Chapter 5 - THE BOY ACROSS THE HALL
Hannah stopped breathing when Dominic placed the school photograph in front of her.
She knew the boy.
“Eli.”
Dominic looked at her.
“That’s his name?”
“That’s what everyone calls him.”
She picked up the photograph.
The same dark hair.
The same guarded eyes.
He lived with an older woman named Mrs. Rowan across the hall from Hannah’s apartment.
Hannah had brought them groceries twice.
Once, during a snowstorm, Eli had carried her bags upstairs.
“He’s quiet,” she whispered. “Polite. He fixes Mrs. Rowan’s television when she pushes the wrong buttons.”
“How old?”
“Eleven, I think.”
Teresa covered her mouth.
Dominic stared at the photograph.
His nephew.
Three miles away.
All this time.
“Why Hannah’s building?” Camille asked.
Nobody answered.
Dominic turned to Richard.
Richard had been moved to the estate’s medical room. The cut on his arm required stitches but wasn’t life-threatening.
“You knew.”
Richard shook his head.
“Not until tonight.”
“You had his photograph.”
“I received it two hours before dinner.”
“From whom?”
Richard looked toward Teresa.
“Elena.”
Teresa whispered, “How?”
“A courier envelope was waiting at my office. No return address.”
Dominic’s patience thinned.
“And somehow the boy lives across from Hannah.”
Richard nodded.
“That is why somebody targeted her.”
Hannah stared at him.
“I didn’t even know who he was.”
“They didn’t know that.”
Dominic understood.
“Someone thought Elena had contacted Hannah.”
Richard nodded.
“The locker key appearing in Camille’s room, Hannah finding it, the shoe, the camera—it was all meant to make Hannah look unstable or careless.”
Camille’s face tightened.
“And get her fired before she found Eli.”
Hannah looked at Dominic.
“My mother.”
That was what mattered.
If someone had researched Hannah closely enough to learn where she lived, they could know about St. Catherine’s.
Dominic immediately called Michael.
“Two men to Hannah’s mother. Now. No Caruso insignia. Quiet.”
Hannah’s eyes filled.
“Thank you.”
Dominic looked at her.
“It should have happened an hour ago.”
They drove to Hannah’s apartment before midnight.
Mrs. Rowan’s door was open.
Hannah ran.
“Eli?”
The apartment was empty.
A lamp was on.
A cup of tea sat cold on the table.
Dominic checked the rooms.
No struggle.
No blood.
But Mrs. Rowan’s coat was gone.
So was Eli’s backpack.
Hannah found a note beneath a ceramic bird.
Her own name was written on it.
HANNAH — IF YOU’RE READING THIS, TAKE THE BLUE TIN. DO NOT GIVE IT TO A CARUSO UNTIL YOU KNOW WHICH ONE ELENA TRUSTED. — M.R.
Dominic read over her shoulder.
His jaw tightened.
“She didn’t trust my family.”
“She trusted one Caruso,” Hannah said.
“Uncle D.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Maybe.”
Hannah opened the kitchen cabinet.
A blue cookie tin sat behind a bag of flour.
Inside was a rosary.
A train ticket.
And a brass button matching the child’s red coat.
The train ticket was eleven years old.
Philadelphia to Baltimore.
One-way.
Departure: 11:48 p.m.
The night Elena disappeared.
Camille touched the rosary.
“I’ve seen this.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Where?”
“Elena wore it in college.”
The crucifix had a tiny nick along one side.
Hannah turned it over.
Something had been wrapped around the chain.
A strip of faded hospital tape.
One name was written on it.
ANNA REED.
Hannah sat down hard.
“No.”
Dominic looked at her.
“Your mother?”
Hannah nodded.
“My mother’s name is Anna.”
Nobody spoke.
The mystery had just moved inside Hannah’s own family.
“She knew Elena,” Camille whispered.
Hannah shook her head.
“She never mentioned her.”
Dominic looked toward the empty apartment.
“Maybe she couldn’t.”
Anna Reed’s stroke had affected her speech badly.
Some days she could manage complete sentences.
Other days she communicated by pointing.
Hannah grabbed the rosary.
“We’re going to St. Catherine’s.”
Dominic didn’t argue.
Forty minutes later, Hannah sat beside her mother’s bed.
Anna looked smaller than Hannah remembered from that morning.
Her gray hair was braided loosely.
Dominic remained near the door.
Camille stood farther back.
Hannah placed the rosary in her mother’s hand.
Anna’s fingers closed instantly.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Mom.”
Anna struggled to speak.
“El…”
Hannah leaned closer.
“Elena?”
Anna nodded fiercely.
Dominic came forward.
“Mrs. Reed.”
Anna looked at him.
Her expression changed.
Recognition.
Fear.
Then grief.
She reached toward his face.
“Domi…”
Dominic crouched beside the bed.
“You know me?”
Anna nodded.
Hannah stared.
“Mom, how?”
Anna began to cry.
Her fingers tapped the rosary.
Then she pointed toward the hallway.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Hannah looked toward the door.
“What?”
Anna forced out two words.
“Other… wing.”
Camille went white.
The neurological wing.
Dominic stood.
“Elena.”
Anna nodded.
Hannah’s heart hammered.
They crossed the enclosed walkway connecting the buildings.
A nurse at the desk looked up.
Dominic kept his voice calm.
“We’re here for a patient named Elena Caruso.”
The nurse frowned.
“No patient by that name.”
Camille stepped forward.
“She may have been admitted under another name.”
The nurse shook her head.
“I can’t release private information.”
Dominic took out Elena’s photograph.
The nurse looked at it.
Her face changed.
“I know her.”
Dominic stopped.
“Where is she?”
The nurse hesitated.
“She was here.”
“Was?”
“She left this afternoon.”
Camille gripped the desk.
“With whom?”
The nurse looked at the photograph again.
“Her son.”
Dominic stared.
“Matthew?”
“No.”
The nurse shook her head.
“She called him Nicholas.”
Behind Dominic, his younger brother whispered:
“What did you say?”
The nurse looked past him.
Then slowly pointed.
“That’s him.”
Everyone turned toward Nicholas.
His face had gone completely white.
The nurse stared at him in confusion.
“You’re older now,” she said. “But I remember your picture beside her bed.”
Dominic looked at his brother.
“Nicky.”
Nicholas backed away.
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Then Anna Reed’s voice came faintly from the doorway behind them.
She had been brought in a wheelchair by an orderly.
She pointed at Nicholas.
Her hand trembled violently.
“No.”
Hannah hurried toward her.
“Mom?”
Anna pointed again.
Not at Nicholas.
At the silver chain around his neck.
A small key hung from it.
Anna whispered one clear sentence.
May you like
“That belonged to Matthew’s father.”
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