Chapter 8 - The Facility That Did Not Exist
Hannah's attorney found the facility in less than an hour.
It existed.
Just not in the way Michael claimed.
Green Hollow Recovery Center sat forty miles outside town.
Its website described psychiatric stabilization, substance treatment and private wellness care.
But Hannah's attorney discovered something strange.
Green Hollow had changed ownership twice in three years.
One former patient had sued.
Another family had filed a complaint alleging improper use of guardianship documents.
The medical director listed on an older state filing was Dr. Warren Kline.
Claire stared at Hannah's message.
KLINE RUNS IT.
Everything connected.
The fake incapacity statement.
The facility.
The transfer documents.
Michael was not merely planning to move her.
He was planning to place her somewhere controlled by the doctor already claiming she was incompetent.
Once inside, Claire might disappear behind medical privacy rules.
Michael could tell everyone she was receiving treatment.
He could control visitors.
Perhaps control discharge.
And if she gave birth while officially incapacitated, the guardianship papers could become devastating.
Claire typed:
WHEN ARE POLICE COMING?
Hannah replied:
THEY ARE TRYING TO GET A WARRANT.
Claire almost screamed.
TRYING?
THE HOUSE IS IN MICHAEL'S NAME TOO.
THEY NEED STRONG LEGAL GROUNDS TO FORCE ENTRY IF HE SAYS YOU'RE SAFE.
Claire looked around the attic.
Safe.
The word had become insulting.
Hannah continued.
THE PROSECUTOR HAS THE RECORDINGS.
YOUR VIDEO HELPED.
WE ARE CLOSE.
Claire typed:
TOMORROW MAY BE TOO LATE.
A long pause.
Then:
I KNOW.
At 11:20 p.m., Patricia entered.
No camera.
No Michael.
She carried a feeding syringe.
Claire's entire body went tense.
"Late feeding," Patricia said.
"I'm nauseous."
"You need calories."
"I'll do it in the morning."
Patricia smiled.
"You don't get to choose."
Claire looked at the syringe.
The mixture appeared thinner than usual.
Almost clear.
"What is that?"
"Nutrition."
"It doesn't look like nutrition."
Patricia's smile disappeared.
"Claire."
"No."
Patricia stepped closer.
Claire stood.
Patricia blocked the door.
"You are making tomorrow harder than it needs to be."
Claire stared at her.
"What happens tomorrow?"
"You get help."
"From Dr. Kline?"
Patricia froze.
Claire saw fear.
Real fear.
Patricia moved toward her.
"Where did you hear that name?"
Claire backed away.
Patricia grabbed her wrist.
Claire cried out.
"Tell me."
"Let go!"
"Who have you spoken to?"
"No one!"
Patricia squeezed harder.
Then the attic door opened.
Michael.
"What are you doing?"
Patricia turned.
"She knows Kline."
Michael went pale.
Claire pulled free.
Michael looked around the room.
"Search everything."
They tore the attic apart.
Mattress.
Drawers.
Bathroom cabinet.
Closet.
Claire's heart stopped when Patricia lifted the rug.
The loose floorboard was visible.
Patricia crouched.
Claire lunged.
She intentionally knocked the feeding stand over.
Metal crashed.
The syringe fell.
Liquid splattered across the carpet.
Patricia spun.
"You stupid little bitch!"
Michael grabbed Claire's shoulders.
"Stop!"
Claire screamed.
Not from panic.
Strategy.
She let her knees buckle.
Michael had to catch her.
Patricia moved away from the floorboard.
"She's going to hurt the baby."
Michael shouted, "Get the camera!"
Exactly what Claire expected.
Cameras mattered more than searching.
Patricia rushed toward the desk.
Claire gasped dramatically.
Michael lowered her to the bed.
The moment Patricia turned away, Claire kicked the rug over the loose board.
The phone remained hidden.
Michael began filming.
He spoke loudly.
"Claire, calm down."
Claire looked into the lens.
"Your mother grabbed me."
"Nobody grabbed you."
"My wrist is red."
Michael lowered the camera slightly.
Claire lifted her wrist.
Finger marks were forming.
Patricia saw them.
"Put your arm down."
Claire stared into the camera.
"No."
Michael stopped recording.
For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then Patricia whispered, "Tomorrow. First thing."
Michael nodded.
They left.
Claire waited.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Then she retrieved the phone.
Battery 9 percent.
She messaged Hannah.
THEY SEARCHED.
THEY ALMOST FOUND PHONE.
Hannah replied:
WE HAVE ENOUGH.
Claire typed:
THEN COME.
No response.
One minute.
Two.
Claire's hands shook.
Finally:
WE ARE COMING.
Claire stared.
WHEN?
Hannah replied:
BEFORE MORNING.
Claire closed her eyes.
For the first time, rescue felt real.
Then she heard footsteps.
She hid the phone.
Michael entered again.
Alone.
He closed the door behind him.
But did not lock it.
He sat beside Claire.
For several seconds he said nothing.
May you like
Then he whispered:
"Why couldn't you just trust me?"
