“And issued him a death certificate,” Dean adds.
“But whose death were they actually certifying?” I ask. “It doesn’t just say that they assumed he was dead because of the damage to the vehicle. It specifically mentions remains. There was a body in that car.”
“And he just let them assume it was him so he could slip away.”
“Or that was his intention all along.” I stare at the article again, and the date jumps out at me. “This article was written on August twenty-ninth. It says the accident was on Wednesday.” I pull up a calendar and put in the year of the accident. “August twenty-sixth.”
Dean’s eyes get wide, and he moves closer to the edge of the cushion as if the realization is making it impossible for him to sit still.
“That’s the day before your mother went to get the morning after pill,” he says.
“The date he thought he and my mother conceived me, years before.”
Just the thought makes my stomach turn. That’s not a coincidence. Nothing this man does is by chance. He chose that day specifically, and the only reasoning that forms in my mind is sickening. I immediately dial Sam’s number.
“Who are you calling?” Dean asks.
“Sam. He’s the sheriff in Sherwood. He has access to the police records. Maybe he can tell us more about what happened that night.”
“Miss me already?” Sam asks when he picks up the phone.
“No. I mean, yes, I do. But that’s not why I’m calling,” I say.
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I promise you I will miss you a lot when I have the chance. Right now, I need your help.”
“What’s going on?” he asks, his voice serious now.
“I need you to pull up a police report for me. August twenty-sixth, nineteen ninety-eight.”
“What kind of police report? What happened?”
“Dean did some research into my uncle Jonah Griffin and found out he was issued a death certificate,” I explain. “Supposedly he died in a car accident right outside Sherwood that night. Since we obviously know he didn’t actually die, I want to know what really happened. All the news articles I’ve been able to find essentially talked about there being a chase that went on, and they found a body in the wreck. But obviously, that couldn’t have been him. Apparently, he was involved in some sort of criminal activity that led to the crash, but the information was never released. I’m hoping it’s in the police report.”
“Absolutely, I’ll do what I can,” he replies. “Where are you going to be today?”
“Back at the hospital. I need to be there when Greg is awake so I can talk to him about everything. Hopefully, he’ll be on less medication today. I need more info about Leviathan and what he was doing with Jonah. If he can tell us where he was kept, we might be able to find Jonah without incident.”
Even as I say it, I know the chances of it actually working out that way are very slim. But I have to think that way. I have to balance my instincts with my training, hope for structure, and prepare for upheaval.
“I’ll call you when I find the file,” he says. “I know we already went over this, but please promise me you won’t do anything impulsive. Or at least if you’re going to, don’t do it without someone knowing what’s going on.”
“If I have to do anything even remotely risky, I’ll probably have my cousin with me.”
It’s the best way I can figure to slip the news into the conversation. Sam pauses.
“You got the results back.”
“Yes. Jonah is Dean’s father. Making him my cousin. He was so obsessed with my mother; he slept with the first woman who reminded him of her,” I tell him.
“That’s sick,” he says. “We need to find this guy. That’s not the kind of mind I want out on the streets.”
“Then let’s get him off them.”
When the conversation is over, I call up to the hospital and check on Greg. Confirming he’s awake and lucid, I finish getting ready, gather all the evidence I have of the bombing and Catch Me, and head for the hospital in the new rental car I had delivered this morning. My fingertips tingle with anticipation, waiting for my phone to ring so Sam can tell me what’s in that file.
Greg’s awake, looking a bit more lucid when I walk into his room. I’ve brought breakfast from the cafeteria, and his eyes light up.
“I don’t know how your eating schedule is now, but I figured you might like a little bit of a break from the trays they bring you. So, I brought up a couple of sausage and egg biscuits, some hashbrowns, and some real coffee. How does that sound?” I ask.
“Sounds fantastic,” he says.
“Good.”
I set the food down on the tray table beside him, and Dean carries the files and bags of materials over to the sofa. Greg’s eyes follow him.
“What’s all that?” he asks.
I follow his gaze and let out a breath.
“I wanted to show you some things I uncovered while you were with Jonah and see if you could tell me anything about them,” I say. He looks away, his eyes focusing on his feet at the end of the bed rather than me. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re talking about Lotan,” he says, almost under his breath. “I’ve never heard his real name before.”
“Yes,” I tell him. He keeps staring, and I take a step closer to him. “Say it.”
Greg looks over at me.
“What?”
“Say it,” I repeat. “For two years, he forced you to call him by a title because he thinks he’s a god. Let me tell you something. In ancient mythology, Lotan wasn’t a god. He was a servant, a monster, and he was destroyed. You stood up to him. You survived him. Don’t stay chained to him now.”
“How do you know I stood up to him?” he asks.
“Because you’re sitting
