He stayed there until the family took notice of him and started to ease in closer. He didn’t want them to see his face enough to recognize it later. Especially if it wasn’t him. He was walking a very fine line being there, just yards away from the people starting to trickle in to stand in the room with Mariya, to crush black clothing against each other because they couldn’t hug her. One of them might see him and think they were seeing someone else. It wouldn’t be unusual. An easy mistake when you share your face with another.
The temptation was strong. He wanted to be near her, to look at her the way he’d looked at the man and see how they changed her. He should have been the one they called. It should have been him to take care of her. No one else knew her like he did. No one else loved her as much.
Setting the program for the man’s service on a chair set up by the door, he walked out of the room, meaning to leave the building. But his feet planned otherwise. They brought him down the corridor, past floral arrangements honoring the lost loved one of whoever walked by. Mariya’s room was right there. He could see the people inside. He stopped himself from going in but walked past, trying to catch a glimpse. He walked past again, closer this time, and confirmed what he thought he saw the first time.
Her casket was closed.
Why would it be closed? Why would they cover her beautiful face?
The thought rushed through him and made him sick. Her face. That’s what they destroyed. When Thomas and Levi shot without looking, they didn’t see their guns aimed right at her perfect face. They mangled her, so the lid of her casket had to be down, shielding her from everyone seeing what they had done, what was left of her. He’d never get another look.
Turning to leave, he saw a podium. Names of the visitors filtering through the front door and to the various rooms filled the lines of the paper in the book opened on top. He walked up to it and let his eyes scan over them. A few familiar ones stood out against the others. He wondered who the others belonged to, wondering if he could pick them out of the crowded rooms. Picking up the pen, he flipped several pages in so it wouldn’t be easily seen and signed his name. By the time anyone saw it there, it would mean nothing. But he couldn’t just walk away. He wanted her to know he was there.
Chapter Eleven Now
“Protect me from what?” I ask. “What would covering up where I was born protect me from?”
“I don’t know,” Dean says. “But there has to be a reason she didn’t want you to know she gave birth to you in Feathered Nest.”
My phone rings, and when I don’t move to answer it, Sam walks toward it.
“I just don’t understand,” I sigh. “I never heard either of my parents mention Feathered Nest. Ever. That’s something I would definitely remember. And I know I never lived there.”
“Emma,” Sam says.
“I know I have some gaps in my memory from when I was younger, but don’t you think it would have come back up when I was sent there? As soon as I went into the town, something should have triggered. But none of it looked even vaguely familiar,” I tell him.
“Emma,” Sam repeats. “I need you to pay attention to me.”
I whip around to face him and see a tense expression in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Greg’s awake,” he tells me.
My arms fall away from where they were crossed over my chest, and I take a step toward him.
“He’s awake?” I ask.
Sam nods.
“We’ll be right there.”
I run into the bedroom to put on actual clothes, splash some water on my face and head, and throw my still-wet hair up into a ponytail. The chill of the air stings through the wet strands as we run outside into the glow of dawn. I didn’t even realize what time it is. When my dream woke me, I felt like I’d been sleeping for only a few minutes, but it must have been at least a couple of hours. We’re silent as we drive toward the hospital, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I wonder what the men are thinking. Of the three of us, only I actually know Greg. Sam is familiar with him, having heard about him and his disappearance even before he and I reunited. But Dean has only a cursory knowledge of him and what happened before my undercover assignment in Feathered Nest.
What he does know is the brutality shown to him. Part of me feels defensive having either of them there in the first moments Greg is awake. He doesn’t know either of them, and they don’t know him. It might embarrass him or make him uncomfortable. At the same time, there’s value in what they observe and how they feel about anything he has to say. They are at a far greater distance from Greg and the situation than I am. That means they might be able to perceive things I don’t just as I can make links they can’t.
This early in the morning, most people would like to still be curled up in bed, especially in the sharp chill of February. But D.C. is already wide awake and bustling. People rush around to get to their buses,
