Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN IN THE VAN
“Why?”
Hannah’s voice barely carried across the dark ballroom.
Outside, the transport vans idled beneath the emergency lights.
Teresa opened her eyes.
“Because I recognized your name.”
Hannah stared at her.
“From where?”
“Your mother.”
The answer hit harder than an accusation.
Dominic stepped between them.
“Mom, start talking.”
Teresa reached beneath her cardigan and pulled out the rosary she wore every day. Hannah had seen it hundreds of times while preparing Teresa’s breakfast.
This time Teresa opened the tiny silver clasp beneath the crucifix.
Inside was a folded strip of paper.
A name.
EVELYN BROOKS.
Hannah’s mother.
“I met Evelyn eighteen years ago,” Teresa said. “At St. Matthew’s Hospital.”
Hannah’s face hardened.
“The night she disappeared?”
“The week before.”
Outside, one of the medical workers approached Rosewood’s entrance.
Dominic’s security men blocked him.
“We have authorized transfers,” the man said.
“Not anymore,” Dominic replied.
Teresa continued.
She had been at St. Matthew’s after a heart procedure. Evelyn worked nights in the hospital laboratory.
“She found irregular blood samples,” Teresa said. “Patients enrolled in studies they didn’t understand. Samples relabeled. Consent forms changed.”
“And Santoro?”
“I didn’t know his name then.”
Hannah looked toward the van.
Her mother still sat behind the glass.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“I did.”
Teresa’s shame was immediate.
“I told my husband.”
Dominic went still.
Their father, Carlo Romano, had died nine years earlier.
Teresa swallowed.
“Carlo told me he would handle it. Two days later, Evelyn disappeared.”
Hannah stepped backward.
“You knew my mother was in danger and you trusted your husband?”
“I was afraid.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.” Teresa’s eyes filled. “It’s the truth.”
A sharp sound came from outside.
The woman in the van had struck the window with her palm.
Hannah turned.
“Dominic, get her out.”
The transport workers objected when Dominic’s men approached.
Dominic ignored them.
“Open the van.”
Nobody moved.
Dominic took the clipboard from the nearest worker.
The transfer paperwork listed a private rehabilitation facility.
But Hannah noticed something.
Her mother’s name wasn’t Evelyn Brooks.
It was Eleanor Price.
“That’s not her name.”
The worker looked uncomfortable.
“That’s what our paperwork says.”
Hannah opened the passenger door herself.
A leather coat lay folded across the seat.
Old.
Brown.
One sleeve had been repaired with dark thread.
Hannah stopped breathing.
She remembered that coat.
Her mother had worn it every winter.
When Hannah was eleven, she had ripped the sleeve climbing a chain-link fence. Evelyn had stitched it at the kitchen table while laughing that her daughter could destroy anything except her appetite.
Hannah touched the repaired seam.
“She kept it.”
Behind her, Teresa whispered, “Look in the pocket.”
Hannah spun around.
“How do you know?”
Teresa’s face changed.
That was answer enough.
Hannah reached inside.
Her fingers closed around a Polaroid photograph.
Two women stood outside St. Matthew’s Hospital.
One was Evelyn.
The other was Teresa.
Between them stood sixteen-year-old Hannah.
Except Hannah had no memory of the photograph being taken.
On the back, in Evelyn’s handwriting:
If anything happens, Teresa knows where I put the second list.
Hannah turned slowly.
“You said you met her the week before she disappeared.”
Teresa nodded.
“Then why am I in this picture?”
“I didn’t want to tell you this part in front of everyone.”
“Tell me now.”
Teresa looked at Dominic.
“Your father brought Hannah to the hospital.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“My father knew her?”
“He knew Evelyn.”
The ballroom seemed to shrink.
Teresa explained that Carlo Romano had quietly financed medical research facilities. He believed he was funding legitimate work.
Evelyn discovered someone was using those facilities for unauthorized testing.
When she tried to expose it, Carlo agreed to help her collect evidence.
“But Santoro found out,” Teresa said.
Hannah stared at the photograph.
“So my mother didn’t disappear because she abandoned me.”
“No.”
“Did your husband hide her?”
Teresa shook her head.
“He tried to.”
A voice came from the van.
Weak.
Raspy.
“Hannah.”
She ran outside.
Dominic followed.
The medical workers backed away as Hannah climbed inside.
For eighteen years she had imagined this moment.
She had imagined screaming.
Demanding explanations.
Maybe refusing to forgive.
Instead, when she saw her mother up close, all she could say was, “Is it really you?”
Evelyn lifted a trembling hand.
Her fingers touched Hannah’s cheek.
“My girl.”
Hannah broke.
She pressed her forehead against her mother’s.
“Where were you?”
Evelyn struggled for breath.
“Moving.”
“Why?”
“They kept finding me.”
“Who?”
Evelyn’s eyes shifted toward Teresa.
Then Dominic.
“Santoro.”
Hannah squeezed her hand.
“What does he want from me?”
Her mother’s expression changed.
“Not you.”
She looked toward Rosewood.
“The residents.”
Hannah frowned.
“Why?”
“Because Rosewood wasn’t built for the study.”
A pause.
“It was built over it.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“What does that mean?”
Evelyn reached toward the coat.
“Pocket. Other side.”
Hannah searched it.
She found an old brass key attached to a faded plastic tag.
R-214.
Teresa gasped.
Dominic noticed.
“You recognize it.”
Teresa nodded slowly.
“That was Carlo’s private records locker.”
“Where?”
“Not here.”
Evelyn gripped Hannah’s wrist.
“No.”
Her voice suddenly carried urgency.
“Here.”
Everyone looked at her.
Evelyn pointed toward the oldest wing of Rosewood.
“Before this was senior living, it was St. Matthew’s rehabilitation annex.”
Hannah remembered renovations, sealed utility corridors, old tiled walls beneath newer drywall.
Dominic looked at his mother.
“You knew?”
“Not all of it.”
Evelyn’s fingers tightened around Hannah’s wrist.
“Santoro needs sixty-seven people moved before morning because tomorrow the state inspectors come.”
Hannah understood.
The transfers weren’t about protecting the residents.
They were about removing witnesses and evidence.
Dominic took the key.
“What’s in locker 214?”
Evelyn looked directly at him.
“Something your father died trying to protect.”
Teresa went white.
“My husband died in a car accident.”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No, Teresa.”
Then she looked at Dominic.
“Carlo knew exactly who Michael Santoro was.”
She reached inside her coat and removed a child’s drawing, yellowed with age.
Three stick figures stood beneath a blue hospital symbol.
One was labeled MOM.
One HANNAH.
The third figure wore a black suit.
Across its chest, sixteen-year-old Hannah had written one name.
MR. S.
Hannah stared at it.
Her memory cracked open.
A hospital corridor.
Her mother pushing her behind a vending machine.
A man arguing with Carlo Romano.
And a gold watch flashing beneath fluorescent light.
Hannah whispered, “I have met Santoro.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Yes.”
Hannah looked up.
May you like
Her mother’s next words made Dominic freeze.
“And that night, you saw him kill someone.”
