“It’s a little champagne-colored nondescript four-door. There are approximately eighty billion of those on the road at any given second. I didn’t see the license plate or anything that made it stand out,” I tell him.
“Then why do you look like something’s bothering you?”
“Because it is. There’s something about the way he got in the car.” I look at the security officer. “Can you show us the parking lot?”
“Emma, you should be resting,” Bellamy argues.
“I don’t need to rest. I just spent a few hours napping, and you know what they say… cold makes for a deeper sleep. When we got here, I said I wanted the camera left in Greg’s room because I wanted it to be seen. I wanted him to come. It seems he took my invitation. You think I’m just going to let that go?” I look back at the officer. “Show me the parking lot.”
The route through the hospital to the lot is twisty and convoluted. We go through two floating hallways and up and down elevators and stairwells that make me question the architectural integrity of whoever designed the place.
“Almost there,” he says.
“This isn’t exactly the most streamlined of hospitals, is it?” I ask.
“We actually left the main hospital. That’s the oldest section. Other buildings around it were bought over the years and added onto it, but they couldn’t be directly attached, which is why it ended up with all the different connection points to get from place to place. There are still some areas where you must go outside in order to access that part of it, even though the buildings are attached in some places. It can be really confusing if you don’t know your way around,” he confirms.
“Which Martin obviously did,” I say.
“He worked here,” Sam points out.
“On that specific floor. I highly doubt a hospital that needed to be pieced together from several different buildings has the same orderlies working all the wards. Not only did he park all the way on the other side of the hospital, but he managed to get through this maze without getting seen on any cameras except when he was on his way out. Why would he do that?” I ask.
“Here we are,” the officer tells us, leading us out of a stairwell into the same lobby Martin had left from.
We walk out into the parking lot, and I pause, trying to orient myself. The camera caught Martin at a specific angle, and I need to find that angle to ensure I go to the right area of the parking lot.
“Eric, do you have your car here?” I ask.
“Yeah, why?” he asks.
“Because you drive a nondescript four-door. It’s not champagne-colored, but I can deal with blue in this circumstance. Where did you park?”
“In the parking deck.”
“Go get it and bring it here,” I tell him. He hesitates, and I glance over at him. “Please.” He leaves, and I look at Dean. “Can you get yours, too?”
He doesn’t question me but gives a single nod and jogs off. I feel Sam’s eyes on me.
“What are you up to?”
“I just need to see something. I don’t think Martin was alone.”
“How could you tell that? The back window of the car was too dark to see anything through it,” he says.
“I know. That’s why I need to see the cars. I just want to check.”
It takes a few minutes for both cars to come into the lot, and I point out the two spots where I want them to park. When everyone gathers near me again, I turn to the security officer.
“Can you look at the old footage from the camera and the current footage at the same time?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Great. Will you bring Sam and Eric to the office and cue up when Martin went out into the parking lot, then the current feed?”
“No problem.”
“Okay. Sam, when you get up there, call me.”
“I don’t want you out here without me,” he says, stepping closer.
“I’m not alone,” I point out. “Bellamy and Dean are both going to be here.” He glares at Dean, and I reach up to turn his face toward me. “I’m alive because he found me and got me out of that morgue. Please don’t forget that.”
Sam sighs and kisses my cheek. “You’re right. Love you.”
“Love you.”
Chapter Three Emma
Seventeen years ago …
“Where is she?” she asked. “Where’s Mama?”
Her father’s face was the color of campfire logs long after the fire went down. It had been that way for days since that night when the dark suits filled the house, and the stretcher went by covered in the white sheet. Since the night someone sat in the living room watching TV while she cowered at the top of the stairs and waited for everything to go back to the way it was supposed to be, then disappeared before her father came home. Since the night they sat on the floor and waited.
“She’s gone, darling,” he told her. “I told you.”
“But where is she? What happened to her?”
A gauzy dark purple dress lay across the foot of the bed. It was where she’d slept the night before, but it wasn’t Emma’s bed. It wasn’t comfortable, and the sheets didn’t smell like her mother. But Emma still wasn’t even sure how she got here, or why they were here. This wasn’t Vermont. That’s where they were supposed to be, but they never ended up there. Her father was wearing a black suit. It wasn’t the same type of suit he wore when he worked. His usual white shirt beneath it was black as well.
“Get dressed, Emma. We’re going to be late,” he told her.
“Where is she?” she repeated.
“You’ll see her at the memorial service. That’s where she is,” he told her.
But she wasn’t. Not really. She knew what a memorial service was supposed to look like. Two years ago, her mother and father had brought her to one. They weren’t there for long. She didn’t really know who it was for, but she could
