The Garden

Arthur disappeared into the building, leaving the van to speed away down the gravel drive. Elena counted the seconds, her hand tight on the grip of the gun inside the duffel bag. The tail lights of the van faded, swallowed by the forest.

"He's gone," she whispered.

Sebastian was shivering beside her, his breath puffing in the cold air. He looked at the spot where the van had been, then at the massive stone building looming over them.

"The bad man isn't gone," he said. "He just went inside to make the phone call."

"We need to move," Elena said, guiding him toward the Range Rover. "Get in the back. Stay down."

She opened the rear door. Sebastian crawled in, curling into a fetal position on the floorboards. He was so thin, so broken.

Elena climbed into the driver's seat. She didn't start the engine. Not yet.

She looked at the building. Arthur was inside. The Director was inside. And somewhere, in a room that didn't exist on the blueprints, there was evidence. Not just of Sebastian's existence, but of the entire operation. The medical records. The financial logs for the "St. Clair Wing."

If she left now, she saved Sebastian. But she lost the war. Victoria would spin a story about a mentally ill woman kidnapping a dangerous patient. They would hunt her down. They would take her children.

She needed more than a person. She needed paper.

"Stay here," she said to the rearview mirror. "Don't make a sound."

"Where are you going?" Sebastian's voice was small, terrified.

"I'm going to finish the tour."

She slipped out of the car, leaving the door unlocked. She moved back to the loading dock, staying low. The vent they had escaped from was too high to reach from the outside. She needed another way in.

The loading bay doors were closed, but there was a keypad.

She didn't have the code.

But she had the gun.

She wrapped the gun in the heavy wool of her coat and pressed it against the glass panel of the side door. One sharp blow. The safety glass shattered, raining down like diamonds.

She reached through and turned the handle.

The alarm didn't sound. Arthur had probably disabled the perimeter sensors for the van.

She was in a service corridor. It smelled of cardboard and diesel. She moved quickly, following the signs for *Administration*.

She found the Director's office. The door was ajar.

Voices drifted out.

"It's done," Arthur was saying. "The body is en route. The death certificate is signed. Cause of death: respiratory failure due to congenital defect."

"And the woman?" the Director asked.

"The police are dragging the lake. They found her car at the school. They think she drowned herself. Tragic."

"What about the children?"

"Victoria has them," Arthur said. "They're her insurance policy. If Elena surfaces... well, she won't want to see her children become orphans."

Elena felt a surge of rage so pure it almost blinded her. They were trading her children like currency.

She stepped into the doorway, raising the gun.

"Put the phone down, Arthur."

Arthur spun around. The Director dropped his glass of scotch.

For a second, nobody moved. The only sound was the hum of the ventilation system.

"You're supposed to be in the lake," Arthur said. He didn't look scared. He looked annoyed.

"Plans change," Elena said. "Where are the files? The real files."

Arthur smiled. "There are no files, Elena. This is the digital age. Everything is encrypted. Everything is in the cloud."

"Not everything," she said. "You kept the death certificate from 1987. You kept the paternity test. You're a lawyer, Arthur. You keep paper because you don't trust the cloud. You don't trust anyone."

She gestured with the gun.

"Open the safe."

Arthur looked at the painting on the wall behind his desk. A generic landscape.

"It's empty," he said.

"Open it."

He sighed. He walked to the painting and swung it aside. There was a wall safe.

He punched in a code. *1114.* Again.

The safe opened.

It wasn't empty. It was packed with ledgers. Black Moleskine notebooks, identical to the one Julian had burned.

"Step away," Elena ordered.

She grabbed the stack of notebooks. She stuffed them into her coat, into her waistband.

"You can't leave here," Arthur said. "The perimeter is sealed. The police are ten minutes out."

"Then I better hurry."

She backed out of the room. She didn't shoot. A gunshot would bring security instantly.

She ran. Back down the corridor, back to the loading dock.

She burst out into the night air.

The Range Rover was gone.

She stopped, her heart seizing. The gravel was empty.

"Sebastian?" she whispered.

Movement in the trees. To the left.

She ran toward the tree line. There was a path there, a narrow trail leading into a private garden. It was walled, secluded.

She pushed through a wrought-iron gate.

The garden was beautiful, even in the dark. manicured hedges, stone statues, a fountain that was dry.

And sitting on a stone bench in the center of the garden was a man.

He was wearing Sebastian's hospital gown. He had Julian's hair.

But he had someone else's face.

He turned as she approached.

It wasn't Sebastian.

It was Thomas. The boy from the mill.

"Where is he?" Elena demanded, raising the gun. "Where is Sebastian?"

Thomas looked up at her. He was crying.

"He went back," Thomas said. "He went back inside."

"Why?"

"Because he remembered," Thomas said. "He remembered where the other baby is buried."
A man sat on a bench. He had Julian's hair. But he had someone else's face.