CHAPTER 3: THE ORIGINAL FILE
I called the hospital again.
This time, nobody answered.
I called Daniel.
Straight to voicemail.
I called my mother.
Nothing.
Then Mark.
Nothing.
I stood alone in the kitchen, staring at the empty doorway.
For the first time that night, I wasn't thinking about the bruises.
I wasn't thinking about the guardianship papers.
I wasn't even thinking about the insurance policy.
I was thinking about six words Daniel had written.
HE CALLED HIMSELF DOCTOR THEN.
I read them again.
And again.
There was something about that sentence that bothered me.
Daniel didn't write unnecessary words.
He communicated carefully.
If he had written those six words, he had seen something.
Something important.
Something he had remembered for years.
I grabbed the photograph from the floor and studied it.
Dad was lying unconscious in the hospital bed.
Mark stood beside him.
But there was another person in the background.
A woman.
She was partially hidden behind the curtain.
I zoomed in.
Her face was blurry.
But she was holding a clipboard.
I took a picture of the photograph and sent it to the hospital number that had called me.
Then I wrote:
WHO IS THIS?
The reply came almost immediately.
I DON'T KNOW.
Then another message.
BUT I KNOW WHERE THE ORIGINAL RECORDS ARE.
My heart began pounding.
I called.
This time the man answered.
“Listen carefully,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Aaron. I work in medical records.”
“Why are you helping me?”
“Because your father's file was sealed.”
“By who?”
There was a pause.
“Your mother requested it.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course she had.
“Where is the original?”
“Old hospital archives.”
“Can I get it?”
“Not legally.”
“Then how?”
Another pause.
“You'll need someone who can access restricted records.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Elaine Porter.”
I wrote the name down.
“Where can I find her?”
“She retired.”
“Where?”
Aaron hesitated.
“I shouldn't tell you.”
“Please.”
Silence.
Then he gave me an address.
I wrote it down.
Before hanging up, I asked one final question.
“What was wrong with my father's file?”
Aaron's voice became quieter.
“Someone removed pages.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“How many?”
“Twenty-seven.”
I stared at the wall.
“Twenty-seven pages?”
“Yes.”
“What's missing?”
“Medication administration records.”
I felt sick.
“Who removed them?”
“We don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I wish I were.”
The call ended.
I grabbed my keys.
Then I stopped.
Daniel's message.
IF THEY TAKE ME, FIND DAD'S ORIGINAL FILE.
He had known.
Maybe he'd known for years.
Maybe Dad had told him something before he died.
I looked around the kitchen.
The broken glasses.
The overturned chair.
The drawer.
Everything suddenly felt like part of a carefully constructed stage.
And Daniel had been the only person who knew there was a script.
I drove to the hospital.
The emergency entrance was crowded.
I pushed through the doors.
“I'm looking for my brother.”
The receptionist checked the computer.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“He was discharged.”
“By my mother?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Where did they take him?”
She frowned.
“I don't know.”
“My brother is vulnerable. He needs supervision.”
She lowered her voice.
“Sir, your mother is listed as his legal guardian.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She provided documentation.”
“What documentation?”
“A guardianship order.”
I pulled out my phone.
“That's forged.”
She looked uncomfortable.
“I can't determine that.”
“Where is the paperwork?”
“Medical records.”
“Let me see it.”
“I can't.”
I leaned closer.
“My brother was injured in my mother's house. I brought him here. He told doctors that her boyfriend hurt him. Then she suddenly arrives with guardianship paperwork and takes him away.”
The receptionist looked toward the hallway.
“Please lower your voice.”
“Where is my brother?”
“I don't know.”
A security guard approached.
I stepped back.
“Fine.”
I turned away.
Then I heard someone call my name.
“Wait.”
I turned.
A nurse was standing behind the desk.
She looked nervous.
“Come with me.”
She led me into a small staff room.
She closed the door.
“I shouldn't be doing this.”
“What?”
She handed me a photocopy.
It was Daniel's discharge authorization.
My mother's signature was at the bottom.
But there was another signature beside it.
Mark's.
I looked at the date.
It had been signed before I brought Daniel to the hospital.
My blood went cold.
“They prepared this in advance.”
The nurse nodded.
“That's what I thought.”
“Why didn't you stop them?”
“I tried.”
“What happened?”
She swallowed.
“Your mother showed us a court order.”
“Was it real?”
“I don't know.”
“But you suspected something.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked directly at me.
“Because Daniel wouldn't stop shaking when Mark entered the room.”
My stomach tightened.
“What else?”
The nurse hesitated.
Then she said:
“Your brother wrote something on the communication tablet.”
“What?”
“He asked me not to let Mark take him.”
I stared at her.
“What did you do?”
“I called security.”
“And?”
“Your mother showed the paperwork.”
She looked down.
“Security believed her.”
I took a breath.
“Did Daniel say anything else?”
The nurse nodded.
“He typed one sentence.”
“What sentence?”
She looked at me.
“He wrote, ‘He killed Dad.’”
The room seemed to shrink around me.
“Did he identify who?”
She nodded.
“Mark.”
I closed my eyes.
Suddenly, I remembered something from childhood.
Dad in the hospital.
Mom crying.
Mark wasn't there.
Or at least, I didn't remember him.
But Daniel had always been different.
He remembered details everyone else forgot.
Sounds.
Faces.
Words.
The exact location of objects.
What if he remembered Mark?
What if he'd seen him that night?
I thanked the nurse and left.
Outside, rain had started falling.
I sat in my car and stared at the windshield.
Then I opened the address Aaron had given me.
Dr. Elaine Porter.
Thirty minutes away.
I started the engine.
But before I could pull away, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then a faint sound.
Breathing.
I recognized it.
“Daniel?”
A whisper came through.
“Don't come home.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Where are you?”
“Don't ask.”
“Daniel, listen to me. I'm coming.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“Mom knows.”
“Knows what?”
“She knows about the file.”
“What file?”
“Dad's original file.”
I looked at the road.
“Where are you?”
Daniel didn't answer.
Instead, I heard another voice in the background.
Mark.
“Who are you talking to?”
The line went dead.
I immediately called back.
Nothing.
I accelerated toward Dr. Porter.
Twenty minutes later, I arrived at a small house surrounded by trees.
An elderly woman opened the door.
She looked at me.
Then at the photograph I was holding.
Her face changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father.”
She stared at the photograph.
“I haven't seen that man in fifteen years.”
“You knew him?”
“I treated him.”
“Do you know Mark?”
Her expression hardened.
“Yes.”
“What happened to my father?”
She didn't answer.
“Please.”
She looked behind me.
Then she stepped outside and closed the door.
“Your father wasn't supposed to die that night.”
My heart stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“He was improving.”
“Then why did he die?”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Because someone changed his medication.”
I felt the world tilt.
“Who?”
She shook her head.
“I never proved it.”
“Do you have records?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
She hesitated.
Then she reached into her coat.
She pulled out a small envelope.
“I kept one thing.”
She handed it to me.
Inside was a photograph.
Not the hospital photograph.
A different one.
Dad was sitting upright in his hospital bed.
He was awake.
And beside him stood Mark.
But Dad wasn't looking at Mark.
He was looking directly at the camera.
And written across the bottom of the photograph was a handwritten message.
HE KNOWS WHAT I KNOW.
I turned the photograph over.
There was another sentence.
Written in my father's handwriting.
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO ME, ASK DANIEL.
My hands began shaking.
“Why Daniel?”
Dr. Porter looked at me sadly.
“Because your father knew your brother saw something.”
“Something about Mark?”
She nodded.
Then her eyes moved toward the road behind me.
A black SUV had stopped across the street.
She whispered:
“They found you.”
I looked through the window.
The driver's door opened.
Mark stepped out.
He looked directly at the house.
Then he smiled.
Not the smile of a worried boyfriend.
The smile of someone who had finally caught up with the person running from him.
Dr. Porter grabbed my arm.
“You need to leave.”
“I'm not leaving without answers.”
“You don't understand.”
“What?”
She looked at me.
“Your father wasn't the only person who saw what Mark did.”
I stared at her.
“Who else?”
May you like
She didn't answer.
Because at that exact moment, her front door exploded inward.
