Chapter 3

The funeral home was in complete chaos. The damage to my body was so severe that her apprentice, who'd only started the job a few months earlier, had no hope of restoring my face on his own.

My mother's brow creased in irritation. "You can't even handle something this simple. What good are any of you? I could've been home tucking my kid into bed by now."

The apprentice forced out a placating smile. "Not everyone has your gift, Ms. Sullivan. I'm sorry Sophie didn't get to fall asleep in your arms tonight."

The instant my name left her lips, my mother snapped back at her. "It's not her. That wretched girl's off running wild somewhere again, hasn't been home in days. I never should have had her in the first place."

The apprentice's expression froze for a second, and he gave an awkward little laugh.

Already dressed and gloved, my mother asked briskly, "What's the status on the body?"

The apprentice pointed to show her. "I've got the skeletal structure mostly reconstructed, but the facial damage is so extensive that most of the bones are shattered. I really don't know what else to do.

"But we have made progress. Judging by the build, it's a young woman in her twenties. Honestly, she looks a bit like Sophie."

My mother shot her a sharp look, clearly displeased at the comparison. "Since when do we compare a body to a living person? Don't you know that's the biggest taboo in this line of work?"

Realizing his mistake, the apprentice shrank back and said nothing more.

The instant my mother lifted the white sheet covering me, the cold detachment in her eyes cracked, just slightly. My face was still a mess of blood, but the height and build were an almost exact match to my own.

It made her think of how many days it had been since I'd left the house, without so much as a phone call or a text. Even at my most rebellious, I'd never once gone this far.

Her breathing quickened. She grabbed the body's arm and inspected it closely. There was nothing there, just streaks and streaks of dried blood.

She finally let out a breath of relief. She hadn't found my birthmark. It had all just been her imagination running away with her.

Mom, of course you wouldn't find my birthmark. Kyle's biggest fear was that someone would recognize who I was. Before he pushed me into the road, he'd taken a knife to my skin and cut the birthmark clean off.

It hurt so much, Mom.

Maybe her apprentice words had planted the thought of me in her mind, because she threw herself into the work with unusual intensity after that. Sweat rolled down her forehead in fat drops, and she didn't even pause to wipe it away.

As my jaw slowly took shape beneath her hands, her expression grew grimmer by the minute. Even though she'd already convinced herself that it wasn't me, the resemblance was too strong to shake, an eerie, inexplicable familiarity clinging to the body from head to toe.

Feeling like she'd simply worn herself out for the day, my mother finally set down her tools and rubbed at her aching lower back.

That was when the door burst open, and someone from the police department came rushing in, phone held up in triumph.