The sound of the banging broke the silence of Riverton Manor like a broken piece of glass.
Mason Cole's pen stopped in midsentence when he looked up from his desk. He remained still for a long time. Outside, the storm had increased, with wind roaring through the old estate's seams and rain beating down on the windows. He assumed the banging was a shutter. Or a tree branch.
Until he heard it again. This time louder. Urgent.
Another knock. Then a voice. Muffled, but definitely a voice. Feminine. Panicked.
"Please... please open the door!"
Mason stood slowly. His knees cracked from sitting too long. It had been three years since anyone had come to Riverton uninvited. Maybe longer.
He walked along the hallway, dust-covered portraits and furniture covered in sheets. The flickering lightbulbs above the house cast an eerie reflections. He approached the front door and paused. He hadn't communicated with anyone in weeks. He wasn't sure he really wanted to.
Another knock. Louder. Desperate.
He opened it.
A flash of lightning lit the porch.
There she stood.
Soaked to the bone. Hair plastered to her pale face. Shivering. Wide brown eyes staring up at him like she'd seen a ghost.
Or maybe… he had.
Because standing there—on his porch, in the middle of a storm—was Emily.
His Emily.
Mason's breath caught. His stomach dropped. His vision swam.
She looked just like her.
Same full lips. Same delicate jaw. Same trembling hands.
He blinked, unsure whether he was hallucinating or not.
Then she spoke.
"I'm not her," she whispered, as if reading his thoughts. "I'm Bella. Her sister. Her twin."
Mason's chest tightened.
She took a slow, trembling breath. "Please. I didn't know where else to go."
He didn't move. The last time he had seen Emily was the day she died—in this very house. They said it was an accident. He never believed it. But he also never imagined this.
Bella swayed. Her knees buckled slightly.
Mason quickly reached out to grip her arm. She trembled at his touch.
"You shouldn't be here," he said hoarsely. His voice was unused, dry.
"I had to come," she said. "They're watching me. I had to get away. I found her journal, and—" her voice cracked. "Emily was trying to tell me something. I think… I think she knew she was going to die."
The wind blew cold between them. Her lips were turning blue.
He cursed under his breath and stepped aside. "Get inside."
She looked shocked but didn't hesitate.
She crossed the threshold like someone escaping fire.
Inside, Mason handed her an old blanket from the hall closet. She wrapped it around herself with shaking hands. Her teeth chattered. Rainwater pooled at her feet.
She looked so small standing in his dim hallway. Lost. Frightened.
Mason lit a fire in the living room. The flames exploded, She sat on the edge of the sofa, knees tucked to her chest.
"I know I shouldn't have come," she said softly. "But I think Emily was trying to warn me. And you. And I didn't know where else to go. I read what she wrote. She was scared, Mason. She thought someone was following her."
Mason stared at the flames.
"You shouldn't be here," he repeated.
"I didn't come to make trouble."
"You came to stir up ghosts. You don't think that's trouble?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"Emily loved you," Bella said. "She trusted you."
He laughed bitterly. "And look how that ended."
Silence stretched between them. The only sound was the exploded fire.
Bella grabbed something inside her bag. A little book, bound in leather, dirty, and bound with a red ribbon.
Emily's journal.
Mason stared at it like it might explode.
"She wrote about you," Bella said. "And about me. She said if anything ever happened to her, I needed to come to you. That you'd protect me."
Mason didn't move.
"I didn't know she was keeping a journal," he said finally.
"She hid it. I found it behind a false panel in her old dresser at the family house."
He took the book from her slowly. His hands trembled.
"You don't believe she fell down those stairs, do you?" Bella asked.
Mason looked up sharply.
Bella met his eyes. "Because I don't either."
Lightning flashed again outside. Then thunder.
Mason stared at the journal for a long time before standing.
"You can stay the night," he said finally. "But just one."
Bella nodded, her eyes softening with relief. "Thank you."
He turned to leave the room. Then paused.
"I'll read this," he said, holding the journal. "And if I find out you're lying, or that this is some kind of game—"
"I'm not lying," she said quietly. "I came here because I'm scared. And because I think someone killed my sister."
He stared at her again. This time, longer. He saw how her lower lip trembled. How her eyes watered but didn't cry. How she gripped the blanket like a lifeline.
And for a moment… he saw Emily.
Not just her face but the way she used to hold herself when she was afraid.
He said nothing more.
He turned and walked up the stairs with journal in his hand.
Behind him, Bella sat still on the couch, listening to the sound and struggling to breathe through her fear.
Upstairs, Mason opened the first page of the journal.
There, in Emily's handwriting, were the words:
> "If you're reading this, I'm already gone. But please don't let them silence me too.