Chapter 2 The Replica Fails
# Chapter 2: The Replica Fails
Two weeks into my contract, I was already drowning in Vanessa's life. Every morning began with Russell analyzing my performance from the previous day, pointing out microscopic deviations from my sister's behavior.
"Your breathing pattern during sleep was irregular," he informed me over breakfast, scrolling through data on his tablet. "Vanessa breathed exactly sixteen times per minute while sleeping. You averaged seventeen point three."
I took a sip of jasmine tea—Vanessa's preferred morning beverage. "I'll work on it."
"See that you do." He didn't look up from his tablet. "Today we have guests for dinner. The Harringtons. Vanessa was particularly fond of them."
This was news. In two weeks, we hadn't had a single visitor to the sprawling Blackwood estate. The mansion sat on fifty acres of manicured grounds surrounded by dense woods, effectively cutting us off from the outside world. My only human contact had been Russell, Lawrence, Margaret, and the occasional glimpse of other staff members.
"I'll review her social interactions," I said, using Vanessa's gentle head tilt that the calibrator had deemed perfect.
"Indeed. Margaret will provide the appropriate videos." Russell finally looked at me, his steel-blue eyes cold. "Don't disappoint me tonight, Cecilia."
After breakfast, I retreated to my suite where Margaret was already waiting with the tablet.
"Mr. Blackwood wants you to study these," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she handed me the device.
I scrolled through the new videos labeled "Vanessa with the Harringtons," watching my sister laugh at Charles Harrington's jokes, compliment Elizabeth Harrington's jewelry, and pour wine with a specific graceful movement of her wrist.
"How long have the Harringtons known Mr. Blackwood?" I asked casually.
Margaret stiffened. "I'm not permitted to discuss Mr. Blackwood's relationships."
"Of course. I just thought it might help me better understand the dynamic."
Margaret hesitated before responding, "They've known each other since university. Mr. Harrington is on the hospital board with Mr. Blackwood." She moved toward the closet, seemingly eager to change the subject. "Your outfit for tonight has been selected."
She pulled out a midnight blue dress with a modest neckline and three-quarter sleeves—elegant yet conservative. Very Vanessa.
"Mr. Blackwood has also requested you wear this." Margaret handed me a small velvet box.
Inside was a diamond bracelet I recognized immediately—it had been our grandmother's, passed down to Vanessa on our twenty-first birthday. The sight of it made my stomach clench. I had wondered what happened to my sister's personal belongings after her death.
"Thank you," I managed to say, closing the box.
After Margaret left, I spent hours practicing Vanessa's dining etiquette. My sister had always been more refined than me—the perfect daughter, the perfect wife. I was the rebellious one, the one who left home to pursue photography instead of the medical career our parents wanted. Now, the rebel was pretending to be the golden child.
By evening, I felt reasonably confident in my ability to mimic Vanessa's social graces. I dressed in the blue gown, fastened the diamond bracelet around my wrist, and applied makeup exactly as Vanessa would have—subtle enhancement rather than dramatic change.
The calibrator on my temple blinked green, indicating a satisfactory match to Vanessa's appearance.
I arrived in the drawing room at precisely 6:45 PM—fifteen minutes before the Harringtons were due. Russell was already there, nursing a scotch.
"Come here," he commanded.
I approached him, maintaining Vanessa's perfect posture.
"Turn around," he instructed.
I complied, rotating slowly.
"The bracelet," he said. "Vanessa wore it on her right wrist, not her left."
My heart skipped a beat. He was right—Vanessa had been right-handed, while I was left-handed. A crucial detail I had overlooked. I quickly transferred the bracelet.
"An unfortunate error," Russell remarked coldly. "Let's hope it's your only one tonight."
The Harringtons arrived exactly on time—Charles, a distinguished man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, and Elizabeth, an elegant woman with shrewd eyes partially hidden behind a polite smile.
"Vanessa!" Elizabeth exclaimed, embracing me. "Russell told us you'd been ill. We've missed you at the charity events."
I returned her embrace with the exact pressure and duration Vanessa would have used. "I've missed you too, Elizabeth. How have you been?"
For the next hour, I navigated small talk flawlessly, recalling details from the videos about the Harringtons' children and their recent trip to Tuscany. The calibrator remained green, indicating my performance met Russell's exacting standards.
Dinner was served at eight. Lawrence directed us to the formal dining room, where the table gleamed with silver and crystal under the light of a massive chandelier. Russell took his place at the head, with me to his right and the Harringtons across from me.
"The chef has prepared Vanessa's favorite tonight," Russell announced as the first course arrived—a delicate mushroom consommé.
"How thoughtful," I replied with Vanessa's appreciative smile.
The conversation flowed smoothly through the soup course and into the main course—roasted duck with cherry reduction. I was beginning to relax slightly, feeling confident in my performance.
Then Charles Harrington mentioned the hospital gala.
"We're hoping you'll attend this year, Vanessa," he said. "Your contribution to last year's auction was the highlight of the evening."
I froze momentarily. This wasn't in any of the videos I'd studied. I had no idea what Vanessa had contributed or why it had been significant.
"I'm still considering what to offer this year," I replied vaguely.
"Hard to top that vintage wine collection from your family's estate," Charles continued. "Russell tells me it fetched nearly fifty thousand for the children's ward."
I nodded, filing away this information. "The children's ward has always been close to my heart."
"Speaking of wine," Russell interjected, "shall we try the Bordeaux with dessert? Vanessa, would you do the honors?"
My blood ran cold. In the videos, Vanessa had always poured with her right hand, holding the bottle neck delicately between her thumb and first two fingers. But as I reached for the wine, muscle memory took over, and I grasped it with my left hand.
The calibrator on my temple immediately flashed red.
Russell's eyes narrowed, but his smile remained fixed for the benefit of our guests. "Darling," he said, his voice deceptively gentle, "you know that's not how we serve the Bordeaux."
I quickly transferred the bottle to my right hand, but it was too late. Russell stood, took the wine from me, and with deliberate slowness, poured the rich red liquid over my head.
The Harringtons gasped. The cold wine ran down my face, soaking into the midnight blue dress and staining my skin.
"She never used her left hand to hold anything at the table," Russell stated flatly, as if explaining a simple fact to the shocked couple. "Vanessa was meticulous about dining etiquette."
"Russell!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "What on earth—"
"Please forgive the disruption," Russell cut her off smoothly. "My wife has been unwell. She sometimes... forgets herself."
The wine dripped onto the white tablecloth, forming crimson pools that spread like blood. I remained perfectly still, fighting the urge to wipe my face or show any reaction that would further deviate from Vanessa's behavior.
"I think perhaps we should leave," Charles said, rising from his chair.
"Nonsense," Russell replied. "We haven't had dessert. Vanessa will go change, and we'll continue our lovely evening." He turned to me, his eyes colder than I'd ever seen them. "Won't you, darling?"
I stood slowly, wine still dripping from my hair. "Of course. Please excuse me."
As I walked from the dining room with as much dignity as I could muster, I heard Russell smoothly redirecting the conversation, explaining away his behavior as concern for my "recovery."
In the hallway, Margaret appeared with a towel, her eyes downcast. "This way, Miss."
She led me not to my suite but to a bathroom off the main corridor. As I stepped inside, Russell appeared behind us.
"Leave us," he instructed Margaret, who quickly disappeared.
He closed the door and turned to me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my shock, he took the towel and began to gently dab at my face, wiping away the wine with surprising tenderness.
"You disappoint me, Cecilia," he said softly, his fingers brushing my cheek as he cleaned the wine from my skin. "Such a simple detail. Left versus right."
"I'm sorry," I whispered, unsure how to respond to this sudden shift from public humiliation to intimate care.
His fingers traced the outline of my jaw. "But this face..." he murmured, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "It's remarkable. Even when you make mistakes, I can't look away. Perhaps that's why I forgive you."
He pressed the towel to my lips, blotting the wine stains. "Change quickly. Wear the green dress in your closet. Return to dinner in exactly seven minutes." He stepped back, his momentary tenderness evaporating. "And Cecilia? Don't use the wrong hand again."
After he left, I stood trembling in the bathroom, staring at my wine-stained reflection. The facial calibrator blinked yellow—a warning. I forced my expression back to Vanessa's serene mask, and it returned to green.
As I turned to leave, I noticed a small piece of paper on the floor that hadn't been there before. I picked it up and unfolded it to find a hastily scrawled message:
"The bathroom mirror is two-way."
I glanced up at the large mirror above the sink, my blood running cold. Was someone watching me right now? Russell? Or someone else?
I quickly refolded the note and tucked it into my bra, making sure my face betrayed nothing. Then I hurried to my suite to change into the green dress, my mind racing.
Someone in this house—perhaps Margaret?—was trying to warn me. Which meant someone knew I wasn't just here to fulfill a contract.
Someone knew I was hunting for proof of my sister's murder.
As I fastened the diamond bracelet to my right wrist—correctly this time—I made a silent promise to Vanessa. The public humiliation, Russell's disturbing mood swings, the constant surveillance—I would endure it all. For her. For justice.
I returned to the dining room exactly seven minutes later, the perfect replica once more.
