Chapter 5 - The Hospital RoomThe drive to the hospital blurred into headlights, rain, and red lights.
The officer drove.
I sat beside him.
Dennis was in another patrol car.
The files from the hidden room were locked in an evidence bag between my feet.
Every mile closer to County General made my heart beat harder.
Meadow.
My baby.
Someone had tried to take her.
When we arrived, security had locked the pediatric floor.
A nurse met us at the entrance.
Her face was pale.
“Mrs. Hawthorne?”
“Where is my daughter?”
“She’s safe.”
Those two words almost broke my knees.
“Where?”
“Room 407.”
I ran.
A security officer stood outside her room.
Inside, Meadow looked small beneath the blankets.
General Pickles rested beside her.
A nurse sat in the corner.
When Meadow saw me, she raised her good arm.
“Mom.”
I went to her.
I kissed her forehead.
“I’m here.”
She held my hand.
“You came back.”
“I always come back.”
Her eyes shifted toward the door.
“Did they get him?”
“Who?”
“The man.”
“What man?”
She whispered.
“The doctor.”
I looked at the nurse.
“What doctor?”
Meadow’s fingers tightened around mine.
“He had a badge.”
My skin prickled.
“Tell me everything.”
Meadow swallowed.
“He came in when the nurse left.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Daddy sent him.”
I froze.
“What did he look like?”
“Tall.”
“Hair?”
“Brown.”
“Glasses?”
She nodded.
“He said I needed to go somewhere quiet.”
The security officer stepped closer.
“Did you recognize him?”
Meadow shook her head.
“Then he said something.”
“What?”
“He said, ‘Your mother knows too much.’”
My stomach dropped.
The nurse stared at me.
I asked, “Did you see his name?”
Meadow nodded.
“He had something here.”
She pointed toward her wrist.
“A little card.”
“What did it say?”
She closed her eyes.
“Dr. H. Mercer.”
The nurse gasped.
The security guard looked at her.
“Dr. Helen Mercer?”
Meadow nodded.
The nurse's face changed.
“That doctor has been retired for three years.”
The room went silent.
A retired doctor had entered a locked pediatric ward.
Using a badge.
Someone had let him in.
Someone with access.
I looked at the security officer.
“Show me the camera footage.”
He hesitated.
“Mrs. Hawthorne…”
“Now.”
We went to security.
The footage showed the hallway.
At 3:12 p.m., a man entered.
Brown hair.
White coat.
Badge clipped to his chest.
He walked directly to Meadow’s room.
At 3:14, the footage cut.
The screen went black.
At 3:21, it came back.
The man was gone.
The security officer cursed under his breath.
“Who controls this system?”
“I do.”
“Who else?”
He hesitated.
“Hospital administration.”
“Names.”
He gave them to me.
Then I saw something.
At the bottom of the screen was a maintenance notification.
The camera had not failed.
Someone had manually disabled it.
I stared at the timestamp.
3:14.
That was exactly when the man entered Meadow’s room.
My phone buzzed.
A text.
Unknown number.
STOP DIGGING.
Another message appeared.
YOUR DAUGHTER WON'T GET A THIRD WARNING.
Then a third.
A photograph.
Meadow asleep in her hospital bed.
Taken from inside the room.
Seconds earlier.
I looked up.
The nurse gasped.
The security officer grabbed his radio.
“Lock down the floor!”
Too late.
The lights flickered.
Then the monitor beside Meadow screamed.
Her oxygen alarm started.
I ran into the room.
Meadow's eyes opened.
“Mom?”
Her pulse was dropping.
The nurse shouted for help.
I immediately checked the IV line.
Something had been injected.
I ripped it free.
The alarm continued.
“Get a doctor!”
Then I saw the needle mark.
And beside Meadow's pillow was a folded paper.
I opened it.
Three words.
ASK YOUR SISTER.
I looked through the glass toward the corridor.
Serena stood there.
Still wearing my sweater.
Still barefoot.
May you like
And beside her stood the hospital administrator.
My husband’s attorney.
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