Chapter 4
I did not sleep that night.
Anna dozed in short, frightened bursts with Emma beside her in the hospital bassinet.
Every time someone entered the room, her eyes flew open.
Every time Emma made a sound, Anna reached for her.
I sat in the chair by the door.
Not because I thought I could stop anything alone.
Because I needed to be between my family and the hallway.
At dawn, Detective Ramirez returned.
He looked like he had not slept either.
“We found your father’s car.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned at a gas station outside Mill Creek.”
“Any sign of Rachel?”
“No. But cameras show him switching vehicles with another man.”
“Who?”
“We’re identifying him.”
He handed me a paper.
“It may help if you look at this.”
It was a photo pulled from gas station footage.
My father stood beside a dark van.
Across from him was a woman holding a bundle wrapped in a hospital blanket.
Rachel.
Her face was turned halfway toward the camera.
She looked terrified.
Not trusting.
Not relieved.
Terrified.
Beside her stood a tall man in a baseball cap.
His hand was clamped around her elbow.
I leaned closer.
“I don’t know him.”
Anna, awake now, whispered, “Look at Rachel’s face.”
“I know.”
“She didn’t run willingly.”
That was exactly what I feared.
Ramirez nodded.
“We think your father was helping move her, but we don’t know whether he was protecting her or handing her over.”
“My father said she had what she needed.”
“What does that mean to you?”
“Nothing good.”
Ramirez sat down.
“Tell me about your mother.”
I laughed once.
It sounded hollow.
“I don’t know if anything I know is true.”
“Start with what you were told.”
I looked at Emma.
Her tiny chest rose and fell peacefully.
“My mother, Vivian, died when I was sixteen. My father said she was driving home from my aunt’s house during a storm. Car went off a bridge. Body was recovered, but the coffin stayed closed because of injuries.”
“Funeral?”
“Small. My father arranged everything. I was sedated for most of it.”
Anna looked at me sharply.
“Sedated?”
“I had panic attacks.”
“Mark…”
I had never said that part out loud.
“My mother and I were close. After she died, my father told me remembering too much would make me sick.”
Ramirez’s eyes narrowed.
“Any death certificate?”
“I never saw one.”
“Family?”
“My mother’s sister, Lydia, stopped coming around after the funeral. Dad said grief made her unstable.”
“Where is Lydia now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You need to find out.”
So I called the only person who might know.
My cousin Paul.
We had not spoken in twelve years.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Mark?”
“Do you know where Aunt Lydia is?”
Silence.
Then his voice dropped.
“Why?”
“Because my mother may not have died when I was sixteen.”
Paul did not speak.
My stomach tightened.
“You knew?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Not knew. Suspected.”
“Suspected what?”
“That Uncle Charles lied.”
My hand shook.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Mom tried. Your father threatened her.”
“With what?”
“With having her committed. He said she was harassing a grieving widower.”
Anna whispered, “Oh my God.”
Paul continued.
“Mom kept saying Vivian called her after the funeral. Once. From a blocked number.”
I could barely breathe.
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘He took my name. He took my son. Don’t let him take the baby.’ Then the line went dead.”
The room became silent except for Emma’s soft breathing.
“The baby,” I whispered.
Rachel.
Paul gave me Lydia’s address.
She lived three hours away in a small town near the coast.
Ramirez sent officers to check on her.
I wanted to go myself.
Anna grabbed my hand.
“No.”
“I need answers.”
“You need to stay with us until we leave this hospital.”
She was right.
I hated it.
By noon, the hospital discharged Anna under police escort.
We did not go home.
Ramirez arranged a safe apartment through a victims’ unit.
Anna sat in the back seat beside Emma, one hand on the car seat the entire ride.
I watched every vehicle behind us.
The safe apartment was plain.
White walls.
Brown couch.
Metal crib already assembled.
Anna looked at it and started crying.
“This is not how her first day home was supposed to be.”
I pulled her into my arms.
“I know.”
“I wanted pictures on our porch. My mom’s blanket. The little sign Natalie made.”
“I know.”
“What if they come here?”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” I said. “But Ramirez does.”
She looked up.
“I need you to stop promising things you can’t control.”
That hurt.
Because she was right.
“I’m sorry.”
Her face softened.
“I know you’re scared too.”
I nodded.
“I’m more scared than I’ve ever been.”
She leaned into me.
For a moment, we held each other beside the crib our daughter had never been meant to need.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Ramirez, standing near the window, motioned for me to answer on speaker.
I did.
A woman sobbed into the line.
“Mark?”
My chest locked.
“Rachel?”
“I don’t have long.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know. They took my baby.”
Anna gasped.
Rachel cried harder.
“They said if I didn’t sign the adoption papers, they’d switch her with yours and no one would believe me because I’m unstable.”
“Who took her?”
“My father.”
I froze.
“Charles?”
“No,” she whispered. “The man who kept my mother locked away.”
Ramirez stepped closer.
“What is his name, Rachel?”
She sobbed.
“I only know what they call him.”
“What?”
“The Doctor.”
Then another voice sounded in the background.
Male.
Angry.
Rachel whispered fast.
May you like
“Ask Lydia about Blackwood. Ask her why Vivian disappeared.”
The line went dead.
