CHAPTER 5 — The Dead Woman Waiting Downstairs
The woman downstairs looked nothing like a ghost.
She looked exhausted.
She was thin, perhaps forty-five, with dark auburn hair streaked with gray. A scar ran from her left temple to the corner of her jaw.
When she saw me, she covered her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
I stopped halfway down the stairs.
Her eyes were the same color as mine.
Not similar.
The same.
“Are you Sarah Holloway?”
She nodded.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I used to call you Gracie.”
My knees weakened.
Professor Hughes steadied me.
Sarah did not rush forward.
She stayed where she was, gripping a worn leather purse.
“I know I have no right to touch you,” she said. “I know I’m a stranger.”
“Why do the records say you’re dead?”
Her expression changed.
“Because your father needed me dead.”
“My father?”
“Richard isn’t your father.”
The words landed quietly.
That made them worse.
She reached into her purse and removed a yellowed photograph.
It showed her lying in a hospital bed, holding a newborn.
Beside her stood Linda Bennett.
My mother.
Linda was smiling at the camera.
Richard stood behind her with one hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
On the back, written in fading blue ink, were the words:
Sarah and baby Grace. Three days old.
My hands shook.
“How did they get me?”
Sarah looked toward the office where my parents were being held.
“After the crash, I was unconscious for eleven months.”
“Eleven months?”
“When I woke up, they told me my baby had died.”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Sarah continued.
“They showed me ashes. A death certificate. They held a funeral.”
Professor Hughes whispered, “That’s monstrous.”
Sarah looked at me again.
“I searched for years. Then someone mailed me a graduation announcement last week.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
She pulled an envelope from her purse.
Inside was a printed note.
If you want to see the daughter they stole, come to Hawthorne University on May twenty-sixth.
At the bottom were two typed initials.
May you like
E.B.
Ethan Bennett.
