Chapter 15 - THE CALL FROM THE DEAD
Cassandra stared at Victoria.
“No.”
“You were born with a severe immune disorder,” Victoria said. “Margaret was told you would die without treatment.”
“My medical records never mentioned that.”
“Your medical records were rewritten.”
Ellen held the red sweater against her chest.
“What did they take from Rose?”
“Bone marrow.”
“As an infant?”
“The first procedure occurred when she was six months old. There were others.”
Robert felt rage rise through him.
“Where was she afterward?”
“Moved between facilities to keep her hidden.”
“And Anna raised her?”
“Anna raised one of the girls using Rose’s identity.”
“Claire?”
“Possibly.”
Cassandra looked horrified.
“My life was saved by hurting another child.”
“You were a baby,” Michael said.
She turned on him.
“But my family chose it.”
“That is not your guilt.”
Cassandra began to cry.
Michael hesitated, then sat beside her. He did not embrace her, but he remained close.
Robert opened every file in the operating room.
Several contained medical charts. Others had photographs with faces removed.
The final folder held a list of procedures performed on Patient R.
The records continued until Rose was thirteen.
Then they stopped.
A notation stated:
Transferred to private guardian. Identity terminated.
“What does identity terminated mean?” Ellen asked.
Victoria looked toward the door.
“It means Rose received a new name.”
“Which name?”
“The page identifying the guardian was one of those Claire took.”
Leah examined the desk.
“There may be an imprint.”
She shaded the page beneath the missing form with the side of a pencil.
Letters slowly appeared.
Guardian: A. Cross.
Residence: Whitaker service property.
Robert stared.
“What is the Whitaker service property?”
Ellen looked confused.
“We never had one.”
Michael suddenly spoke.
“Grandfather did.”
Robert turned.
His father, George Whitaker, had owned a caretaker’s cottage near the northern quarry. The property had been abandoned after George’s death.
“My father never mentioned anyone living there.”
Victoria’s expression darkened.
“Your father was involved.”
Robert’s chest tightened.
“No.”
“Samuel discovered the clinic because George sent him there.”
“My father hated Samuel.”
“He hated what Samuel learned.”
Robert remembered George as strict, respected, and deeply private. After Samuel’s death, George had forbidden the family from discussing the accident.
“Are you saying my father helped Cross?”
“He provided vehicles and empty properties.”
Ellen reached for Robert.
He stepped away, overwhelmed.
The secret was no longer surrounding his family.
It had been built by his family.
They drove to the quarry cottage before noon.
The road was nearly impassable, covered with weeds and fallen branches. The cottage stood beneath a line of dark trees, its windows boarded.
Robert broke the lock.
Inside, dust covered the furniture, but recent footprints crossed the floor.
Someone had been living there.
The kitchen contained fresh food.
A lamp was still warm.
Ellen found photographs pinned to the bedroom wall.
Every photograph showed the Whitaker family.
Michael’s school graduation.
Robert and Ellen’s anniversary.
Family holidays.
The wedding.
Someone had watched them for years.
On the dresser was a photograph of Ellen asleep in the hospital.
The same photograph left outside her room.
Michael searched the closet.
“Dad.”
Robert entered.
A green dress hung inside.
The dress worn by the witness at the wedding.
Beneath it was a nurse’s uniform.
The woman at the hospital had been the same person.
Ellen backed away.
“She poisoned me.”
“Or tried to protect you,” Robert said, remembering Victoria’s claim.
Leah opened a box beneath the bed.
Inside were dozens of letters addressed to Robert.
None had been sent.
He opened the earliest one.
Dear Mr. Whitaker,
You do not know me, but I believe I am your daughter.
The letter was dated seventeen years earlier.
Ellen began to cry.
“Rose lived here.”
Robert opened another.
Dear Father,
I watched you teach Michael to drive today. I wondered whether you would have been patient with me too.
Another:
Dear Mother,
You wore the blue dress again. It is the one I remember from Morning Star.
Robert struggled to continue reading.
The final envelope had been written three days before the wedding.
Dear Father,
I am going to give you the evidence Margaret saved. I no longer expect a place in your family. I only want you to know what they did.
If Ellen tells Michael the truth before I reach you, Cassandra will panic. Jonathan has trained her to protect the Cross name, even without understanding why.
Do not trust the first DNA result.
Do not trust Claire.
And do not believe Victoria when she says she wants justice.
Victoria read over his shoulder.
“That is not her handwriting.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“You knew Rose’s handwriting?” Robert asked.
“Yes.”
“Then who wrote these letters?”
Victoria looked around the cottage.
“Someone pretending to be her.”
A floorboard creaked above them.
There was an attic.
Michael moved toward the ladder.
Robert stopped him.
“I’ll go first.”
He climbed slowly.
The attic was dark.
A chair faced the only window.
On a table sat a laptop displaying live camera feeds from the Whitaker house, the hospital, and the Cross estate.
Someone had monitored all of them.
Robert approached the screen.
One camera showed Ellen standing below in the cottage bedroom.
Another showed Jonathan Cross entering the abandoned St. Matthew’s clinic.
A third showed Claire tied to a chair in an unknown room.
Then the laptop switched to a live video call.
A woman appeared.
Only part of her face was visible beneath a hood.
“Hello, Robert.”
His heart pounded.
“Are you Rose?”
The woman gave a sad smile.
“That is the name they stole from me.”
“Where are you?”
“Close enough to see whether you make the right choice.”
“What choice?”
“Jonathan has Claire. Victoria has the ledger. Cassandra carries the Cross bloodline. Michael carries something far more dangerous.”
Robert looked toward the ladder.
“What does Michael carry?”
“A genetic marker Dr. Cross spent thirty years trying to reproduce.”
Robert felt cold.
“Why?”
“Because St. Matthew’s never truly closed.”
Behind the woman, a light turned on.
Rows of modern medical beds appeared.
Several were occupied.
Robert’s voice shook.
“Where is that facility?”
“You will find it when you understand why Ellen was allowed to leave the clinic with Michael.”
“She was threatened.”
“She was selected.”
“For what?”
The woman leaned closer to the camera.
“To raise the only child who survived the final trial.”
Robert stared at her.
“What trial?”
A noise came from below.
Ellen screamed.
Robert turned toward the ladder.
The lights in the cottage went out.
When he looked back at the laptop, the woman had removed her hood.
Robert saw her face clearly.
He knew her.
He had seen her at family dinners, birthdays, and holidays.
She had stood beside Ellen in photographs for more than twenty years.
Before Robert could say her name, the video ended.
He ran downstairs.
The bedroom was empty.
Ellen, Michael, Cassandra, Leah, and Victoria were gone.
On the floor lay the red infant sweater.
A phone began ringing inside its folds.
Robert answered.
Jonathan Cross spoke from the other end.
“You finally saw her face.”
Robert gripped the phone.
“Where is my family?”
Jonathan laughed quietly.
“Your family?”
A door opened somewhere behind him.
Several voices could be heard.
One belonged to Ellen.
Another belonged to the woman from the screen.
Jonathan continued.
“You still don’t understand, Robert.”
“Understand what?”
“The woman you have been searching for was never outside your family.”
Robert stared at the open cottage door.
A black vehicle disappeared through the trees.
Jonathan’s final words came softly.
“She has been deciding who belongs in it.”
The call ended.
Robert stood alone in the abandoned house.
Then the laptop upstairs began playing a new recording.
It was dated the night Michael was born.
On the screen, a young Ellen lay unconscious inside St. Matthew’s clinic.
A nurse carried an infant toward the door.
Behind her walked Robert’s father.
George Whitaker took the baby into his arms, looked directly at the camera, and said:
“Make sure my son never learns there were twins.”
May you like
The recording stopped.
And somewhere beneath the floor of the cottage, a baby began to cry.
