Chapter 9 - Twenty-Three MinutesI couldn't move.
“What did you see?”
Stephanie's breathing became shallow.
“Dad was on the floor.”
“Was he conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Who was there?”
“David.”
My stomach twisted.
“What did David do?”
“He was holding something.”
“What?”
“A syringe.”
I stepped backward.
“No.”
“I tried to help Dad.”
“Why didn't you call an ambulance?”
“I did.”
“Then?”
“David stopped me.”
“Why?”
“He said Dad had already died.”
“But he hadn't.”
“No.”
“Why did you listen?”
Stephanie's eyes filled with tears.
“Because I was scared.”
I stared at my daughter.
“What happened next?”
“Dad looked at me.”
“And?”
“He said one thing.”
“What?”
“Vault.”
I froze.
“He said, ‘Your mother is the vault.’”
My mouth went dry.
“What did that mean?”
“I didn't know.”
“Then what happened?”
“David gave him something.”
“What?”
“I don't know.”
“Was it the injection?”
“I don't know.”
“Then?”
“Dad stopped moving.”
A long silence filled the room.
“I thought he was dead.”
I swallowed.
“But he wasn't.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I checked his pulse.”
Stephanie closed her eyes.
“There was still a heartbeat.”
“For how long?”
“Twenty-three minutes.”
“What happened during those twenty-three minutes?”
She looked directly at me.
“He wrote something.”
“Where?”
“On the floor.”
“What?”
“A number.”
“What number?”
“17.”
My heart stopped.
The key.
Stephanie continued.
“David saw it.”
“What did he do?”
“He panicked.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew what 17 meant.”
“What does it mean?”
Stephanie's eyes filled with fear.
“Locker 17.”
“Where?”
“Central Station.”
I pulled out my phone.
“Where is your father now?”
“What?”
“His body.”
She looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because if there is evidence, police need it.”
Stephanie whispered,
“Mom…”
“What?”
“Dad isn't buried where you think.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He isn't in the family cemetery.”
I stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
“David moved the body.”
My voice cracked.
“Why?”
“To hide evidence.”
“Where did he put him?”
“I don't know.”
“Then who does?”
Stephanie looked toward the door.
“Thomas.”
At that exact moment, the hospital lights flickered.
The machine beside Stephanie beeped strangely.
Then the monitors went black.
I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Stephanie grabbed my hand.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“He knows you're here.”
“Who?”
“Thomas.”
The door opened.
A man in hospital scrubs stood there.
He smiled.
“Mrs. Ellis?”
I stepped backward.
“Yes?”
“I need to take your daughter for an emergency scan.”
I looked at Stephanie.
She was shaking her head.
“No.”
The man reached into his pocket.
Not a phone.
A syringe.
Stephanie screamed.
“RUN!”
The man lunged.
I grabbed a metal tray and swung it.
It hit his arm.
The syringe fell.
He cursed.
I pulled Stephanie's bed alarm.
A siren started.
Footsteps rushed toward us.
The man ran.
Hospital staff flooded the room.
I looked down at the floor.
The syringe was gone.
So was the key.
Someone had taken it.
I searched my pockets.
Empty.
I stared at Stephanie.
“Where's the key?”
She looked horrified.
“I don't know.”
Then a nurse came running in.
“Mrs. Ellis?”
“Yes?”
“There is a message for you.”
She handed me an envelope.
My name was written across it.
Donald's handwriting.
Impossible.
I opened it with shaking hands.
Inside was a single sentence.
Locker 17 contains the truth about my death.
I stared at the words.
Then the hospital intercom crackled.
A voice came over the speakers.
“Code Blue.”
Stephanie looked at me.
Then whispered,
“That's not for a patient.”
“Then who is it for?”
May you like
She stared toward the hallway.
“For us.”
