Is That Mom

Part 5 of Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

Unraveling the Lies

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Part 5:

The Secret Room

Ethan’s hands trembled as he carefully pushed open another creaking door, revealing yet another empty room. Each room he entered felt like a dead end, a cruel reminder of how elusive the truth was. But he couldn’t stop. The warning from the stranger still echoed in his mind, yet it only spurred him on. He needed to know what his mother had been involved in, even if it was something he wouldn’t want to face.

After hours of searching, exhaustion threatened to take over, but then he noticed something odd: a section of the wall didn’t quite match the rest. The wallpaper was slightly torn, revealing a sliver of what looked like a seam. Ethan approached, his heart beating faster as he ran his fingers along the edges. With a bit of force, he managed to pull the wall panel open, revealing a hidden room beyond.

It was small, dark, and cramped, as if someone had gone to great lengths to keep it concealed. Ethan stepped inside, his flashlight casting eerie, dancing shadows on the walls. As his eyes adjusted, he saw stacks of papers, old files, and photographs scattered across a dusty desk. Unlike the rest of the mansion, this room looked like it had been left in a hurry, as if someone had been interrupted and never returned. The air was thick with dust, and Ethan could feel his throat tighten as he inhaled.

His hands shook as he picked up the first file. It was marked with an unfamiliar logo, a symbol that seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place. Flipping through the pages, he found detailed notes, diagrams, and data entries—accounts of experiments, all written in a precise, clinical hand. It didn’t take long for him to see his mother’s name among the researchers listed. She was there, on nearly every page, her handwriting scrawled in the margins with annotations and corrections.

Ethan’s stomach twisted as he read through the notes. There were descriptions of tests on human subjects, some of which were eerily specific, detailing changes in behavior, physiology, and mental state. The language was cold and detached, the kind of language that stripped the humanity out of whatever was being done. Ethan felt a wave of nausea as he realized the scale of what was happening. These weren’t just minor studies; they were invasive, dangerous experiments, and his mother had been at the heart of them.

As he rifled through more papers, his flashlight beam caught the edge of a photograph, peeking out from under a stack of files. He pulled it free, dusting off the surface to reveal an image that sent a jolt through him. It was his mother, much younger, standing in a laboratory, her expression serious and focused. She was surrounded by other scientists, some in lab coats, others in military uniforms. Ethan’s gaze was immediately drawn to one figure standing beside her, a man with a stern, intense face. Ethan recognized him from the letters he had found earlier—the letters that hinted at a deeper connection, a partnership that seemed to go beyond mere professional collaboration.

The man was Dr. Marcus Reinhart, a name Ethan had seen scrawled across many of the documents. In the letters, Reinhart had mentioned projects, goals, and future plans that always seemed vague and cryptic. Now, seeing him in the photograph, standing so close to his mother, Ethan couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger. This wasn’t just a colleague; there was a familiarity between them that suggested they had been allies, perhaps even friends.

Ethan’s mind struggled to reconcile the woman in the photograph with the mother he remembered. She looked so at ease, so confident, surrounded by people who were clearly engaged in something that Ethan could barely begin to understand. How had she ended up here? Was she coerced, or had she willingly thrown herself into these experiments? The more Ethan thought about it, the more his head pounded, as if his brain was trying to reject the information he was uncovering.

The more photographs he found, the worse it got. There were images of his mother not just observing but actively participating—holding charts, discussing data with others, even demonstrating procedures. In one photo, she stood over a man lying on an examination table, her face partially obscured by a surgical mask, her eyes focused and cold. Ethan couldn’t look away, even though every part of him wanted to. This wasn’t the mother who had read him bedtime stories, who had held him when he was scared. This was someone else, someone who seemed distant, almost unrecognizable.

Ethan sank into a chair, his legs unable to support him any longer. The truth was starting to suffocate him, wrapping around his chest like a vise. He had come here hoping to find answers, but now that he was confronted with them, he didn’t know what to do. He had always thought of his mother as a victim—someone who had been caught up in something beyond her control. But now, seeing her involvement laid out so plainly, he couldn’t avoid the possibility that she hadn’t been a victim at all. She had been a participant, an active, willing participant.

He picked up another file, skimming through the dense scientific language, but it was hard to focus. The words blurred together, and all he could see were the images of his mother, her eyes hard and unfeeling, like a stranger staring back at him. There were moments when he would catch a glimpse of her familiar warmth—a smile here, a reassuring gesture there—but they were fleeting, overshadowed by the overwhelming evidence of her complicity.

Ethan’s anger surged, hot and raw. How could she do this? How could she be part of something so cruel, so inhumane? He had spent so long trying to defend her, to believe that she had been trying to protect him, but now he didn’t know what to believe. Had everything she told him been a lie? Had she been lying to him even as she pretended to care, to be the mother he thought he knew?

The emotional whiplash was almost too much to bear. One moment, he was filled with rage, his hands clenched into fists as he thought about how she had deceived him. The next, he was overwhelmed with sadness, the kind that left him hollow and aching. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. Even now, as he stared at the evidence of her betrayal, he couldn’t stop loving her. That was the worst part of it all—the fact that despite everything, he still felt that same, desperate need for her, as if somehow, she could make this all go away.

He let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing in the small, hidden room. How pathetic was that? How could he still want to believe in her, even after seeing all of this? But he couldn’t help it. The image of his mother, the one he had carried with him all these years, was too deeply ingrained to just disappear. He needed to understand why. If she had done these things, there had to be a reason, a justification, something that would make it all make sense.

As he sat there, surrounded by the remnants of her secret life, Ethan realized that his journey wasn’t just about finding the truth. It was about finding a way to reconcile the two versions of his mother—the one he had known, and the one he was only just beginning to understand. But the deeper he delved, the more he feared that there might not be a way to bridge that gap.

And yet, he couldn’t walk away. No matter how painful it was, no matter how much it hurt to see her like this, he had to keep going. Because if he didn’t, if he stopped now, then he would never know the truth. And that, more than anything else, was what terrified him.

Ethan slowly gathered the papers, his hands shaking but steady enough to hold the files. He slipped the photographs into his bag, each one a small, painful piece of a puzzle he was no longer sure he wanted to solve. But he had no choice. The secret room had opened a door to a past he could never close again, and now, he had to see it through to the end, no matter what it cost him.