Chapter 8 - The Room Where Emily Said Goodbye
Arthur heard the gunshot differently from everyone outside.
For Detective Cole, it was a tactical problem.
For me, waiting behind the police barricade, it was terror.
For Arthur, it was memory.
He later told me that for half a second he was back in Afghanistan.
Dust.
Metal.
Blood.
Men screaming his name.
His hands shaking so badly he could barely grip the railing.
Then a baby cried upstairs.
And he returned to Omaha.
Arthur climbed.
The abandoned rehabilitation center smelled like mildew, rust, and old winters.
He recognized the hallway immediately.
Physical therapy room.
Hydrotherapy.
Occupational rehabilitation.
Room 214.
The place where he had relearned how to button a shirt.
Where he had thrown a cup across the room after failing to hold it steady.
Where Emily had last kissed his forehead.
Rebecca’s voice came from upstairs.
“Keep walking.”
Arthur stopped at the landing.
“I heard a shot.”
“Warning.”
“Who were you warning?”
“You.”
Arthur looked toward the sound.
“Then you missed by two floors.”
Rebecca laughed.
“Still sarcastic.”
“Where’s the baby?”
“Upstairs.”
“Let me hear her.”
Silence.
Arthur’s voice became harder.
“Let me hear her.”
A weak cry drifted through the building.
Arthur closed his eyes.
Alive.
“Bring the keys.”
Arthur climbed.
He found Rebecca in Room 214.
Of course.
The same room.
The baby lay inside a portable medical bassinet connected to a small oxygen cylinder.
Rebecca had prepared more carefully than he expected.
She stood beside the window holding a handgun.
Her blond wig was gone.
Dark brown hair hung around her face.
“You remember this place?”
Arthur looked around.
“The walls used to be yellow.”
“My father said you cried here.”
Arthur stared at her.
“Your father was here?”
“Lots of times.”
Arthur’s expression changed.
Rebecca smiled.
“Richard never told you.”
“Told me what?”
“My father watched Emily.”
Arthur’s jaw clenched.
“Why?”
“Because she kept coming back.”
The baby whimpered.
Arthur took a step.
Rebecca raised the gun.
“Stop.”
Arthur froze.
“She’s cold.”
“She’s fine.”
“No. Her color’s changing.”
Rebecca glanced toward the bassinet.
Arthur saw it.
A tiny opening.
One distraction.
But he also saw Rebecca’s finger on the trigger.
He stayed still.
“Keys,” she said.
Arthur pulled both brass keys from his pocket.
Rebecca stared.
“Put them on the floor.”
He did.
“Kick them over.”
Arthur obeyed.
Rebecca crouched without taking her eyes off him.
She picked them up.
“Where’s the storage box?”
“Richard knows.”
“You expect me to believe you never opened it?”
“I didn’t know the key existed until today.”
Rebecca’s face hardened.
“You Vances always lie.”
Arthur almost laughed.
“You’ve met one.”
“I met Thomas.”
Arthur’s blood went cold.
“My father?”
Rebecca smiled.
“Biological father.”
“You were a child when he disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“How could you meet him?”
“He didn’t disappear.”
Arthur stared.
Rebecca stepped backward.
“My father kept him.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Kept him where?”
“Not important.”
“Alive?”
Rebecca’s expression gave him the answer.
Arthur’s mouth went dry.
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
“Rebecca.”
“You came for the baby.”
“You just told me my father may have been alive.”
“Then focus.”
Arthur stared at her.
“What did your father do?”
Rebecca’s face tightened.
“Gerald Sloan did what Sterlings paid him to do.”
“Kidnap Thomas?”
“Contain him.”
Arthur swallowed.
“For how many years?”
“Until Thomas escaped.”
“When?”
“1998.”
Arthur’s breath caught.
That was the year before he met Emily.
“Where did he go?”
Rebecca shrugged.
“Ask Hannah.”
Arthur stared.
“Hannah knew him?”
Rebecca smiled.
“Now you’re catching up.”
The baby cried again.
Her voice was weaker.
Arthur moved.
Rebecca raised the gun higher.
“One more step.”
“She needs warmth.”
“She needs five minutes.”
“She may not have five minutes.”
Rebecca hesitated.
Arthur used the moment.
“Let me hold her.”
“No.”
“You need me alive to open whatever you’re looking for.”
“I have the keys.”
“You don’t know the location.”
“Richard does.”
“He won’t tell you if I die.”
Rebecca stared.
Arthur moved slowly toward the bassinet.
“If she dies, you lose your leverage.”
Rebecca’s jaw tightened.
“That’s all she is to you anyway, right?”
“Don’t.”
“A bargaining chip.”
“Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Why? Her mother abandoned her.”
Arthur stopped.
“Hannah protected her.”
Rebecca laughed.
“Hannah ran.”
Arthur’s hands trembled.
Rebecca noticed.
“There they are.”
He said nothing.
“The famous shaking hands.”
She tilted her head.
“My father told me about you. Said Richard Sterling had one good argument.”
Arthur’s face hardened.
“You couldn’t safely raise a child.”
The words landed exactly where she intended.
Rebecca smiled.
“He said you couldn’t hold a glass.”
Arthur looked at his hands.
For decades, shame had lived there.
Every dropped mug.
Every button he struggled to close.
Every stranger who stared.
Every child he had once been afraid to touch.
Then the infant cried.
Arthur looked up.
“I don’t need steady hands.”
Rebecca frowned.
“What?”
“I need careful ones.”
Before she could react, Arthur reached the bassinet.
He lifted the baby.
Rebecca raised the gun.
“Put her down.”
Arthur tucked the infant inside his shirt beneath the thermal wrap.
Skin against skin.
Her tiny body rested against the scar tissue covering his chest.
“Put her down!”
“No.”
Rebecca’s hand shook now.
Arthur looked at her.
“Shoot me and she falls.”
Rebecca’s face twisted.
“You think I won’t?”
“I think you’ve spent years believing your father’s anger belonged to you.”
Her expression changed.
“You don’t know anything about my father.”
“He died in prison.”
“Because of Sterlings.”
“Because of choices.”
“Shut up.”
“He made them.”
“SHUT UP!”
Her gun hand jerked.
Arthur did not move.
The baby’s breathing slowed against him.
Arthur whispered, “Your father hurt mine. Maybe killed Emily.”
Rebecca’s eyes shone.
“My father died in a concrete box while Richard Sterling lived in Europe.”
“That wasn’t Hannah’s fault.”
“No.”
Her gaze dropped to the baby.
“But Richard cares about her.”
Arthur understood.
“This is revenge.”
“It’s balance.”
“She weighs two pounds.”
Rebecca’s face flickered.
“You want Richard to suffer?”
“Yes.”
“Then make him live with what he did.”
She stared.
Arthur took one small step.
“Don’t become him.”
Rebecca’s eyes filled with rage.
“You don’t get to save me.”
“I’m trying to save her.”
The baby made a soft sound.
Rebecca looked down.
For half a second, the gun lowered.
A red laser dot appeared on her shoulder from outside.
Arthur saw it.
Rebecca did not.
He needed her away from the window.
“Rebecca.”
She looked at him.
“Hannah knew Thomas.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Rebecca smiled.
“Closer than you think.”
“What does that mean?”
“She came here three weeks ago.”
Arthur’s pulse surged.
“To this room?”
“Yes.”
“What did she find?”
Rebecca’s smile disappeared.
“Something my father spent his life searching for.”
“The evidence.”
“No.”
“What?”
Rebecca looked toward the wall.
Arthur followed her gaze.
A rusted heating vent sat beneath the old window.
Arthur remembered Emily kneeling beside it during her final visit.
He remembered her dropping something.
He had thought it was a coin.
Rebecca stepped toward the vent.
“Emily hid a recording.”
Arthur’s breath stopped.
“Of what?”
Rebecca whispered,
“Your father.”
A crash erupted downstairs.
Police.
Rebecca spun toward the door.
Arthur ducked.
Gunfire exploded.
The bullet struck the wall.
Arthur covered the baby with his body.
Police shouted.
Rebecca ran toward the window.
“No!”
Arthur lunged.
She turned the gun on him.
Then stopped.
A woman stood in the doorway behind her.
Thin.
Pale.
Hospital bracelet still around one wrist.
Arthur stared.
The woman had Emily’s eyes.
She looked at him.
“Dad?”
Arthur forgot how to breathe.
Rebecca spun.
“Hannah?”
The gun shifted toward her.
Arthur moved.
May you like
The room erupted.
And for the first time in twenty-three years, Arthur Vance heard his daughter scream his name.
