Chapter 8: The Man in the Chair
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Mark was alive.
That was all my mind could hold.
Alive.
Then Detective Harris added:
“He's been shot.”
I grabbed the edge of the table.
“Is he conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Then take me to him.”
“Absolutely not.”
“He's my husband.”
“And someone just used your house as a trap.”
“I don't care.”
“I do.”
Harris stepped between me and the door.
“We're going in first.”
My father stood.
“I'll go.”
Harris looked at him.
“You're not law enforcement.”
“I know.”
“You stay here.”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
Harris stared at him.
“You've been dead for twelve years. You don't get to give orders.”
My father looked toward me.
“Your daughter is still in that hospital.”
His voice softened.
“And your husband may be the only person who knows how to keep her alive.”
That stopped me.
I turned to Harris.
“Take us.”
Twenty minutes later, police surrounded my house.
The birthday decorations were still visible through the windows.
Pink balloons.
Purple streamers.
A giant paper banner reading:
HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY, EMMA!
It looked grotesquely cheerful.
My life had fallen apart beneath those balloons.
Detective Harris raised a hand.
“Stay behind me.”
We entered.
The kitchen was exactly as I remembered it.
Except now there were footprints across the floor.
The refrigerator door was open.
One birthday gift had been torn apart.
The unicorn stuffed animal was missing its left ear.
“Basement,” Harris said.
We moved downstairs.
The smell of blood reached me before I saw him.
Mark was tied to a chair.
His shirt was soaked with blood near his shoulder.
His head hung forward.
“Mark!”
His eyes opened.
“Sarah?”
I ran toward him.
Harris stopped me.
“Wait.”
He checked the room.
No movement.
No attacker.
Finally, he nodded.
I rushed to Mark.
“Oh my God.”
He looked at me.
“You shouldn't have come.”
“Someone shot you.”
“I know.”
“Who?”
His eyes moved toward my father.
He froze.
For the first time since I'd seen him again, my father looked frightened.
Mark whispered:
“You found him.”
I stared between them.
“You two know each other.”
Mark laughed weakly.
“Unfortunately.”
My father stepped closer.
“Who did this?”
Mark's face hardened.
“You already know.”
“No.”
“You always know.”
“Tell me.”
Mark shook his head.
“They have someone inside the police.”
Harris stiffened.
“Who?”
Mark looked at him.
“That's the problem.”
He glanced toward me.
“They're listening.”
Everyone went silent.
Then Mark whispered:
“Don't trust anyone.”
An ambulance arrived.
Paramedics began treating Mark.
The bullet had passed through his shoulder.
Painful.
Bloody.
But not immediately fatal.
I stayed beside him.
He grabbed my hand.
“Sarah.”
“What?”
“I need you to listen.”
“I am.”
“Emma isn't safe.”
My stomach tightened.
“She’s at the hospital.”
“I know.”
“She's surrounded by police.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“What do you mean?”
Mark's breathing became shallow.
“They can get into the hospital.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“They already did.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The person who disconnected Emma's IV had hospital credentials.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I gave them the credentials.”
I stared at him.
“You?”
“I was forced.”
“By Malcolm?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Mark looked at my father.
“Him.”
I turned.
My father went completely still.
“That's a lie.”
Mark laughed bitterly.
“You always were good at disappearing.”
My father stepped forward.
“You're lying to protect yourself.”
“From what?”
“The people you betrayed.”
Mark's expression changed.
“I'm not the one who betrayed them.”
My father stared at him.
“You sold the information.”
“You taught me how.”
Silence.
I stepped between them.
“Stop.”
They both looked at me.
“I want the truth.”
Mark nodded.
“You deserve it.”
My father said nothing.
Mark continued.
“Your father recruited me when I was twenty-two.”
I stared at him.
“He trained me.”
“For what?”
“To move information.”
“About patients?”
“Among other things.”
“Then why marry me?”
Mark's eyes filled with something I couldn't identify.
“Because I loved you.”
I wanted to believe him.
But my mind was screaming.
“How convenient.”
“Sarah…”
“You knew my father.”
“Yes.”
“You knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about the organization.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Emma was being targeted.”
“Yes.”
“And you still let me think you were just a husband with gambling problems?”
Mark closed his eyes.
“I was trying to keep you out of it.”
“You failed.”
“I know.”
The ambulance doors opened.
Before Mark was taken inside, he grabbed my wrist.
“One thing.”
“What?”
“Find the unicorn.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because they think the ledger is inside.”
“Isn't it?”
“No.”
“Then where is it?”
Mark looked toward my father.
“Ask him.”
My father stared at the floor.
I turned.
“Dad?”
He didn't answer.
“Where is the ledger?”
He finally whispered:
“Inside your mother's old house.”
I frowned.
“My mother sold that house.”
“No.”
“She did.”
“Your mother never sold it.”
My heart sank.
“What are you saying?”
“The house is still legally yours.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if the deed was transferred before her disappearance.”
“Her disappearance?”
I stared at him.
“My mother died.”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
I felt dizzy.
“Stop.”
“She disappeared.”
“You're saying my mother is alive too?”
“I don't know.”
The room became silent.
I looked at him.
“How many lies have you told me?”
He couldn't answer.
Then a police officer rushed toward us.
“Detective!”
Harris turned.
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
“What?”
“Hospital security.”
The officer looked at me.
“Someone accessed Emma's room.”
My blood froze.
“When?”
“Four minutes ago.”
I ran.
The hospital corridor was packed with officers.
But Emma's room was empty.
Her bed was untouched.
The monitor was still running.
The nurse was crying.
“Where is my daughter?”
Nobody answered.
I grabbed the nurse.
“Where is Emma?”
“She was here.”
“When?”
“Five minutes ago.”
“Who took her?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at Harris.
“Find her.”
He was already shouting into his radio.
“Lock every exit!”
My father entered the room.
He looked at the empty bed.
Then his face changed.
“What?”
He pointed toward the floor.
A small silver object lay beneath the bed.
I picked it up.
It was a key.
Attached to it was a tiny paper tag.
Only three words were written on it.
FOR SARAH ONLY.
My hands trembled.
I opened the folded paper.
Inside was a single sentence.
YOUR DAUGHTER IS WITH SOMEONE SHE TRUSTS.
I looked at Mark.
He was still being treated in the hallway.
His face had gone white.
“Who?”
I held up the note.
“Who does Emma trust?”
Mark whispered:
“Rachel.”
My heart stopped.
“Rachel is missing.”
Mark shook his head.
“No.”
“What?”
“She called me before they took Emma.”
“What did she say?”
Mark looked at me.
“She told me she found the person who poisoned Emma.”
“Who?”
Mark's eyes filled with fear.
“She said…”
He stopped.
“Say it.”
“She said it was someone in our family.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
Mark looked toward my father.
Then he whispered:
“Your father.”
May you like
I turned.
My father was gone.
