Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO WAS NEVER PREGNANT
Emily stabilized shortly after midnight.
Sarah sat beside her bed holding her hand.
Walter waited outside.
He had offered to leave.
Sarah had told him to stay.
Not because she trusted him.
Because she wanted answers.
Marcus returned carrying a folder.
“I found Rachel Carter’s medical records.”
Sarah looked up.
“You can just do that?”
“Not all of them.”
Marcus pulled out a chair.
“But enough.”
Walter stood behind him.
Marcus placed a photograph on the table.
Rachel Carter in 1996.
Sarah stared at it.
“That’s Mom.”
“She claimed you were born in March 1997.”
“Yes.”
Marcus slid another paper forward.
“This photograph was taken four months before your supposed birth.”
Rachel wasn’t pregnant.
Sarah stared.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
Marcus produced another document.
“She had a hysterectomy in 1991.”
Sarah stopped breathing.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“She could not have given birth to you.”
Sarah stood so quickly the chair scraped across the floor.
“You’re lying.”
“Sarah—”
“My mother raised me.”
“I’m not questioning that.”
“She loved me.”
Walter stepped forward.
“No one is saying she didn’t.”
Sarah turned on him.
“You don’t get to talk about love.”
Walter absorbed it.
“You watched me beg for eight dollars.”
“I know.”
“You looked at me like I was garbage.”
“I know.”
“And now suddenly you think I’m your family?”
“No.”
Walter’s eyes filled.
“I’m afraid you might be.”
Sarah stared at him.
Marcus placed an old photograph on the table.
Rebecca Bennett.
Six years old.
Brown hair.
Green eyes.
Sarah slowly sat down.
“She looks…”
“Like you?”
Walter asked.
Sarah didn’t answer.
Marcus continued.
“Rebecca disappeared from Lincoln Elementary on October 18, 1995.”
Sarah looked at Walter.
“How?”
Walter closed his eyes.
“Someone signed her out.”
“Who?”
“A woman claiming to be her aunt.”
“Did she have an aunt?”
“No.”
Walter’s voice cracked.
“I was supposed to pick her up.”
He stared at the floor.
“I was twenty minutes late.”
Sarah’s anger softened slightly.
“Why?”
“A customer.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Someone wanted an engagement ring resized.”
Walter looked toward Emily’s hospital room.
“I chose twenty dollars over twenty minutes with my daughter.”
Sarah said nothing.
Marcus continued.
“The school secretary remembered the woman.”
He showed them a composite sketch.
Sarah’s face changed.
The drawing resembled Rachel Carter.
Older records had been poor.
Witness statements contradictory.
But the resemblance was undeniable.
Sarah whispered, “Why would my mother kidnap a child?”
“We don’t know that she did.”
Marcus pointed at the date.
“Rebecca vanished in 1995.”
Then another date.
“You appeared in Rachel’s life sometime around 1997.”
Sarah frowned.
“That’s two years.”
“Exactly.”
Walter suddenly looked up.
“Then Sarah isn’t Rebecca.”
Marcus shook his head.
“Sarah is twenty-nine.”
“Rebecca would be thirty-seven.”
Sarah exhaled.
Relief.
Then Marcus said, “But Sarah may be Rebecca’s daughter.”
Silence.
Sarah’s mouth opened.
“My mother…”
“Rachel may not have been your biological mother.”
Walter whispered, “Rebecca could be.”
Sarah stared at him.
“No.”
Marcus nodded toward the hospital room.
“DNA could answer it.”
Sarah stood.
“I need air.”
She walked down the hallway.
Walter followed at a distance.
Sarah stopped beside a vending machine.
“My mother used to have nightmares.”
Walter froze.
“What did she say?”
“She would wake up shouting.”
“What?”
Sarah looked at him.
“One name.”
Walter already knew.
Sarah whispered it.
“Rebecca.”
Walter grabbed the wall.
Sarah continued.
“I thought Rebecca was an old friend.”
“Did Rachel ever tell you anything else?”
Sarah thought.
“There was a house.”
“What house?”
“She made me promise never to go there.”
“Where?”
“Outside Rockford.”
Marcus had followed them.
“What address?”
Sarah gave it.
Marcus entered the address into his phone.
His face changed.
“What?”
Walter asked.
“The property belonged to Rachel’s brother.”
“Who is he?”
Marcus turned the screen around.
Thomas Carter.
Former pediatric nurse.
Arrested twice.
Never convicted.
Current status unknown.
Walter stared at his photograph.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A distorted voice said, “You have until sunrise.”
Walter went pale.
“To do what?”
“Burn the locket.”
The caller paused.
“Or the little girl in room 214 won’t see another sunset.”
May you like
Walter looked through the window at Emily.
And for the first time in thirty-one years, the person behind Rebecca’s disappearance had threatened someone Walter could still save.
