Chapter 5 - The Numbers Her Father Chose
The maintenance shaft carried them beyond surgery and into an abandoned records room. Mark forced open the vent, and they climbed down among shelves filled with paper files.
The other Emily was barely conscious.
Nora checked her pulse. “She needs fluids and real medical care.”
Mark found a cabinet of emergency supplies and handed Nora a saline bag.
Emily stood beneath a flickering light and examined the lottery ticket.
The numbers were 4, 11, 19, 27, 38, and 42.
She had selected them randomly.
At least she thought she had.
Then she remembered the gas station.
The ticket machine had jammed. The clerk had offered her a preprinted quick-pick ticket from beneath the counter. He had smiled and said, Lucky one.
Emily turned the ticket over. Property of Room 214 remained written beneath her signature.
“A map,” she said. “To what?”
Mark searched the shelves. “Your father investigated Bellweather before he died.”
Emily looked up. “He died of a stroke.”
“He died in this building.”
The records room seemed to contract around her.
Mark pulled a file from a shelf and tossed it onto the table. The label read SAMUEL CARTER.
Inside were medical charts, surveillance photographs, and financial reports. The final page was dated nine years ago, two years before Emily’s crash.
SUBJECT REFUSED CONTINUITY OFFER.
ASSET TRANSFER INCOMPLETE.
FAMILY MEMBER IDENTIFIED AS SECONDARY ROUTE.
Emily’s hands shook. “They targeted me because he refused.”
“Your father found out wealthy clients were disappearing,” Mark said. “He tried to expose them. Julian intercepted the evidence.”
“And you?”
“I worked for Julian.”
The other Emily opened her eyes. “Tell her the rest.”
Mark looked away.
“Tell her why you were driving the night of the crash.”
Emily stared at him.
Rain flashed in her memory. Headlights behind her. A black car gaining speed.
“You hit me.”
Mark’s voice dropped. “I was ordered to force your car off the road. I was told you would be taken into protective custody.”
“You believed that?”
“No.”
The answer was almost inaudible.
Emily slapped him.
He accepted it without flinching.
She struck him again.
Nora stepped closer but did not interfere.
“You destroyed my life.”
“Yes.”
“You put her in a cage.”
“Yes.”
“You married me.”
Mark looked at her then. “That was not part of the original plan.”
“Do not pretend it became love.”
“I am not asking you to believe that.”
“Good.”
Nora connected the saline line to the other Emily’s arm.
A printer in the corner suddenly came alive.
Paper fed through with a grinding sound.
A message printed in large black letters.
4 - FOURTH FLOOR CHAPEL
11 - ELEVENTH WINDOW
19 - NINETEEN BRICK
27 - TWENTY-SEVEN INCHES DOWN
38 - BOX THIRTY-EIGHT
42 - ANSWER TO YOUR MOTHER
Emily read it twice.
Her father had turned the lottery numbers into instructions.
“The chapel is on the fourth floor,” Nora said. “But this building only has ten windows on that side.”
“Not the hospital,” the other Emily whispered.
Emily understood.
Her father’s old factory had a chapel-like memorial room on the fourth floor. Eleven tall windows lined the eastern wall.
“The factory,” she said.
Mark looked toward the door. “Bellweather bought the property last month.”
“Through what company?”
“Carter Renewal Holdings.”
Emily knew the name. She had signed the sale approval after Julian assured her the company belonged to a redevelopment group.
Her own signature had transferred the property to the people who killed her father.
The printer produced a second page.
YOUR MOTHER IS NOT YOUR ENEMY.
Then a third.
BUT SHE IS NOT YOUR MOTHER.
The lights went out.
Somewhere in the records room, a phone began ringing.
An old desk phone, yellowed with age.
Emily lifted the receiver.
A man’s voice spoke.
“You have six minutes before Vale finds you.”
“Who is this?”
“The person who sent your father’s ticket to the gas station.”
Emily glanced at the others.
“Why?”
“Because Samuel knew you would only look for the truth after you had enough money to survive it.”
“Is my mother alive?”
The man paused.
“The woman you saw is Diane Mercer.”
“That does not answer me.”
“No. It does not.”
“Who is in Room 214?”
“All of them.”
The line crackled.
“What does that mean?”
“Room 214 is not a place. It is a list.”
A red light appeared beneath the records-room door.
A scanner beam moved across the floor.
The man on the phone spoke quickly.
“Go to the factory. Find box thirty-eight. Do not let Mark open it.”
Mark’s head snapped toward the receiver.
Emily met his eyes.
The line went dead.
The door lock clicked.
Dr. Vale’s voice came from the hallway.
“Emily, your mother has requested one final conversation.”
Nora whispered, “There’s another exit.”
She pointed to a floor hatch beneath the last shelf.
Mark pulled the shelf aside.
The other Emily grabbed his wrist.
“Before we go,” she said, “tell her what is inside box thirty-eight.”
Mark’s face went still.
May you like
Emily waited.
Finally he said, “Proof that one of you was never born.”
