PART 3 THE PICTURE - by R. Veyne

I couldn't stop looking at the photograph. “Where did you get this?” Amara didn't answer. “Amara.” She finally said: “You gave it to me.” I laughed. “No, I didn't.” “You did.” “I have never met you.” She looked at me. “That's what scares me.” I looked at the photograph again. There was no editing. No obvious Photoshop. It was just me. Standing beside her. My hand was on her shoulder. We looked happy. Like we had known each other for years. I looked at her. “Who took this?” “My brother.” “Where?” “Abuja.” I shook my head. “I've never been to that place.” She stared at me. “You were there.” “No.” “You were.” “No.” She sighed. Then pulled out her phone. She opened a video. It showed me walking into a restaurant. Same clothes. Same face. Same person. But I had never been there. Then I saw the date. Six months earlier. I watched myself sit at a table with Amara. We were talking. Then I said something. The video had no sound. I looked at Amara. “What did I say?” She looked uncomfortable. “You told me not to trust my boss.” I froze. Then she continued: “You said the company was hiding something.” “What?” “You said there was money being moved through different accounts.” I stared at her. “And?” “You told me that if anything happened to you…” She stopped. “What?” She looked at me. “…I should send the money to your account.” My heart dropped. “Why?” “Because you said you would know what to do with it.” I laughed. Not because it was funny. Because my brain didn't know what else to do. “So you're telling me…” I pointed at myself. “…that six months ago, I apparently knew you, investigated your company, planned a money transfer and then somehow forgot everything?” “Yes.” “That sounds insane.” “I know.” I stood up. “I'm leaving.” She grabbed my arm. “Wait.” “What?” She pulled out another photograph. This one was different. It showed me standing outside a hospital. There was a woman beside me. An older woman. My mother. I stared at it. Then looked at Amara. “My mother wasn't in Abuja six months ago.” Amara looked confused. “What?” “She was in London.” We both went silent. Then my phone rang. My mother. I answered immediately. “Mum?” Her voice sounded normal. “Hello, my son.” “Where were you six months ago?” Silence. Then she asked: “Why?” “Just answer me.” Another silence. Then she said: “I don't remember.” My heart sank. Before I could ask anything else, the line went dead. Amara looked at me. “What happened?” I didn't answer. Because something suddenly clicked. The photograph. The money. The missing memory. My mother. Amara's boss. They were all connected. But there was one thing I still didn't understand. Why me? Then my phone received another message. CHECK YOUR OLD EMAILS. I opened my email. There was one message. Sent from my own email address. Six months ago. Subject: IF YOU ARE READING THIS, THEY LIED TO YOU. I opened it. There was only one sentence. The person you think you are helping is actually the person who betrayed you. I looked at Amara. She was watching me. “What?” I showed her the email. She read it. Her face changed. Then she whispered: “That's impossible.” “Why?” “Because…” She looked at me. “…I received the exact same email.” I froze. “When?” “Six months ago.” “From who?” She slowly turned her phone toward me. The sender was my email address. Then another email arrived. This time, there was an attachment. A video. I pressed play. It was me. Sitting in front of the camera. Speaking directly to me. “If you're watching this…” I leaned closer. My own voice continued: “…it means Amara has already found you.” I looked at Amara. The video continued. “Don't trust her.” Amara stood up. “What?” I kept watching. My recorded self said: “She doesn't know the truth.” Then the video froze. A final sentence appeared on the screen. BUT I DO. TO BE CONTINUED…

The Girl Who Sent Me 10 Million By Mistake

Contributor Points

Points-to-Coupons

Referral Earning