Chapter 3
Claire
I grabbed the USB drive and my phone, shoving them into Macy's oversized purse.
Lucas had texted back with specific instructions: [Take three different side streets before heading to the studio. If anyone follows, lose them first.]
Smart man. He knew Austin better than I'd given him credit for.
At seven-thirty, I slipped out of the house and got into Macy's beat-up Honda. The engine coughed to life on the third try.
"This piece of shit," I muttered. Somehow, I could feel Macy's amusement.
'Welcome to my world. Well, your world now, I guess.'
I pulled out of the driveway and immediately took the first right instead of heading straight to Lucas's studio.
In my rearview mirror, headlights appeared.
Fuck.
I took another right, then a left down a narrow alley that barely fit the Honda. The headlights followed, maintaining the same distance.
"That bastard's actually tailing me."
'Austin?' Macy's voice was tight with panic.
I squinted at the rearview mirror. Black sedan, looked expensive. "Yeah, that's him."
Three blocks later, I spotted a 7-Eleven with a crowded parking lot. Perfect. I jerked the wheel and pulled in fast, parking between two SUVs.
Through the store windows, I watched Austin's Mercedes cruise past slowly. He was scanning the lot, but the Honda was completely hidden.
I waited five minutes, watching him circle the block twice before giving up.
Time for plan B.
""Fifth and Main," I told the Uber driver as I slid into the back. "Fast as you can."
The driver—a middle-aged guy with a Boston accent—glanced at me in the mirror. "You okay, miss? You look like you seen a ghost."
"Just need to get there fast."
We pulled out of the 7-Eleven lot, and I checked behind us. No Mercedes.
Lucas's studio was in an old converted warehouse downtown.
I paid the driver and walked to the side entrance Lucas had specified. Three quick knocks, pause, two more knocks.
The door opened immediately.
"Christ, Macy, you look like death." Lucas yanked me inside and threw the deadbolt. "What happened?"
I looked at him—really looked. Same shaggy brown hair, same paint-stained fingers, same worried brown eyes that had been my friend since freshman year at BU.
But something was different in the way he was looking at me.
"I brought everything," I said, pulling out the USB drive. "The insurance fraud, the videos, proof that he's been planning this for years."
Lucas took the drive but didn't plug it in immediately. Instead, he just stared at me.
"What?" I asked.
"You're not Macy."
My stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"
"I've known Claire for five years. You think I wouldn't recognize how she moves? How she talks?" He stepped closer. "And right now, you're doing that thing Claire does when she's nervous—pinching your fingers together."
I looked down. He was right. I was pinching Macy's index finger and thumb together, a habit I'd had since childhood.
Shit.
"I don't know what—"
"Cut the bullshit." Lucas handed me a bottle of water. "Who are you? Some kind of con artist? Did Austin hire you to—"
"I'm Claire."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
Lucas stared at me. "What did you just say?"
"I'm Claire." My voice was barely a whisper. "I'm trapped in Macy's body. I know how insane that sounds, but—"
"Claire crashed." His voice went dead. "She's in intensive care."
'Wait, I'm not completely dead?! Thank God!' I cheered inside.
"You wore that ugly green tie I always made fun of." The memory hit me like a punch.
Lucas went very still.
"You got drunk and called me a stubborn bitch for not listening when you warned me about Austin." I swallowed hard. "You were right. I should have listened."
He studied my face for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was different. Careful.
"If you're really Claire... prove it."
Before I could respond, my stomach lurched. Nausea slammed into me like a freight train. I doubled over, dry heaving.
'Sorry,' Macy's consciousness whispered. 'I can't control it when I get scared.'
"Fuck," I gasped, accepting the water Lucas offered. "This is so fucked up."
"Claire." Lucas's voice was soft now, almost reverent. "Is it really you?"
I nodded, still catching my breath.
"How?"
"I don't know. I just... woke up in her body after the crash. Austin thinks I'm Macy, thinks he got away with murdering me." I met his eyes. "But he didn't."
Suddenly, a loud bang on the studio door made us both freeze.
"Macy!" Austin's voice carried through the metal. "I know you're in there! What the hell are you doing?"
"Shit." Lucas grabbed my arm and pulled me toward a storage closet in the back corner. "Get in. Stay quiet."
We squeezed into the cramped space behind canvases and art supplies. Lucas left the door cracked just enough to see out.
More banging. "Open the fucking door, Lucas!"
"I'm coming, I'm coming." Lucas walked across the studio, his footsteps echoing on the concrete floor.
The door opened with a metallic scrape.
"Where is she?" Austin's voice was cold fury.
"Where's who?" Lucas sounded genuinely confused.
"Don't play dumb with me. Macy. I know she came here."
"Haven't seen Macy tonight, man. You sure you got the right place?"
"Her car's parked two blocks away," Austin said. "She's here somewhere."
"Maybe she's visiting someone else in the building? There's like six other studios."
Austin moved closer to Lucas. I could see his face now through the crack—cold, calculating, dangerous.
"If she comes to you with any wild stories about me, any accusations... you call me immediately. Understand?"
"Sure, man. But—"
"Well." Austin's voice was pleasant again. "You're a good friend, Lucas. I'm sure you understand."
The studio door slammed shut.
We waited in the closet for another ten minutes before Lucas finally opened the door.
"He's gone," he said quietly.
I stumbled out, legs shaking.
I turned to Lucas. "We need to see what's on that USB drive. Now."
He plugged it into his laptop immediately.
The first file was video footage—Macy and Austin in bed, the camera angle clearly set up in advance. But the second file made my blood freeze.
Audio. A phone conversation.
Austin's voice: "Dr. Morrison? Yeah, it's Williams. About the patient in room 47... Susan Hartley. I need you to make sure her condition doesn't improve. Keep her sedated, confused. Whatever it takes."
Another voice: "Mr. Williams, I'm not comfortable—"
"You're being paid very well to be uncomfortable. If Susan gets better, her daughter stops being cooperative. And if Macy stops being cooperative..."
The recording cut off.
'He's been keeping my mom sick.' Macy's voice in my head cracked with betrayal. 'On purpose. All this time, he's been—'
Her anguish hit me like a physical blow.
"Now do you believe me?" I asked her gently. "About what kind of monster he is?"
'I trusted him.' Her mental voice was hollow. 'I helped him kill you because I thought he was saving my mom. But he was torturing her.'
"He played us both," I said.
I looked at Lucas, who was staring at the laptop screen in horror.
"We're going to destroy him," I said. "All three of us."
'Three?' Macy asked.
"You, me, and Lucas." I felt something shift in my chest. "We're going to save your mom, expose his crimes, and make sure he pays for everything he's done."
Lucas closed the laptop. "What do you need me to do?"
"Find out exactly where Brookside Psychiatric is located." I pulled out Macy's phone. "We need to move fast. Austin's getting suspicious."
'And what about evidence of the actual murder?' Lucas asked. 'The brake tampering?'
"That's on us," I said, speaking for both myself and Macy. "We're going to find the tools he used, the proof of what he did to my car. Whatever it takes."