine," Maia said, her tone flat. "I don't need to talk."

Karen shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable with the response. "I just thought... you might need someone. It's been so long, and... well, people are worried about you."

"I don't need anyone," Maia replied, more sharply than she intended. She immediately regretted it but didn't backtrack. She didn't have time for idle chatter. Not now, not with the papers scattered across her kitchen table waiting for her to piece them together. "I'll let you know if I need anything, okay?"

Karen blinked, taken aback, but nodded slowly. "Okay, Maia. I just want to help. Let me know if you change your mind."

As soon as the door clicked shut, Maia let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Karen meant well, she knew that. But people like Karen didn't understand what it was like to carry the weight of something so dark, something so personal. They hadn't grown up in a house filled with secrets. They hadn't lost their best friend to a faceless threat.

Returning to the table, Maia's eyes fell back on her father's notes. They had led her down a twisted path, one that she couldn't escape from now. There was a piece missing, though, something she couldn't quite grasp. Her father had been involved in these experiments, that much was clear. But how did it all connect to Camilla? How did it tie into the disappearances?