I stared at the three words beneath the photograph.
CLAIRE’S GRANDMOTHER — ALIVE.
For several seconds, my mind refused to understand them.
I looked at Rachel.
Then at Mom.
Mom had gone completely still.
“My mother is dead.”
Her voice was barely audible.
Rachel remained on the other side of the glass.
She slowly shook her head.
Mom gripped the side of the wheelchair.
“No.”
Rachel lifted the photograph higher.
“Mom?”
I whispered.
She didn’t look at me.
“My mother died when I was nine.”
“Are you sure?”
The moment I asked the question, I regretted it.
Mom turned toward me.
“I went to her funeral.”
“I saw her coffin.”
Rachel knocked gently on the door.
Not three times.
Twice.
The security officer looked at us.
“Should I let her in?”
Mom’s eyes remained fixed on Rachel.
“Yes.”
The officer unlocked the door.
Rachel stepped inside.
Seeing her close up was even more unsettling.
It wasn’t just that she looked like me.
It was the tiny things.
The faint line between her eyebrows.
The way she pressed her lips together when nervous.
Even the small crease beside her left eye.
I had seen all of those things in my own reflection.
Rachel looked at me.
Neither of us knew what to say.
Finally, she whispered,
“Claire?”
Hearing my own voice almost come from another person made my skin prickle.
“Rachel?”
She nodded.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I didn’t know you were alive.”
My throat tightened.
“Neither did I.”
For one strange second, we simply stared at each other.
Then Rachel stepped forward.
She stopped halfway.
“Can I?”
I knew what she meant.
I nodded.
She wrapped her arms around me.
The moment she did, something inside me broke.
I hugged her back.
Neither of us said anything.
We didn’t need to.
Somewhere in the middle of that impossible hospital room, I was holding the sister I had never known existed.
Mom began crying behind us.
Rachel slowly pulled away.
Then she looked at her.
Her expression changed.
“You’re really her.”
Mom wiped her cheeks.
“I’m sorry.”
Rachel frowned.
“For what?”
“I didn’t know.”
Mom’s voice cracked.
“I swear to you, I didn’t know there were two babies.”
Rachel walked toward her.
“I know.”
Mom stared at her.
“How?”
Rachel held up the photograph.
“Because Rose left records.”
The name silenced the room.
“Rose?”
Mom whispered.
Rachel nodded.
“She survived.”
Mom grabbed the armrests of the wheelchair.
“What?”
“She survived the night you escaped.”
“Where is she?”
Rachel’s face changed.
“She died eleven months ago.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“She saved my life.”
“She saved mine too.”
Rachel sat beside her.
“Rose was the person who took me from Ward C.”
I stared at her.
“Then Evelyn didn’t raise you?”
Rachel shook her head.
“Not at first.”
“What happened?”
She looked toward the security officers.
“This is going to sound unbelievable.”
Dr. Keller gave a tired smile.
“That stopped being a problem about an hour ago.”
Rachel took a breath.
“Rose went back for me after she helped Mom escape.”
Mom flinched at the word.
Rachel noticed.
“I’m sorry.”
Mom reached for her hand.
“Don’t be.”
Rachel let her hold it.
“Rose hid me with a family in Ohio.”
“They raised me as their daughter.”
“I had a normal childhood.”
“At least, I thought I did.”
“When did you learn the truth?”
I asked.
“When I was seventeen.”
“My adoptive father died.”
“While going through his belongings, my mother found a sealed envelope.”
“Inside was my original St. Agnes identification card.”
Rachel pulled something from her pocket.
A small laminated card.
The edges were worn.
C-119.
FEMALE.
DATE OF BIRTH.
The date matched mine.
My knees suddenly felt weak.
“What did your mother tell you?”
“Almost nothing.”
“She said a nurse had brought me to them as a newborn.”
“She said they were told my biological mother couldn’t keep me.”
Rachel looked at Mom.
“They genuinely believed that.”
Mom squeezed her hand.
“I believe you.”
“After that, I started searching.”
“For Mom?”
“For anyone.”
Rachel looked at me.
“I didn’t know there was a twin.”
“When did you find out?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“When Rose died?”
She nodded.
“Two weeks before she died, she contacted me.”
“She told me everything.”
“About St. Agnes.”
“About Ward C.”
“About the babies.”
“About you.”
My heart tightened.
“Why didn’t you find me?”
Rachel looked ashamed.
“I tried.”
“Your records led nowhere.”
“Your birth certificate was fabricated.”
“Your childhood records used another identification number.”
“Every time I got close, something disappeared.”
Dr. Keller frowned.
“Someone was still altering records?”
“Yes.”
Rachel looked toward the hallway.
“That’s why I came here.”
“Why this hospital?”
“Because Rose left me a list of names.”
“Evelyn Mercer was at the top.”
Mom stiffened.
“You confronted her?”
Rachel shook her head.
“I took a job here.”
I stared at her.
“You work here?”
“Medical records.”
Suddenly everything made sense.
The access.
The old files.
The envelope.
“You sent the envelope to us.”
Rachel nodded.
“Yes.”
“Then Rose didn’t write it recently.”
“No.”
“She wrote it before she died.”
“She told me to deliver it only if Mom ever appeared at this hospital.”
I stared at her.
“How could she know that would happen?”
Rachel looked at Mom’s knee.
“She didn’t.”
“She was waiting for a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
Rachel pointed toward the blue flower.
“Someone recognizing that.”
Mom looked down at her wrist.
“The nurse.”
“Exactly.”
Dr. Keller folded his arms.
“Why would Rose want the hospital alerted?”
Rachel’s answer came immediately.
“Because she believed St. Agnes never really ended.”
Silence.
“What does that mean?”
I asked.
Rachel looked toward the floor.
“Ward C changed locations.”
Mom stared at her.
“No.”
“Rose spent decades trying to prove it.”
“No.”
“She believed the same network continued operating through private adoptions.”
Dr. Keller’s face hardened.
“Here?”
Rachel nodded.
“Possibly.”
The security officers exchanged looks.
“Do you have evidence?”
one asked.
Rachel lifted the photograph.
“Room 17.”
Everyone went quiet.
“What about it?”
“The photographs aren’t the important part.”
“Then what is?”
“Locker six.”
I remembered the numbers written behind my photograph.
2-17-6.
Basement level two.
Room seventeen.
Locker six.
“The key.”
I whispered.
Rachel nodded.
“Rose told me the truth was inside.”
Dr. Keller immediately radioed the officers downstairs.
“Search Room 17 for lockers.”
We waited.
Static filled the radio.
Then a voice responded.
“Found them.”
“How many?”
“Twelve.”
“Open number six.”
“Locked.”
The officer beside us looked at the old key.
“The key we sent down?”
“It opened the room.”
“Try it on the locker.”
Several seconds passed.
Then came a metallic click through the radio.
“It opened.”
Rachel grabbed my hand.
“What’s inside?”
Another pause.
“A metal case.”
“Anything else?”
“One file.”
Mom leaned forward.
“What name?”
Papers rustled through the radio.
“There’s no name.”
“Only a blue flower.”
Mom went pale.
“Open it.”
The officer hesitated.
“There are photographs.”
“Of what?”
“The six girls.”
Mom stared at Rachel.
“All six?”
“Yes.”
“And there’s a family tree.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
“Anna was telling the truth.”
I looked at her.
“You already knew?”
“Rose suspected.”
“Suspected what?”
The officer downstairs interrupted.
“Doctor, you need to hear this.”
Dr. Keller lifted the radio.
“Go ahead.”
“The family tree connects all six girls.”
“How?”
“Same maternal bloodline.”
Mom shook her head.
“That’s impossible.”
“There’s a woman at the top of the chart.”
My stomach tightened.
“What woman?”
“Margaret Hale.”
Mom made a choking sound.
“Mom?”
Her face had turned white.
“That was my mother.”
Nobody spoke.
“Your mother?”
I asked.
“Yes.”
“But you said she died when you were nine.”
“She did.”
Rachel slowly turned the old photograph around.
The girl circled in the center stared back at us.
CLAIRE’S GRANDMOTHER — ALIVE.
“Mom.”
I pointed at the girl.
“Is that her?”
Mom stared at the face.
Her lips began trembling.
“No.”
Rachel frowned.
“What?”
“That isn’t my mother.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then who is she?”
Mom reached for the photograph.
Her hands shook violently.
“Her name was Margaret Hale.”
“But she wasn’t my mother.”
“She was my sister.”
I stared at her.
“You had a sister?”
“A twin sister.”
Rachel and I looked at each other.
Twins.
Again.
“What happened to her?”
Mom whispered,
“She disappeared when we were nine.”
“My family told me she drowned.”
“There was a funeral.”
“A closed coffin.”
My heart began pounding.
“Just like your mother’s funeral?”
Mom suddenly looked at me.
Slowly, horror spread across her face.
“Oh God.”
“What?”
“My mother’s coffin was closed too.”
Rachel stood.
“They faked both deaths.”
Dr. Keller shook his head.
“We don’t know that yet.”
Mom barely seemed to hear him.
She was staring at the photograph.
“Margaret was alive.”
“She was at St. Agnes.”
“Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
Rachel looked down.
“Maybe she couldn’t.”
The radio crackled again.
“We found something else in the metal case.”
“What?”
“A cassette tape.”
“Label?”
The officer paused.
“MARGARET HALE — 2004.”
Mom gasped.
“2004?”
Her twin sister had supposedly died more than forty years earlier.
Yet someone had recorded her in 2004.
“Can you play it?”
Dr. Keller asked.
“There’s an old recorder here.”
Static.
Then a click.
For several seconds, we heard only tape hiss.
Then a woman’s voice came through the radio.
Old.
Weak.
Terrified.
Mom grabbed my arm.
“That’s Margaret.”
The recording continued.
“My name is Margaret Hale.”
“If Rose has found this recording, then someone finally knows I survived.”
Mom began crying.
“I was taken when I was nine years old.”
“My family was told I drowned.”
“I did not drown.”
Nobody in the hospital room moved.
“I was brought to St. Agnes.”
“And years later, they brought my sister’s daughter here too.”
Mom frowned.
“My sister’s daughter?”
Then her face changed.
“No.”
She whispered.
“No, that doesn’t make sense.”
The recording continued.
“If Claire Bennett ever hears this, she deserves to know why the Flower Group was created.”
My entire body went cold.
The woman had said my name.
My full name.
On a recording made in 2004.
Long before I knew any of this.
“The six girls were not selected because they were pregnant.”
“Their pregnancies were only part of the experiment.”
Rachel squeezed my hand.
“Experiment?”
The tape hissed.
Then Margaret spoke again.
“They were selected because every woman in our bloodline had produced twins.”
I looked at Rachel.
Mom stared at us.
“St. Agnes wanted to know why.”
“And they were willing to destroy families to find out.”
The recording suddenly became distorted.
Then Margaret’s voice returned.
“But there is something more important.”
“Something Rose never discovered.”
“Evelyn Mercer was not running the program.”
Dr. Keller frowned.
“Then who was?”
The tape continued.
“The person in charge was someone inside the Hale family.”
Mom stopped breathing.
“No.”
“Someone who arranged my disappearance.”
“Someone who arranged the false funerals.”
“Someone who delivered girls from our own family to St. Agnes.”
The tape crackled.
“And if my sister is still alive, she needs to know the truth about our father.”
Mom’s knees nearly gave way.
“My father?”
The recording stopped.
“What happened?”
I asked.
The officer downstairs answered.
“Tape ended.”
“There has to be more.”
“There isn’t.”
Rachel suddenly looked toward the doorway.
“Wait.”
I followed her gaze.
Evelyn Mercer stood in the hallway again.
But this time she wasn’t smiling.
Two police officers were beside her.
And between them stood an elderly man in a wheelchair.
He looked at Mom.
Mom looked at him.
The color vanished from her face.
“That’s impossible.”
I turned toward her.
“Who is he?”
Mom slowly stood.
Tears filled her eyes.
“My father.”
I stared at the elderly man.
Mom had always told me her father died before I was born.
Yet there he was.
Alive.
Watching us.
Then the old man lifted one trembling hand.
And on the inside of his wrist was a tiny blue flower.
But unlike Mom’s faded tattoo, his had a number underneath it.
Evelyn Mercer leaned toward him.
The old man whispered something into her ear.
She looked directly at Rachel and me.
Then she said,
“Your grandfather says it’s time you learned why there were really two of you.”
PART 6 — NUMBER 001
Nobody moved.
My grandfather remained in the wheelchair between the two police officers.
His trembling hand was still raised.
The tiny blue flower on his wrist looked almost identical to Mom’s.
Except for the number beneath it.
Mom stared at him as if she were looking at someone who had climbed out of a grave.
“Dad?”
The old man slowly lowered his hand.
“Hello, Helen.”
Mom made a broken sound.
I had never heard anyone call her Helen with that kind of familiarity.
She took one step toward him.
Then stopped.
“You’re dead.”
My grandfather gave a sad smile.
“That was the intention.”
Mom’s expression hardened.
“Whose intention?”
He looked toward Evelyn Mercer.
She said nothing.
“Dad.”
Mom’s voice rose.
“Whose intention?”
He looked back at her.
“Mine.”
Silence.
Mom physically recoiled.
“You let me believe you were dead?”
“I had reasons.”
“Reasons?”
Her grief suddenly became anger.
“I buried you.”
“I stood beside a coffin.”
“I cried over you.”
“I spent my entire adult life believing I had no father.”
My grandfather lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
“No.”
Mom shook her head.
“You don’t get to say that.”
Rachel moved closer to me.
I could feel her shoulder against mine.
My grandfather looked at us.
His expression changed.
For the first time, the old man seemed genuinely overwhelmed.
“Both of you.”
His voice cracked.
“You survived.”
Rachel’s face hardened.
“You sound surprised.”
He looked at her.
“I am.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
I stepped forward.
“Evelyn said you know why there were two of us.”
My grandfather closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then tell us.”
Mom immediately turned toward me.
“Claire, wait.”
“I’ve been waiting my entire life without knowing it.”
I looked at the old man.
“Tell me.”
He took a long breath.
“My name is Thomas Hale.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You know the name your mother was given.”
“You don’t know who I was.”
Dr. Keller stepped closer.
“Mr. Hale, police are already investigating what was discovered downstairs.”
Thomas nodded.
“They should.”
“If you have information about St. Agnes, now would be a good time to provide it.”
Thomas looked toward Mom.
“St. Agnes began long before Helen was born.”
Mom stared at him.
“How long?”
“The work began in 1948.”
“What work?”
Thomas looked at Rachel and me.
“Studying inherited twin births.”
I almost laughed from disbelief.
“You destroyed families because some women had twins?”
“I didn’t start it.”
Rachel immediately responded.
“That isn’t what she asked.”
Thomas looked at her.
“No.”
“Families were not destroyed because of twins.”
“They were destroyed because certain people became obsessed with controlling what they didn’t understand.”
“Were you one of those people?”
He didn’t answer.
Rachel gave a bitter smile.
“That sounds like an answer.”
Mom stepped toward him.
“What does 001 mean?”
Thomas looked at his tattoo.
“First registered subject.”
Mom went completely still.
“You were experimented on?”
“Observed.”
“Tested.”
“Studied.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
His voice became quieter.
“I was eight years old.”
Mom’s anger faltered.
“Eight?”
Thomas nodded.
“My mother had been a twin.”
“Her mother had been a twin.”
“Three of her sisters gave birth to twins.”
“Someone became interested in our family.”
“Who?”
Dr. Keller asked.
Thomas looked toward Evelyn.
“The original Evelyn Mercer.”
Evelyn’s expression remained unreadable.
“Who was she?”
Thomas answered slowly.
“Dr. Evelyn Mercer.”
“A physician.”
“A genetic researcher.”
“And the woman who founded the program that eventually operated through St. Agnes.”
Mom looked toward the administrator standing beside him.
“And her?”
“Not related.”
Evelyn finally spoke.
“The name became a position after Dr. Mercer died.”
Rachel stared at her.
“You expect us to believe that?”
“No.”
Evelyn’s answer surprised everyone.
“I expect you to verify it.”
She removed her hospital badge.
Then placed it on the table.
“My real name is Elizabeth Warren.”
The security officers immediately looked at her.
“Why are you using another identity?”
one asked.
“Because twenty-seven years ago, I was recruited to preserve records connected to the Mercer program.”
“Preserve them?”
I looked toward the hidden basement.
“You mean hide them.”
Evelyn didn’t argue.
“Yes.”
Mom stared at her.
“Were you at St. Agnes when I was there?”
“No.”
“Did you know what happened to me?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Some of it.”
Mom’s eyes filled with anger.
“Did you know about my daughters?”
Evelyn looked at Rachel and me.
“Yes.”
Rachel stepped toward her.
“Then why did you let us spend decades apart?”
“Because by the time I learned who you were, Rose had already hidden you.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I was ordered not to interfere.”
Rachel laughed bitterly.
“Ordered by whom?”
Evelyn looked toward Thomas.
Everyone followed her gaze.
Mom stopped breathing.
“Dad?”
Thomas lowered his head.
“I told her to leave Rachel where she was.”
Mom crossed the room before anyone could react.
The slap echoed through the hospital room.
Thomas didn’t defend himself.
Mom stood over him, shaking.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“You knew Claire had a twin?”
“Yes.”
“You knew where she was?”
“Eventually.”
“And you said nothing?”
Tears rolled down Mom’s cheeks.
“Why?”
Thomas looked at Rachel.
“Because she was safe.”
“She belonged with me.”
“You were being watched.”
Mom froze.
“By whom?”
Thomas glanced toward the door.
“People connected to the program.”
“The program was still operating?”
“Fragments of it were.”
“Then why didn’t you go to the police?”
Thomas laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“I tried.”
“Twice.”
“Records vanished.”
“Witnesses changed their statements.”
“One investigator disappeared.”
Dr. Keller frowned.
“Do you have evidence of that?”
“Room 17.”
Thomas looked directly at him.
“You’ve only opened one locker.”
Everyone became silent.
“How do you know?”
Thomas pointed toward the radio.
“Because I heard you.”
Dr. Keller picked it up.
“Search the remaining lockers.”
Thomas immediately interrupted.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because some of them contain names of people who may still be alive.”
Rachel shook her head.
“That’s exactly why they should be opened.”
“Not without witnesses.”
Thomas looked toward the police officers.
“And not without recording everything.”
One officer nodded.
“That can be arranged.”
I stared at my grandfather.
Something still didn’t fit.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
He looked at me.
“Which one?”
“Why were there two of us?”
Rachel turned toward him.
Thomas’s expression changed.
“Claire—”
“No.”
I pointed toward Rachel.
“We were separated at birth.”
“One of us was marked for transfer.”
“The other was released with Mom.”
“That wasn’t an accident.”
“Why?”
Thomas remained silent.
Evelyn looked uncomfortable.
“Thomas.”
He ignored her.
“Tell them.”
Mom stared at him.
“Tell them what?”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“Twins were the center of the research.”
“We already know that.”
“No.”
He opened his eyes.
“You know they studied twins.”
“You don’t know how.”
A cold feeling moved through my chest.
“How?”
Thomas looked at Rachel.
Then at me.
“They separated them.”
Rachel’s face went pale.
“Why?”
“To compare their lives.”
“Different families.”
“Different environments.”
“Different medical histories.”
“Then they monitored them.”
I stared at him.
“For how long?”
“Sometimes decades.”
Rachel stepped backward.
“You’re saying someone was watching us?”
Thomas didn’t answer quickly enough.
“Were they?”
she demanded.
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“Who watched me?”
Thomas looked toward Mom.
“People came and went.”
“Teachers.”
“Doctors.”
“Neighbors.”
“Sometimes people you would never suspect.”
Suddenly, ordinary pieces of my childhood felt contaminated.
Every doctor visit.
Every school assessment.
Every stranger who had asked too many questions.
“And Rachel?”
“The same.”
Rachel shook her head.
“My pediatrician.”
Thomas looked at her.
“Dr. Franklin?”
Rachel froze.
“How do you know his name?”
Thomas said nothing.
Rachel’s face changed.
“He was one of them.”
Thomas nodded.
“Yes.”
Rachel turned away.
I could see her trying not to cry.
I reached for her hand.
She grabbed mine immediately.
Mom looked at Thomas.
“And Claire?”
He hesitated.
“Who watched Claire?”
Thomas looked at me.
“Someone much closer.”
My heart started pounding.
“Who?”
Thomas lowered his eyes.
“Daniel Bennett.”
I frowned.
“Who?”
Mom suddenly stopped moving.
Her face became completely blank.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Mom?”
“No.”
She backed away from Thomas.
“You’re lying.”
Thomas shook his head.
“Helen—”
“You are lying.”
I grabbed Mom’s arm.
“Who is Daniel Bennett?”
She looked at me.
Tears filled her eyes.
“Your father.”
The room went silent.
I stared at Thomas.
“My father was part of this?”
“Not originally.”
“What does that mean?”
“He learned about the program after you were born.”
“And instead of reporting it?”
Thomas looked ashamed.
“He agreed to cooperate.”
Mom sank into the chair.
“Why?”
“They threatened Claire.”
“They told him if he refused, they would take her too.”
Mom covered her face.
“He never told me.”
“He couldn’t.”
“So my father spent my childhood reporting on me?”
Thomas nodded.
“For several years.”
“Until what?”
“Until he started collecting evidence against them.”
I stared at him.
“What happened to him?”
Mom answered before Thomas could.
“He died in a car accident when you were seven.”
Thomas looked at her.
“Helen.”
Mom slowly raised her head.
Something in his voice terrified her.
“What?”
Thomas took a breath.
“Daniel didn’t die in that accident.”
I felt my heart stop.
“What?”
Mom stood.
“I identified his body.”
Thomas shook his head.
“You identified his watch.”
Mom froze.
“His face was badly injured.”
“Stop.”
“The body was cremated quickly.”
“Stop.”
“Helen, it wasn’t Daniel.”
Mom stared at him.
“Then where is my husband?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
I stepped closer.
“Where is my father?”
Thomas looked toward Evelyn.
Evelyn looked at the police officers.
Then she spoke.
“There is another room beneath B2.”
Dr. Keller frowned.
“Another room?”
“It isn’t on any building plan.”
“What is it?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“Archive Zero.”
Thomas closed his eyes.
“That’s where they kept records on people who turned against the program.”
My hands went cold.
Dr. Keller lifted the radio.
“Can the officers downstairs locate it?”
Evelyn nodded.
“Behind locker twelve.”
The instructions were relayed.
We waited.
Several minutes passed.
Then the radio crackled.
“We found a false wall.”
Mom grabbed my hand.
“Opening it now.”
Metal scraped somewhere beneath us.
Then silence.
“What do you see?”
Dr. Keller asked.
“Stairs.”
“Going where?”
“Down.”
Another long pause.
“We’re entering.”
Mom squeezed my hand harder.
Rachel stood on my other side.
“There’s a room.”
“What’s inside?”
“Filing cabinets.”
“Old monitoring equipment.”
“Photographs.”
“Anything else?”
The officer stopped.
“Yes.”
“There’s a desk.”
“Someone has been using it recently.”
Everyone looked at Evelyn.
She seemed genuinely shocked.
“Recently?”
“Computer is on.”
My skin prickled.
“Check the files.”
Dr. Keller said.
We heard drawers opening.
Papers moving.
Then the officer spoke again.
“I found Bennett.”
My knees weakened.
“Claire Bennett?”
“No.”
“Daniel Bennett.”
Mom covered her mouth.
“What does it say?”
“There are surveillance reports.”
“Dates?”
“They start in 1989.”
“When do they end?”
Silence.
“Officer?”
His answer made every person in the room freeze.
“Three weeks ago.”
Mom whispered,
“That’s impossible.”
My father had supposedly been dead for more than thirty years.
Yet someone had been filing reports under his name three weeks ago.
“There’s a photograph attached.”
I could barely speak.
“How old?”
“Recent.”
“Describe him.”
The officer began.
“Male.”
“Approximately seventy.”
“Gray hair.”
“Scar along the left side of his jaw.”
Mom collapsed back into the chair.
“Daniel.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“That’s Daniel.”
I felt numb.
“Where was the photograph taken?”
Papers rustled.
“Looks like a security-camera image.”
“Location?”
The officer paused.
“This hospital.”
My heart started pounding.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Yesterday.”
Mom stared at me.
Yesterday.
My father had supposedly died when I was seven.
Yet according to the file beneath our feet, he had walked into this hospital less than twenty-four hours ago.
Suddenly, the door behind us opened.
Everyone turned.
A tall elderly man stood in the hallway.
Gray hair.
Dark jacket.
A long scar ran along the left side of his jaw.
Mom stopped breathing.
The man looked at her.
Tears immediately filled his eyes.
“Helen.”
Mom whispered one word.
“Daniel?”
Then the man looked at me.
His face collapsed.
“Claire.”
I couldn’t move.
He took one step into the room.
But Rachel suddenly pulled me backward.
“Don’t.”
The man stopped.
I looked at her.
“What?”
Rachel was staring at his wrist.
“Look.”
The man slowly lowered his hand.
But it was too late.
I had already seen it.
On the inside of my father’s wrist was another blue flower.
And beneath it was a number.
Not 001.
Not C-118.
Not C-119.
His number was 000.
Thomas Hale stared at him from across the room.
All the color disappeared from my grandfather’s face.
“No.”
For the first time since he arrived, Thomas looked genuinely terrified.
“That number was never supposed to belong to a living person.”
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