Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE GLASS
“Emily Foster signed for that painting tonight?” Anthony Santoro demanded.
His security chief, Thomas Briggs, placed the delivery instructions on the desk.
“At 8:42 p.m., sir. The clinic confirmed her signature electronically.”
Anthony looked toward his sister.
Claudia stood near the office doorway, her ivory gown still stained with blue paint.
“You told me Emily resigned five months ago.”
“She did,” Claudia answered.
“Then explain why she's receiving artwork at my clinic.”
Claudia's eyes moved toward Daniel.
“Anthony, please. Not in front of him.”
Daniel struck his wheelchair armrest with his palm.
Once.
Hard.
I recognized that gesture.
He wasn't frightened.
He was angry.
“He wants to be included,” I said.
Claudia turned on me.
“You've already caused enough trouble.”
Anthony raised one hand.
“Rachel stays. Daniel stays. You answer the question.”
For the first time that evening, Claudia looked genuinely afraid.
“Emily discovered something she wasn't supposed to see.”
“What?”
Claudia swallowed.
“If you go to the clinic tonight, you may lose more than your reputation.”
Anthony studied her.
Then he turned to Thomas.
“Bring the car.”
Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived at Santoro Medical Center.
The private clinic occupied a six-story limestone building on Manhattan's Upper East Side.
Daniel had received occupational therapy there for years.
I had accompanied him during his last two appointments.
But tonight, the building looked different.
The reception area was nearly empty.
Two security guards stood beside an elevator marked STAFF ACCESS ONLY.
Dr. Martin Keene, the clinic's medical director, appeared before we reached the desk.
He was fifty-six, silver-haired, and dressed in an expensive charcoal suit.
“Anthony. I wasn't expecting you.”
“Where's Emily Foster?”
Keene's smile tightened.
“Emily no longer works here.”
“Then show me who signed this receipt.”
Anthony handed him the delivery instructions.
Keene examined the page.
“An administrative error.”
Daniel made a sharp sound.
“No.”
Keene glanced at him.
“Daniel, it's late. You should be home resting.”
My stomach tightened.
Doctors had been dismissing Daniel's attempts to communicate for years.
I stepped beside his wheelchair.
“Daniel has something to say.”
Anthony nodded.
“Then we're listening.”
Daniel reached for the communication tablet mounted beside his chair.
His movements were slow, but he selected the letters deliberately.
Three words appeared.
THIRD FLOOR. RED DOOR.
Keene's expression changed.
“That section is restricted.”
Anthony stepped toward the elevator.
“It's my clinic.”
“Your ownership doesn't override patient privacy.”
“Then you can accompany us.”
Keene hesitated.
And that hesitation told me more than his words.
The third floor smelled of disinfectant and fresh paint.
We passed several closed therapy rooms.
At the end of the corridor stood a red door.
Daniel stopped his wheelchair.
His breathing quickened.
Beyond the door was a narrow hallway.
And halfway down that hallway stood a large observation window.
A woman sat behind the glass.
Thin.
Pale.
Wearing gray hospital clothing.
Emily Foster.
Daniel cried out.
“Em... Emily!”
She looked up.
For one extraordinary second, her face filled with relief.
Then she saw Keene.
Her expression changed to terror.
Anthony moved toward the window.
“Emily?”
She stood and pressed both hands against the glass.
A yellow identification bracelet circled her wrist.
I could see bruising where the plastic had rubbed her skin.
“What happened to her?” I asked.
Keene stepped between us.
“Miss Foster experienced a psychological crisis. She's receiving voluntary treatment.”
Emily shook her head violently.
Anthony stared at him.
“Voluntary?”
“Her records are confidential.”
“Then why is she asking us for help?”
Keene reached for the door handle.
“She's confused. I suggest you leave.”
Before he could open it, Emily grabbed a marker from a nearby table.
She wrote five words across the glass.
I NEVER AGREED TO STAY.
The hallway went silent.
Keene's face lost its color.
Anthony turned toward Thomas.
“Call the authorities. Request an immediate welfare check.”
Keene grabbed his arm.
“You have no idea what you're interfering with.”
Anthony pulled away.
“Then educate me.”
Daniel suddenly pointed toward Emily's wrist.
Her yellow bracelet had slipped down.
Beneath it was a thin silver chain.
A small blue enamel bird hung from the chain.
I recognized it.
Daniel had given Emily that bracelet for her birthday.
She had promised never to take it off.
Emily raised the bracelet toward the glass.
Then she pointed at Daniel.
At Anthony.
And finally at herself.
She mouthed something.
I moved closer.
“Say it again.”
Emily carefully repeated the words.
This time, I understood.
“She says Daniel made thirteen paintings.”
Anthony frowned.
“We found twelve.”
Emily nodded.
Then she wrote another sentence.
THE THIRTEENTH PAINTING SHOWS WHAT THEY DID TO HIM.
Daniel lowered his head.
His hands began trembling.
May you like
And behind us, Dr. Keene whispered something that made my blood turn cold.
“That painting was supposed to have been destroyed.”
