Chapter 7 - The Missing Hour
Dr. Helen Royce was eighty-one years old.
She had retired twelve years earlier.
Arthur found her through an old medical association directory.
She lived in a small assisted-living community forty minutes north of Briarwood.
When Arthur called, Helen refused to speak over the telephone.
“You come here,” she said.
Then she hung up.
Margaret, Arthur, and Emily drove there that afternoon.
Snow had stopped.
The sky was bright and painfully clear.
Emily left Ava and Noah with Margaret’s longtime neighbor, Mrs. Pierce.
Ryan had sent fourteen text messages.
Emily did not answer any of them.
Linda had sent six.
Emily blocked her number.
Helen Royce received them in a private sitting room overlooking a frozen pond.
She was small, white-haired, and painfully alert.
The moment she saw Arthur, her expression changed.
“Good God.”
Arthur sat opposite her.
“You remember me.”
“I remember everyone I was instructed to forget.”
Margaret looked at Arthur.
“What does that mean?”
Helen studied Margaret.
“You’re Thomas Hayes’s widow.”
“Yes.”
Helen sighed.
“I wondered whether this day would come.”
Arthur leaned forward.
“What happened to me on December 17, 1999?”
Helen looked toward the door.
Then she said, “You were not in a normal car accident.”
Arthur went still.
“What happened?”
“You were brought to Saint Matthew’s Hospital at one forty-two in the morning.”
“With injuries?”
“Yes. Concussion. Lacerations. Two fractured ribs.”
“That sounds like a car crash.”
Helen shook her head.
“The blood alcohol analysis showed something else.”
Arthur frowned.
“I don’t drink.”
“I know.”
“What was in my blood?”
“A benzodiazepine.”
Emily asked, “Someone drugged him?”
Helen nodded.
Arthur stared.
“Why wasn’t that reported?”
“It was.”
“Then why don’t I remember?”
“Because someone removed the report before the final hospital record was filed.”
Margaret’s voice became cold.
“Who?”
Helen looked at her.
“I never knew.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I did.”
“To whom?”
“Thomas Hayes.”
Margaret stared.
Arthur whispered, “Thomas knew?”
Helen nodded.
“He came to the hospital the following morning.”
Margaret’s anger returned like fire.
“What did he ask you?”
“Whether Arthur would remember the hour before the crash.”
Arthur’s skin went pale.
“What did you tell him?”
“That memory loss was possible.”
“And?”
Helen looked ashamed.
“He asked me not to push.”
Margaret stood.
“He asked you not to help him remember?”
Helen raised one hand.
“You need to understand the situation.”
“Then explain it.”
“Thomas said recovering that memory could put Arthur’s family in danger.”
Arthur stared.
“My children were ten and thirteen.”
“I know.”
“Who threatened them?”
“Thomas would not say.”
Margaret paced toward the window.
Again Thomas.
Always Thomas.
Secrets wrapped inside protection.
Protection wrapped inside lies.
Emily asked, “Did Grandpa ever come back?”
“Yes.”
Margaret turned.
“When?”
“Five years later.”
“What did he want?”
“He gave me an envelope.”
Helen stood slowly and walked toward a cabinet.
From a locked drawer, she removed an old sealed envelope.
The front read:
FOR ARTHUR BENNETT IF MARGARET ACTIVATES CLAUSE SEVEN.
Arthur stared.
“You’ve had that for twenty-two years?”
Helen nodded.
“Thomas told me I would know when to use it.”
“How would you know?”
“You called me.”
Arthur looked confused.
“Today?”
“No.”
Helen’s face tightened.
“In 2004.”
Arthur did not move.
“You called and told me that if Margaret ever asked about Daniel, I should give you this.”
Margaret’s chest tightened.
“Arthur knew Daniel was alive?”
Helen shook her head.
“He didn’t say that.”
Arthur whispered, “I don’t remember calling you.”
“I know.”
Helen handed him the envelope.
Arthur opened it.
Inside was a single Polaroid photograph.
It showed a roadside motel room.
A man sat on the bed.
Arthur Bennett.
Across from him sat Daniel Hayes.
The date in the corner was December 17, 1999.
The night Arthur crashed.
Emily covered her mouth.
Margaret stared.
Arthur’s hands began shaking.
“I met him.”
Helen nodded.
“You did.”
“I met Daniel.”
“Yes.”
Margaret looked at him.
“What happened in that room?”
Arthur pressed his fingers against his temples.
“I don’t know.”
Then something flashed across his face.
A memory.
He closed his eyes.
Margaret stepped closer.
“What?”
Arthur whispered, “A red suitcase.”
Emily frowned.
“What red suitcase?”
Arthur’s eyes remained closed.
“I remember Daniel putting a red suitcase on the motel bed.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
Then another memory came.
Arthur opened his eyes.
Fear filled them.
“He told me not to take the highway home.”
Margaret’s heart pounded.
“Why?”
May you like
Arthur stared at her.
“Because someone was following me.”
