Chapter 4 - THE SYRINGECarter moved quickly.

Marcus grabbed his wrist before he could inject anything.

The syringe hit the floor.

Two security officers appeared at the end of the hallway.

Carter raised his voice.

“He attacked me.”

Marcus stared at him.

“You're insane.”

Carter straightened his coat.

“I think we have a misunderstanding.”

I looked at the syringe.

“What was in it?”

He smiled.

“Sedative.”

“For whom?”

He didn't answer.

Security approached.

Carter handed over his credentials.

“I am the attending orthopedic surgeon.”

One officer looked uncertain.

I pointed at the syringe.

“Test it.”

Carter's expression hardened.

Then Emily screamed.

We all turned.

She was trying to tear the IV from her arm.

“No!”

I rushed inside.

“Emily!”

She was sobbing.

“He knows.”

“Who?”

Her eyes fixed on Carter.

“He knows I'm talking.”

Carter stood in the doorway.

“Sarah, she's traumatized.”

I turned toward security.

“Do not let him near her.”

One officer stepped between them.

Carter sighed.

“I'll cooperate.”

But as he walked away, he looked directly at Emily.

Then he touched two fingers to his wrist.

A gesture.

Small.

Almost meaningless.

Emily went completely still.

I saw it.

She had seen it too.

That same gesture had triggered something.

She whispered:

“Basement.”

Then:

“Locker.”

“What locker?”

“Thirty-two.”

Marcus and I exchanged a look.

Later that night, we returned to the basement with police officers.

Locker 32 was hidden behind a maintenance panel.

Inside were patient files.

Not hospital files.

Photographs.

Addresses.

Bank records.

Driver's licenses.

And dozens of handwritten statements.

One woman described being drugged.

Another said she had been forced to sign medical consent forms.

Another had written one sentence repeatedly:

They want us to think no one will believe us.

Then Marcus found a red notebook.

The first page contained names.

Doctors.

Nurses.

Administrators.

Police officers.

Judges.

A network.

Not one criminal.

A system.

At the bottom of the page was one final name.

Daniel Harris.

I stared at it.

Daniel wasn't just Emily's abusive husband.

He was part of the network.

We kept digging.

Then we found something worse.

A list labeled:

TRANSFERRED PATIENTS.

There were seventeen names.

Next to each was a destination.

Several were foreign cities.

Some were blank.

Then I recognized one.

Megan Price.

Destination:

BLACKWOOD FACILITY.

I had never heard of it.

Police entered the name into their system.

Nothing.

Then one officer frowned.

“Wait.”

He looked up.

“There was a company with that name.”

“Was?”

“Shut down twelve years ago.”

“Who owned it?”

He searched.

Then his face changed.

“Daniel Harris.”

My stomach dropped.

The timeline didn't make sense.

Daniel had supposedly met Emily eight years ago.

Megan had disappeared eleven years ago.

Then why was her file connected to him?

Before I could think, my phone rang.

Emily's room.

I answered.

A nurse was screaming.

“Doctor, she's gone!”

I ran.

Her bed was empty.

The restraints had been cut.

A window stood open.

And on the pillow was a note.

Three words.

STOP SEARCHING, SARAH.

Underneath was a photograph.

Me.

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