Chapter 7: The Man in Room Twelve
I didn’t realize I was still holding the phone until Evelyn reached across the table and closed my fingers around it.
“Don’t call back,” she said.
I looked at her.
“What?””
“Not yet.””
“The nurse said my father is alive.””
“I heard her.””
“She said the envelope is missing.””
“I heard that too.””
“And Elliot said Dad never made it to surgery.””
Evelyn’s face was grim.
“That means one of them is lying.””
Natalie stood abruptly.
“We need to get to the hospital.””
I looked at her.
“You were at St. Matthew’s.””
She went still.
The diner suddenly felt too small.
“You told me you found Daniel.””
Her lips trembled.
“In Room Twelve.””
“What happened to him?””
“I don't know.””
“You said you found him.””
“I did.””
“Then what happened?””
She closed her eyes.
“He was gone.””
I stared at her.
“That doesn't make sense.””
“It happened so fast.””
“When?””
“Years ago.””
“Before we met?””
“Yes.””
“And my father hired you?””
“Yes.””
“Why would Raymond hire you to find my brother?””
She looked at Evelyn.
“Because he didn't trust the police.””
I shook my head.
“That isn't enough.””
Natalie’s voice broke.
“Because the police were already involved.””
I stopped.
“What?””
She sat back down.
Her fingers shook as she wrapped them around the edge of the table.
“There were officers who were helping move children between facilities.””
Evelyn nodded slowly.
“We suspected that.””
I looked at her.
“You knew?””
“Not all of it.””
“Who was involved?””
She didn't answer.
Natalie whispered, “Elliot.””
My jaw tightened.
“Elliot Voss was a cop?””
“No,” Natalie said.
“He worked with people who were.””
I pushed my chair back.
“I need to go to St. Matthew’s.””
Evelyn grabbed my sleeve.
“You can't.””
“Why?””
“Because that's what the messages want.””
“The messages?””
She nodded.
“They’re driving you toward places.””
“So?””
“So every place you've been told to visit belonged to Raymond’s investigation.””
I stared at her.
She continued.
“Someone is feeding you information because they want you to find something.””
“Then maybe I should.””
“Maybe.””
She looked toward the rain-darkened window.
“But you need to know what you’re looking for before you walk into a trap.””
I stood.
“My father is in a hospital somewhere. He may be hurt. Someone stole an envelope containing answers about my birth. And my wife has been secretly investigating my family for months.””
I looked at Natalie.
“I’m done sitting at tables.””
We left the diner through the back entrance.
The rain had slowed to a mist.
We walked three blocks to an old parking garage where Evelyn claimed she had left a car.
I noticed something strange halfway there.
A man in a gray coat was standing across the street.
Watching us.
I stopped.
He stopped.
Natalie whispered, “Grant?””
I grabbed Evelyn’s arm.
“Who is that?””
She looked.
The man turned away.
“Keep walking,” she said.
We entered the garage.
The car was an old silver sedan with a dented passenger door.
As we climbed in, I looked at Evelyn.
“How did you get this?””
“It's mine.””
“You said you lived under another name.””
“I do.””
“Then who is the car registered to?””
She started the engine.
“Someone who died twelve years ago.””
I stared at her.
“You’re kidding.””
“No.””
Natalie buckled her seat belt.
“This is getting worse.””
Evelyn pulled out of the garage.
We drove in silence for several minutes.
Finally I said, “Take us to St. Matthew’s.””
She looked at me.
“You heard me.””
“I did.””
“Then take us there.””
She sighed.
“Fine.””
The children's home had been abandoned for years.
It stood at the edge of an industrial district, surrounded by rusted fencing and dead weeds.
The front windows were boarded.
A faded sign still hung above the entrance.
*ST. MATTHEW’S CHILDREN’S RESIDENTIAL CENTER*
We parked two blocks away.
I stared at the building.
“I've never seen this place.””
Natalie whispered, “I have.””
“Tell me what happened.””
She shook her head.
“Not until we’re inside.””
“No.””
I turned to her.
“You don't get to do that anymore.””
She stared at me.
“You're going to tell me everything.””
Her voice became small.
“I was twenty-six.””
“When you came here?””
“Yes.””
“Who sent you?””
“Raymond.””
“What did he give you?””
“A name.””
“Daniel?””
She nodded.
“And a photograph.””
“Of him?””
“Yes.””
“Then what?””
“I was told to ask for Room Twelve.””
Evelyn interrupted.
“Did someone let you in?””
“No.””
“Then how did you enter?””
Natalie looked at me.
“The door was already open.””
A cold feeling settled over me.
We approached the building.
The main door groaned when Evelyn pushed it.
Inside, dust coated the floor.
The hallway smelled of mildew and old paper.
A child's drawing was still taped to one wall.
Crayon houses.
A yellow sun.
Three stick figures holding hands.
I stopped.
One figure was much taller than the other two.
I touched the picture.
Something moved behind my eyes.
A woman laughing.
My father holding a boy's hand.
A little girl?
No.
A nurse.
A white door.
Room Twelve.
I jerked my hand away.
Evelyn noticed.
“What did you see?””
“I don't know.””
Natalie stared at me.
“You remembered.””
“Maybe.””
We continued.
Room numbers appeared one after another.
8.
9.
10.
11.
Then 12.
The door stood open.
My stomach dropped.
Inside was a small room with two metal beds.
One was overturned.
The other still had a rusted bed frame.
On the wall above it were faded pencil marks.
*G*
And beneath it:
*D*
I walked closer.
I touched the letters.
Grant.
Daniel.
My throat tightened.
“They were measuring your height,” Evelyn whispered.
I looked at her.
“What?””
“The marks.””
I stared.
The letters had been made years apart.
G.
D.
Different heights.
Different dates.
I found a line scratched under Daniel’s initials.
*6 years, 4 months.*
I stepped back.
“That was me.””
“Yes.””
“There were two beds.””
“Yes.””
“So Daniel was here with me.””
Natalie nodded.
“You were.””
I turned toward her.
“Why did nobody tell me?””
“Because when I found these records, they had already been altered.””
“Who altered them?””
A noise came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
We all froze.
Evelyn raised one finger to her lips.
The footsteps stopped outside the room.
Then someone spoke.
“Grant?””
It was my father.
I nearly collapsed.
“Dad?””
Natalie grabbed my arm.
Evelyn shook her head violently.
The voice came again.
“Son, it's me.””
I moved toward the door.
“Dad?””
A shadow appeared in the hallway.
Then a man stepped into view.
He was wearing a hospital gown.
His face was bruised.
An IV line hung from one arm.
My father.
I stopped breathing.
“Dad?””
His eyes filled with tears.
“Grant.””
I ran toward him.
Evelyn shouted, “Wait!””
Too late.
I reached my father and grabbed him.
He felt solid.
Warm.
Alive.
He hugged me with surprising strength.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered.
I pulled back.
“What happened?””
He looked past me.
At Evelyn.
Then at Natalie.
His expression hardened.
“Why is she here?””
I stared.
“Natalie helped find Daniel.””
Dad’s face drained of color.
“No.””
“Dad—”
“No.””
He grabbed my shoulders.
“You have to listen to me.””
“What happened at the hospital?””
His eyes darted down the hallway.
“They took the envelope.””
“Who?””
“Someone I trusted.””
“Who?””
He looked directly at Natalie.
She began crying.
“Raymond,” she whispered.
He shook his head.
“You should never have come.””
“I was trying to help.””
“You were told to stay away from Grant.””
My father turned to me.
“Son, there's something I need to tell you.””
“What?””
He glanced at Evelyn.
“Your mother isn't the woman you think she is.””
I looked at Evelyn.
She looked like she'd been struck.
Dad continued.
“And Daniel…”
He stopped.
A sound came from the stairwell.
A man's shoes against concrete.
My father stiffened.
“Where is the back exit?””
Evelyn pointed.
“Through the laundry room.””
“Go.””
I grabbed Dad's arm.
“Not until you tell me.””
He looked directly into my eyes.
“Daniel wasn't your brother.””
I froze.
“He was your twin.””
The footsteps grew closer.
Dad pulled me toward the back hallway.
“And the woman in that photograph…”
He looked at Evelyn.
“…is the reason they took him.””
A door slammed somewhere behind us.
Then a man's voice echoed through the building.
“Raymond.””
My father stopped.
He knew that voice.
Elliot Voss.
Dad whispered one final sentence.
“Whatever happens, Grant, do not let Natalie take you to Room Twelve.””
I turned toward my wife.
She was no longer crying.
She was staring at the old room.
And in her hand was a key.
Not the brass key from my father's house.
May you like
A small silver key.
With the number *12* engraved on it.
