Chapter 4 - THE ROOM PREPARED FOR MY MOTHER’S WEDDING
-4
Andrew did not take me to Ashwood.
I protested until Mara threatened to put on a children’s movie with singing animals.
That ended negotiations.
Instead, Gabe took a tactical team while Andrew stayed long enough to arrange another safe location for me.
“You should go,” I told him.
“I am.”
“You’re waiting because of me.”
“Yes.”
“My mommy needs you more.”
He stared at me.
That was an unfair thing for a seven-year-old to say.
I knew it even then.
But he did not lie.
“She may.”
“Then go.”
He crouched.
“Mara stays with you. You do not leave this house. You do not answer a door. You do not call anyone except numbers Mara approves.”
“Okay.”
“And Ivy?”
“What?”
“If somebody tells you I sent them, you ask them what you paid me.”
“Five dollars.”
“No.”
I frowned.
“That’s the question. They must know the answer.”
“Oh.”
“And if they say five?”
“They can come?”
“No. Then you ask what was written on it.”
I smiled.
“Daniel lives.”
Andrew shook his head.
“Too easy.”
He thought.
Then:
“You ask what you called yourself.”
“My customer?”
He almost smiled.
“What did you call our agreement?”
“A contract.”
“Good.”
It became our password.
Contract.
He left.
I did not know what happened at Ashwood until years later, when Andrew finally allowed me to read the reports.
The fourth floor looked normal.
Old people asleep.
Nurses frightened.
A director who claimed never to have heard of Daniel Mercer.
Then Gabe found an elevator key hidden inside the medication room.
The regular elevator had buttons:
B.
But after inserting the key, another button illuminated.
No letter.
Just a blue circle.
Below the basement.
The elevator descended.
When the doors opened, Gabe found a corridor that looked nothing like a nursing home.
No patient paintings.
No handrails.
No nurses.
Steel doors.
Cameras.
Electronic locks.
Room B17 was empty.
But somebody had been there minutes earlier.
Hospital bed still warm.
IV tubing.
Sedative bottles.
One leather restraint cut from the bedrail.
And on the wall, scratched into paint:
A.M.
Andrew Mercer.
Beneath:
DON’T TRUST THE DEAD.
That made no sense.
Not yet.
Then they found something in B16.
A wedding dress.
White.
Blue ribbon.
My description exactly.
Next to it was a folding table with documents.
Marriage license.
Prenuptial agreement.
Medical power of attorney.
Transfer of beneficiary rights.
My mother’s name filled in.
Bride.
The groom line was blank.
That was the strangest part.
They had kidnapped her and prepared a wedding without deciding who she was marrying.
Or without writing it yet.
Andrew arrived while Gabe was photographing everything.
He found a camera mounted above the table.
Live feed.
Someone had been watching.
Gabe traced wire.
Feed had already disconnected.
Then a printer activated.
One page slid out.
YOU WERE ALWAYS LATE FOR DANIEL.
Andrew ripped the paper out.
A second followed.
DON’T BE LATE FOR THE GIRL’S MOTHER.
Then a photograph.
My mother sitting in a wooden chair.
Alive.
Her left cheek bruised.
A white dress hanging behind her.
She held up three fingers.
Andrew stared.
Three?
A code?
Then another photograph printed.
Two fingers.
Then one.
Countdown.
A final sheet:
MIDNIGHT. ST. CATHERINE’S. COME WITH THE FIVE-DOLLAR BILL.
Andrew looked at Gabe.
“Why the bill?”
“Daniel wrote on it.”
“They know.”
Meaning somebody had seen Daniel pass it to my mother.
Meaning surveillance inside Ashwood had been closer than anyone thought.
Then Gabe found a hidden microphone under B17’s bed.
The system had recorded Daniel for years.
Hours.
Thousands of files.
One technician accessed recent audio.
Daniel’s voice sounded barely conscious.
But on a recording six days earlier, my mother entered.
“Mr. Reed?”
That was his false patient name.
Daniel whispered:
“My name is Daniel Mercer.”
Mommy paused.
“You’re confused.”
“No.”
“Your chart says—”
“Chart is a coffin.”
Then:
“Brother. Andrew.”
Mommy said:
“Andrew Mercer?”
Silence.
Daniel whispered:
“Don’t call him.”
“Why?”
“Vale listens.”
Then he apparently slipped the five-dollar bill toward her.
Where had he gotten it?
Later we learned my mother had dropped it while changing his bed linens.
Daniel saw the red pen clipped to her pocket.
He wrote while she blocked the camera.
Smart.
Desperate.
Then Daniel whispered something that changed Andrew forever.
“If Andrew comes too early, they’ll kill him.”
Mommy asked:
“Who?”
Daniel:
“The man he thinks saved him.”
Recording ended.
Andrew stood absolutely still.
Who did he think had saved him?
After Daniel supposedly died nine years earlier, Andrew had survived a violent power struggle.
One man helped him.
Victor Vale.
Vale advised him.
Protected witnesses.
Negotiated peace.
Found the men supposedly responsible for Daniel’s death.
Those men were later killed.
Andrew had thanked Victor for giving his brother justice.
Now Daniel’s message said the opposite.
The man Andrew thought saved him might be the one who buried Daniel.
At 8:30 that night, Andrew returned to the safe house.
He looked terrible.
I ran toward him.
“Did you find Mommy?”
“No.”
My stomach fell.
“But she’s alive.”
He showed me the photograph.
I hugged it.
“Mommy.”
Her eyes looked straight at camera.
Then I saw the three fingers.
“What does that mean?”
Andrew said:
“We don’t know.”
“I do.”
Everyone looked at me.
Mommy and I had signals.
One finger meant run.
Two meant hide.
Three meant look behind you.
She used them when we played spy games at grocery store.
Three.
Look behind you.
The picture showed Mommy.
Chair.
Wedding dress.
Wall.
I stared behind her.
There was a mirror.
In the mirror, barely visible, stood a man.
Andrew enlarged photograph.
Older.
Gray hair.
Dark suit.
Victor Vale.
Andrew’s face became stone.
My mother had risked everything to put him in the reflection.
Proof.
Then I noticed another shape.
Someone sitting behind Victor.
A man.
Thin.
Hair long.
Face almost hidden.
Andrew enlarged again.
The seated man lifted his head.
Even blurred, Andrew recognized him.
Daniel.
Both prisoners were together.
Alive.
St. Catherine’s at midnight.
I looked at Andrew.
“You can save both.”
He did not answer.
“You can.”
His jaw tightened.
“They want me to bring something.”
“My money.”
“Yes.”
“You can have it.”
I pushed the five-dollar bill toward him.
He did not take it immediately.
“It’s evidence.”
“It’s payment.”
That broke something in his expression.
He took it carefully.
“Then I’m still working.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
At eleven-thirty, Andrew prepared to leave.
Then the safe-house lights went out.
Mara swore.
Gabe grabbed his weapon.
The backup generator failed.
A phone rang in the darkness.
Not any of ours.
A small phone hidden inside the box of cookies Mara had brought me.
She stared.
Nobody had checked the bakery bag.
Andrew answered.
Victor Vale’s voice filled the room.
“Andrew.”
Andrew said nothing.
Victor laughed softly.
“Still protecting children.”
“What do you want?”
“The bill.”
“You can have it.”
“And Ivy.”
Everything stopped.
Andrew’s voice became deadly.
“No.”
“You misunderstand. Her mother’s marriage means nothing without the child.”
I grabbed Mara’s hand.
Victor continued:
“Ivy Callahan is not leverage.”
Pause.
“She is the inheritance.”
The call ended.
I stared at Andrew.
At seven years old, I had arrived believing my mother had been taken because she tried to save Daniel.
That was true.
But not complete.
May you like
They had been looking for us before Mommy ever entered Daniel’s room.
And the reason was me.
