Is That Mom

Part 3 of Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

Unraveling the Lies

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Part 3:

Uncovering the First Clue

Ethan’s flashlight flickered as he stood in the small, dimly lit room, his heart still racing from the realization that he wasn’t alone on this estate. The scattered papers on the desk were old and yellowed, the ink smudged in places, but they were legible enough. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the documents, as if touching them might make everything real, too real. But he knew he couldn’t walk away. He had to know what his mother was involved in, no matter how much it hurt.

The first sheet he picked up was a typed report, with handwritten notes scrawled in the margins. Ethan’s eyes scanned the page, and as he read, his stomach twisted. The report detailed an experiment involving neurological manipulation, a study on the effects of altering brain patterns to control behavior. Ethan's pulse quickened. The terminology was scientific, but the implications were unmistakable. The report spoke of “subjects,” a clinical term that stripped away the humanity of whoever had been involved. It didn’t say who these people were or why they had been chosen, but the language made it clear they were treated as little more than test subjects.

Ethan’s hands shook as he flipped through more pages. Each document seemed worse than the last. There were records of physical and psychological tests, lists of names with cold, clinical descriptions beside them: “Subject 32: mild resistance, elevated heart rate, dosage increased,” and “Subject 45: adverse reaction to stimulus, sedation administered.” Ethan’s mind reeled, and he could hardly believe what he was seeing. He had known there was something his mother wasn’t telling him, but this... this was beyond anything he could have imagined.

He came across another paper, a handwritten note in his mother’s script. The sight of her familiar handwriting jolted him, and for a moment, he almost forgot to breathe. The note was addressed to someone—another scientist, perhaps. It spoke of adjustments, of trying new approaches to get the results they needed. It was impersonal, detached, as if the people being tested were mere variables in a complex equation. Ethan’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to believe it, but the words on the page were clear. His mother was deeply involved in this.

Anger welled up within him, hot and suffocating. He remembered his mother as kind, compassionate, someone who was always helping others. The woman he saw in these notes was nothing like the one he had grown up with. How could she have done this? How could she have been part of something so... monstrous? Ethan slammed the papers down on the desk, his hands curling into fists. The betrayal cut deep, sharper than any physical wound.

He paced the room, trying to make sense of what he was reading. Questions swirled in his mind, each one more painful than the last. Had his mother been forced into this? Was she under pressure, blackmailed, or was this something she chose willingly? The thought that she might have been a willing participant made his stomach churn. He remembered how she used to tell him stories when he was a child, her voice warm and soothing, and now that same voice echoed in his head, reciting these cold, clinical notes. It felt like he was losing her all over again, and this time, there was no way to hold onto the memory of who she had been.

He found another file, this one thicker, bound together with a faded, brittle string. The cover was marked with a simple label: “Project Novus.” Ethan’s heart pounded as he untied the string and opened the file. Inside were more documents, detailed accounts of the experiments that had taken place. There were diagrams of brain scans, charts showing data on “cognitive realignment,” and pages of handwritten observations. Ethan skimmed through them, but he could only process so much at once. The words blurred together, and he felt dizzy, nauseous. This wasn’t just research; it was a comprehensive study on how to change the way people thought, how to manipulate their very identities.

As he flipped to the last few pages, he saw something that made his blood run cold. There were photographs, black-and-white images of people strapped to chairs, electrodes attached to their heads, their expressions vacant and lifeless. Ethan’s hands shook as he leafed through the photos, his vision swimming. Some of the faces looked disturbingly familiar, but he couldn’t place where he had seen them before. The thought that they might have been people he knew, or had seen in passing, made his skin crawl.

One of the photographs was marked with a note in the corner, written in his mother’s handwriting. It was a simple phrase: “Success at last.” Ethan’s breath caught, and he felt like he might be sick. Whatever she had been working on, she had been proud of it. That was the hardest part to accept. His mother had always been a mystery to him, but he had never questioned her kindness, her empathy. Now, he was beginning to wonder if he had ever really known her at all.

The room felt colder, the shadows darker, as if the walls were closing in around him. Ethan wanted to scream, to tear the papers apart and burn them, but he knew that wouldn’t change anything. The truth was out now, and he had to face it, no matter how much it hurt. His mother had been involved in experiments that were, by all accounts, inhumane. Whether she had been coerced or not didn’t change the fact that she had played a role in them, and that realization was like a knife twisting in his gut.

He sat down heavily, his legs suddenly too weak to support him. The desk was cluttered with evidence of things he didn’t want to believe, but there it was, undeniable. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions—anger, betrayal, sadness, confusion. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. Not completely. Despite everything, there was still a part of him that needed to understand, to find some justification for what she had done. Maybe she hadn’t had a choice. Maybe there was more to the story. But even as he thought that, he knew it was a desperate hope. The evidence was too clear, too damning.

Ethan leaned back, staring up at the cracked ceiling. He felt lost, adrift in a sea of emotions that he couldn’t control. For so long, he had been searching for answers, but now that he was starting to find them, he wished he could go back, that he had never come here at all. The truth was a weight he hadn’t been prepared to carry, and it was crushing him.

He thought back to the life he had left behind, to Sarah, to his father, to the friends he had once trusted. He had pushed them all away, convinced that he had to do this on his own, and now he was more alone than ever. Part of him wanted to reach out, to call someone, anyone, and tell them what he had found, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. How could he explain this? How could he tell them that the woman he had loved and admired had been part of something so... vile?

The documents lay scattered across the desk, silent but accusatory. Ethan picked up one of the papers, his eyes drawn to the list of names at the bottom. There were dozens of them, each one a person who had been experimented on, whose life had been altered or ruined because of whatever this “Project Novus” was. And there, near the bottom of the list, was a name he recognized: Marcus Hale. Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. He had seen that name before, in his mother’s letters, but she had never mentioned him in detail. Now, he wondered if Marcus Hale had been more than just a colleague, if he had been one of the subjects, or perhaps someone who had helped her.

The discovery brought a fresh wave of questions, but it also gave Ethan a glimmer of hope. If he could find Marcus Hale, maybe he could get some answers. Maybe there was a way to understand what had happened, to find out why his mother had done what she did. But even as he thought that, he knew it wouldn’t change the past. The damage was done, and there was no going back.

Ethan gathered the documents, his hands still shaking, and stuffed them into his bag. He needed to get out of this place, to clear his head, but he knew he couldn’t leave without these papers. Whatever his mother had been involved in, he had to know the full truth. And if that meant facing more painful revelations, then so be it. He had come too far to turn back now.