Chapter 7 - THE HOSPITAL WHERE DEAD PEOPLE LIVED
Rosehaven wasn't listed on any public hospital directory.
It stood behind iron gates in upstate New York, surrounded by tall trees and private security cameras.
Detective Hart arranged for investigators to examine the facility's licensing and medical records.
Roman offered his attorneys' assistance, but Olivia made one thing clear.
"No private raids. No intimidation. We do this legally."
Roman nodded.
"Agreed."
I watched him carefully.
A man with his reputation could have ordered anything.
Instead, he listened.
That mattered more than he probably realized.
By noon, investigators had obtained records showing that Rosehaven was controlled through several companies connected to Arthur Whitlock.
One of its long-term patients was registered as Emily Brooks.
Her photograph looked exactly like my mother.
I nearly collapsed.
"It's her."
Olivia nodded.
"We believe so."
A court-authorized search followed.
While investigators entered the facility, Roman and I waited outside.
My hands trembled so badly I couldn't hold my coffee.
Roman quietly took the cup.
"You don't have to pretend you're okay."
I looked at him.
"What if she doesn't remember me?"
"Then you'll have time to get to know each other again."
"What if she hates me for not finding her?"
He shook his head.
"Claire, none of this was your doing."
I swallowed.
Nobody had spoken to me that gently in years.
Finally, Olivia emerged.
"Claire."
I stood.
"She's alive."
The world seemed to tilt.
"Can I see her?"
Olivia smiled.
"She asked for you."
I ran.
Down a white corridor.
Past nurses and investigators.
Past doors that seemed to stretch forever.
Then I reached Room 214.
A woman sat beside the window.
Her hair had turned silver at the temples.
Her shoulders were thinner.
But I knew her.
"Mom?"
She turned.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
"Claire?"
I crossed the room.
She stood slowly.
And then I was in her arms.
Six years of grief broke open at once.
We cried.
We laughed.
We held each other like people afraid the world might separate them again.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
I shook my head.
"No. Don't apologize."
She touched my face.
"My beautiful girl."
I pressed my forehead against hers.
"I thought you were dead."
"They told me you were safe. They said seeing you would expose you to danger."
I held her tighter.
"You're coming home."
Mom nodded.
Then she looked toward the doorway.
Roman stood there.
Her face changed.
"Patrick Gallagher's son."
Roman stepped forward.
"Yes, ma'am."
Mom studied him.
Then whispered, "You look like Samuel."
Roman's throat tightened.
"Where is my brother?"
Mom glanced toward the window.
"He helped me hide evidence. He's been using a different name."
"Where is he now?"
Before she could answer, a nurse entered.
"Miss Bennett, we found something in your mother's belongings."
She handed me a sealed envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Samuel Gallagher stood beside my mother.
But there was someone else in the picture.
David.
My boyfriend.
May you like
And on the back, in my mother's handwriting, were four words.
He knows who you are.
