Chapter 10: Betrayal and Truth

Lambert took their statements separately—standard procedure for an officer-involved shooting, even more necessary given the bizarre circumstances. By the time Cora finished explaining what they'd witnessed at the lake, dawn was breaking over Port Blackwood, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that seemed obscenely cheerful against the darkness they'd encountered.

The victim, identified as Thomas Mercer, had been stabilized and transported to the hospital. The initial search of Dr. Reeves' home and office had yielded journals documenting a decades-long obsession with Blackwood Lake and its "divine inhabitant," alongside records of patients experiencing the specific nightmare pattern.

What the search hadn't found was Reeves' body. Despite dragging operations that continued into the morning, no trace of the psychiatrist had been recovered from the lake.

Cora sat in an interview room at the police station, a cup of cold coffee forgotten before her. Through the glass wall, she could see Mason in similar circumstances two rooms down, his posture rigid with tension even at this distance.

Your father didn't kill himself. I did.

The words echoed in her mind, impossible to reconcile with everything else she knew—or thought she knew—about Mason Reid. There had been no time to demand explanation, no chance to process the implications before Lambert and his team arrived, separating them with professional efficiency.

Now, as she waited for formal dismissal, Cora tried to make sense of it all. The case was taking shape—Reeves had been identifying sensitive individuals through their shared nightmare experiences, abducting and testing them for compatibility with the entity in the lake. But the larger questions remained unanswered: What was this presence that had claimed her sister? Why had it remained dormant for years only to emerge now? And most pressingly—what was Mason's role in all of this?

The door opened, and Lambert entered with his characteristic lack of ceremony. "Preliminary forensics matches the bullets from Reeves to your service weapon," he said, taking a seat across from her. "Clean shoot, given the circumstances. You're cleared to go."

Cora nodded, too exhausted for relief. "Any sign of the body?"

"No, and frankly, I'm not optimistic." Lambert ran a hand over his thinning hair. "Whatever's in that lake, it doesn't give up what it takes."

The blunt assessment matched her own thoughts too closely for comfort. "What about Reid?"

"His statement corroborates yours. No inconsistencies." Lambert studied her with shrewd eyes. "You two knew each other before this case, didn't you?"

"It's complicated," she hedged.

"Most things worth investigating are." He slid a folder across the table. "Thought you should see this before I file it. Medical examiner's preliminary report on the marks found on Caroline Webb's body."

Cora opened the folder, scanning the contents. The symbol drawn on Webb's forehead matched ancient petroglyphs found in cave systems near Blackwood Lake, dating back thousands of years. More disturbing were the ME's findings regarding changes to the victim's brain chemistry—alterations that couldn't be explained by known medical science.

"The entity was modifying them," she murmured, pieces connecting. "Preparing their bodies to serve as vessels."

"Entity," Lambert repeated, testing the word. "Twenty-four hours ago I would have called that crazy talk. Now?" He shook his head. "I've been a cop in this town for thirty years, Dr. Evans. There have always been stories about Blackwood Lake. Always been unexplained disappearances. I just never thought I'd be including terms like 'extradimensional entity' in an official report."

"You don't have to," Cora assured him. "The facts will stand on their own—Reeves abducted vulnerable patients and performed unauthorized medical procedures resulting in death."

"Clean, simple, explainable," Lambert agreed. "Except for the part where he dissolved into a lake and vanished." He stood, gathering the folder. "You're free to go. I suggest you get some rest."

As Lambert moved to leave, Cora stopped him with a question. "What about Reid?"

"Also free to go. Though between you and me, I'd keep an eye on that one. Something about his story doesn't quite add up."

After Lambert left, Cora remained seated, torn between the need for answers and the fear of what those answers might reveal. Mason's confession about her father changed everything—transformed him from ally to potential enemy in the space of seven words.

Yet something deeper than logic insisted she hear him out. The memories returning in fragments painted a picture of childhood friendship, of trust so complete it had survived even her total amnesia. The boy in those memories would not have killed her father without reason.

Decision made, she gathered her things and headed for the exit. Mason was already gone, his interview room empty. Outside, the morning sun cast long shadows across the parking lot as she scanned for his Jeep.

It was parked at the far end, engine running, Mason behind the wheel with an expression of grim resignation. As she approached, he rolled down the window but didn't get out.

"I thought you might not want to talk to me," he said simply.

"Drive," she replied, opening the passenger door and sliding in. "Somewhere private."

They rode in silence through the awakening town, past storefronts just opening for the day and early morning joggers oblivious to the horrors that had unfolded overnight. Mason kept his eyes on the road, giving her the space to organize her thoughts.

Eventually, he pulled into a viewpoint overlooking the harbor—a secluded spot where they could see without being seen. The engine died, leaving only the sound of waves against the breakwater below and the distant cry of gulls.

"Explain," Cora said, the single word laden with everything she needed to know.

Mason turned slightly in his seat to face her. "What I told you was true, but incomplete. I didn't murder your father, Cora. I helped him die on his own terms."

"Assisted suicide," she clarified, tone neutral.

"Yes." No hesitation, no attempt to soften the truth. "He was dying already—brain cancer, inoperable, terminal. He didn't want to waste away in a hospital bed. He wanted control over his end."

The explanation made a horrible kind of sense. James Evans had always been fiercely independent, unwilling to show weakness even in the most desperate circumstances. And yet—

"Why you? Why not me? I was his daughter."

Pain flashed across Mason's features. "Because of what he knew. What he'd discovered about the entity in the lake." He took a deep breath. "Your father spent years researching what happened that day, tracking similar incidents across centuries. He found evidence that the entity could influence people connected to it, even at a distance."

"Connected how?"

"Through exposure. Through dreams. Through—" He hesitated, then finished, "Through family ties."

The implication hit her with the force of a physical blow. "Mia. You're saying it could reach through Mia."

Mason nodded, watching her carefully. "Your father believed that as twins, you shared a connection that transcended physical separation. That even though Mia was... changed... by the entity, some part of her remained linked to you."

"He thought I might be influenced to stop him," Cora realized, the logic unfolding with cold clarity. "That whatever had taken Mia might use our connection to protect itself."

"Yes." Mason's shoulders sagged slightly, as if relieved by her understanding. "He came to me because I was outside that connection. Because he trusted me to carry out his wishes when the time came."

"And to protect me afterward," she added, seeing the full picture now. "To watch over me from a distance."

"I promised him I would." The simplicity of the statement carried the weight of a lifetime's devotion. "I've kept that promise for ten years."

The admission should have comforted her. Instead, it sparked a flare of anger that had been building since the revelation at the lake. "You've been lying to me from the beginning. Manipulating me, controlling what I know and when I know it. Just like my father did."

"I was trying to protect you," Mason protested.

"That wasn't your decision to make!" The words erupted with unexpected force. "You and my father decided I was too fragile to handle the truth. That I needed to be sheltered and managed rather than trusted with my own history, my own choices."

"Your mind was protecting you for a reason, Cora," he argued. "The trauma nearly destroyed you once. Your father didn't want to risk that happening again."

"So instead, I spent twenty years with half a life, haunted by dreams I couldn't understand, disconnected from my own past." The anger burned hotter, fueled by years of confusion and isolation. "Do you have any idea what that's like? To feel like a stranger in your own existence?"

Mason looked away, unable to meet the intensity of her gaze. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Based on what? My father's theories about psychic twin connections and mind-controlling lake monsters?" She laughed, the sound harsh and brittle. "Did it ever occur to either of you that I deserved the chance to decide for myself?"

"Of course it did," he said quietly. "Every day for twenty years, it occurred to me. But each time I considered telling you the truth, I remembered what happened after the drowning—how fragile you were, how close you came to complete psychological collapse."

The sincerity in his voice deflated some of her anger, replacing it with a weariness that seemed to reach her bones. "I'm not that traumatized thirteen-year-old anymore, Mason. I haven't been for a long time."

"I know." He met her eyes again, his own reflecting a complex mixture of regret and determination. "But the threat hasn't changed. If anything, it's more dangerous now. The entity has had twenty years to strengthen its hold on your sister, to learn and adapt and plan."

"For what?"

"For your return," he said simply. "It's been waiting for you, Cora. The perfect vessel it lost that day. The twin it needs to complete whatever it's trying to accomplish."

The cold reality of his assessment settled over her. Much as she wanted to dismiss his theory as paranoia, the events of the past few days supported his conclusion. The entity—whatever it was—had been seeking her specifically.

"If that's true," she said slowly, "then keeping me ignorant only made me more vulnerable. Without my memories, I couldn't recognize the danger. Couldn't protect myself."

Mason had no answer for that, his silence an admission she was right.

They sat together in that silence, the gulf between them both wider and narrower than it had been before. Truth had fractured their tentative alliance, yet paradoxically created the foundation for something more authentic.

"What do we do now?" Cora asked finally.

"We finish what your father started," Mason replied, resolve hardening his features. "We find a way to end this—permanently."

As he spoke, the sun broke fully above the horizon, casting long rays across the harbor. In that golden morning light, Cora saw him clearly for the first time—not as a stranger or even as the boy from her recovered memories, but as the man who had carried the burden of her safety for twenty years. A man who had made difficult choices from a place of genuine care, however misguided his methods might have been.

"Not 'we,'" she corrected gently. "Me. This has always been my fight, Mason. Mine and Mia's."

"I made a promise," he began.

"To my father, not to me." Cora held his gaze, unwavering. "And while I appreciate what you've done—watching over me all these years—it's time for you to let me make my own choices. Face my own battles."

The struggle was visible on his face—the need to protect warring with respect for her autonomy. Finally, he nodded, a gesture of acceptance rather than agreement. "At least let me help. No more secrets, no more manipulation. Just... let me be there."

The request was reasonable, and more importantly, genuine. Despite everything, Cora found she trusted Mason Reid—not blindly, not completely, but enough to know his intentions were rooted in something deeper than obligation.

"Partners," she offered, extending her hand. "Equal partners. No more unilateral decisions."

He took her hand, the contact sending that now-familiar jolt of recognition through her. "Partners," he agreed.

As their hands remained joined, something shifted between them—the professional distance giving way to the intimacy of shared history and purpose. In that moment, Cora felt a connection to Mason that transcended their complicated past, a recognition that went beyond memory to something more fundamental.

Without conscious thought, she leaned forward. Mason mirrored her movement, drawn by the same inexplicable gravity. Their lips met in a kiss that felt simultaneously like a beginning and a continuation—tentative at first, then deepening with the release of long-suppressed emotion.

When they finally separated, the world seemed both sharper and more dreamlike, reality reset to a new configuration.

"I've waited twenty years to do that," Mason said softly.

"I wish I could say the same," Cora replied with a small smile. "But I'm still remembering what it was like to know you before."

"We have time," he assured her. "Once this is over—"

The shrill ring of Cora's phone cut through the moment. Lambert's name flashed on the screen. She answered, still slightly dazed from what had just transpired between them.

"Dr. Evans," she managed.

Lambert's voice was tight with urgency. "We've got a situation at the hospital. Eliza Markowski is gone. Security footage shows her walking out under her own power—straight toward Blackwood Lake."

"She was still heavily sedated last night," Cora said, immediately alert. "She shouldn't have been able to walk, let alone leave the hospital unassisted."

"That's not all," Lambert continued. "The doctor who examined her this morning reported something strange—a mark on the back of her neck that wasn't there during initial assessment. Some kind of symbol."

Cora's eyes met Mason's, both recognizing the implication. "It's controlling her," she said, not a question but a certainty. "Using her just like it's been using Reeves."

"We're organizing search parties now," Lambert replied. "But given what happened last night—"

"Don't send anyone to the lake," Cora interrupted sharply. "It's too dangerous. Keep your people back until we arrive."

"We?"

"Reid and I. We're on our way." She ended the call, already reaching for the door handle. "It's escalating," she told Mason. "Using Eliza as a new agent since Reeves is gone."

Mason started the engine, expression grim. "It's getting desperate. Changing tactics, taking risks."

"Because it knows we're close to understanding what it is and how to stop it," Cora concluded. The theory felt right, resonating with everything they'd learned so far.

As they drove back toward Blackwood Lake, the morning sun casting deceptively cheerful light across the landscape, Cora felt a cold certainty settle over her. Whatever confrontation had been building for twenty years was reaching its climax. The entity had waited long enough, gathering strength, testing potential vessels, preparing for this moment.

The final pieces were moving into position. Cora only hoped she could remember enough of what she'd forgotten to recognize the pattern before it was too late.