Chapter 9
“We found the Honda SUV,” Russo said. His jaw was locked tight. “Patrol spotted it twenty minutes ago.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned behind a strip mall on Route 9, about four miles from your house,” Russo said. “The keys were still in the ignition. Her purse was on the passenger seat. Her credit cards, her fake ID, the cash she pulled from the fire safe... it was all left behind.”
I frowned, trying to push through the ringing in my ears. “Why would she leave the money? You said she was running.”
“That’s what I thought,” Russo said. He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “People who run take their cash. People who run take their IDs to cross state lines.”
He looked through the glass door of Room 4. He watched Lily sitting beside Leo’s bed.
“She isn't running, Daniel,” Russo said quietly. “She left the car and the money to make us think she panicked. But we just checked the security cameras at the strip mall. She didn't walk away into the woods. She walked to a payphone outside the pharmacy. She made one call, and five minutes later, a dark sedan pulled up and picked her up.”
“Someone helped her?” I asked. My hands were shaking.
“She’s been planning this,” Russo said. “She knew the moment you opened that wall, her life as Vanessa was over. But she’s not going to just walk away and let us put her in prison.”
Suddenly, my cell phone vibrated violently against my thigh.
I jumped at the sensation. I reached into my pocket and pulled it out.
The screen was glowing brightly in the dim hospital hallway. It wasn't a text message. It was an incoming call.
The Caller ID displayed a name I hadn't deleted yet.
Vanessa.
I stared at the screen. My blood turned to ice.
Russo saw the name. His eyes widened. He immediately reached for his own radio on his belt. “Don’t answer it yet,” he hissed. “Let me get tech on the line to trace it.”
“She’s calling from a burner,” I said, my voice completely hollow. “You’re not going to trace it.”
I didn't wait for him to set up the trace. I pressed the green button and lifted the phone to my ear.
I didn't say anything. I just listened to the dead, heavy static on the other end of the line.
“Daniel?”
Her voice was soft. It was the exact same sweet, melodic tone she used to ask me how my day at work was. It didn't sound panicked. It didn't sound angry. It sounded terrifyingly calm.
“Claire,” I said.
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence on the line. Then, she let out a small, breathy sigh.
“I guess the police have been talking,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way, sweetheart. I really did want to marry you. We could have been a perfect family. If you had just left the storage room alone.”
“You poisoned my daughter,” I whispered. The rage was building in my chest, hot and blinding. “You locked a child in a wall.”
“He is my son,” she corrected sharply. The sweetness vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, possessive venom. “He belongs to me. Not to you. Not to the state.”
“He’s safe now,” I told her. “He’s at the hospital. You are never going to touch him again.”
She laughed. It wasn't a crazy laugh. It was a soft, dismissive chuckle, like a parent laughing at a child’s naive mistake.
“You think a hospital is safe?” she asked quietly.
My breath caught in my throat. I looked wildly down the hallway, scanning the faces of the nurses and the orderlies walking past.
“I know exactly where you are, Daniel,” she said. The static on the line crackled. Behind her voice, I could hear a distinct, repetitive sound.
A heavy thud. A heavy thud.
It sounded exactly like the noise inside the wall. But it was rhythmic. Mechanical.
It was the sound of a turnstile.
“I put a lot of work into our life,” she whispered through the speaker. “And I’m not leaving without what belongs to me.”
The line went dead.
I pulled the phone away from my ear. The heavy mechanical thudding sound echoed in my memory.
I looked up at Russo. The blood was draining completely out of my face.
“She’s not at a strip mall,” I said, my voice breaking. “She’s in the hospital lobby.”
--- CHAPTER 4 ---
The heavy, mechanical thud of the lobby turnstile was still echoing in my ear when the line went dead.
I didn't lower the phone. I just stared at Russo. The blood was moving so fast in my ears that the ambient hum of the hospital seemed to vanish entirely.
“She’s downstairs,” I said. The words barely made it past my teeth.
Russo didn’t ask me to repeat it. He didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the heavy black radio off his duty belt, his thumb jamming down on the transmit button.
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“Code Silver, County General, main lobby,” Russo barked into the mic, his voice echoing sharply down the quiet pediatric hallway. “Suspect is on site. Lock down the elevators. Lock down the stairwells. Nobody gets past the first floor.”
He pointed a thick finger at me. “Get in that room and lock the door.”
