Chapter 35: The Old Nurse

The piece Edith had been saving for the end.

The thought paralyzed me. If Leo—*my* Leo—wasn't just a sick child, if he was the key, the final asset in her portfolio... then taking him wasn't just about leverage. It was about completion.

"Sarah," Ben said, shaking my shoulder. "We have to move."

I blinked, the hospital corridor swimming back into focus. "They took him. Thorne took him."

"We can track them," Mark said. "If Thorne was involved, he'll need to stabilize Leo for transport. They can't just fly him out immediately."

"They're going to the old airfield," I said. "Not the one we were at. The private strip north of town. It's closer to the hospital."

"How do you know?" Ben asked.

"Because that's where Thorne kept his plane," I said, remembering Mrs. Gables' story. *He bought a sailboat.* And probably a plane to go with it.

We ran back to the car. Leo—the adult Leo—was still in the back seat, holding Clara's hand. She was unconscious, her breathing shallow but steady.

"We can't take them," I said. "It's too dangerous."

"I'm staying with her," Leo said. "I'm not leaving my mother again."

"Take them to my place," Ben told Mark. "Lock the door. Don't answer for anyone but me or Sarah."

Mark nodded, climbing into the driver's seat. "What about you?"

"I'm going with Sarah," Ben said. "We're going to get the boy."

We took Ben's truck. He drove like a man possessed, weaving through the late-night traffic, running red lights.

"She played us," I said, staring out the window. "The decoy plane. The bunker. It was all a distraction. She wanted us out of the way so she could get to Leo."

"But why?" Ben asked. "If she has the money, if she has the freedom... why does she need a dying child?"

"Because he's not dying," I whispered.

Ben glanced at me. "What?"

"The leukemia," I said. "It started right after she took over his medical care. Right after she insisted on Dr. Thorne's old partner being his primary."

I thought about the "treatments" that never seemed to work. The constant decline. The need for bone marrow that only a specific, unavailable donor could provide.

"She's been poisoning him," I said. "Just like she poisoned Clara. Keeping him sick. Keeping him dependent."

"But why?"

"Because a sick heir needs a guardian," I said. "A sick heir needs a trustee. As long as Leo is alive but incapacitated, she controls everything."

We turned onto the dirt road leading to the north airfield. A chain-link fence loomed in the headlights.

"There," I said.

A small hangar, light spilling from the open door. A car parked outside—a silver sedan this time.

And a plane. Smaller than the jet at the other field. A twin-engine prop plane.

We crashed through the gate, the truck bouncing over the rough ground.

Ben slammed on the brakes. We jumped out.

Inside the hangar, I saw them.

Edith was standing by the plane, supervising the loading of a stretcher. On the stretcher was a small form, wrapped in blankets.

Leo.

And standing next to her, looking old and withered but unmistakably alive, was Dr. Aris Thorne.

"Stop!" I screamed.

Edith turned. She didn't look surprised. She looked tired.

"You really are persistent, Sarah," she said.

"Let him go," I said, walking toward her. "I know about the poison. I know he's not sick."

Thorne stepped forward. "He is sick," he said, his voice raspy. "He has a genetic condition. Rare. Fatal without treatment."

"A condition you gave him?" I asked. "Like you gave me Von Willebrand's?"

Thorne flinched.

"Sarah," Edith said. "This is for his own good. The treatment in Switzerland..."

"There is no Switzerland!" I shouted. "There is only you, controlling everyone. Killing everyone."

I looked at the stretcher. Leo wasn't moving.

"Is he alive?" I demanded.

" barely," Thorne said. "He needs a transfusion. Now."

"Then take him to the hospital!" Ben yelled.

"We can't," Edith said. "The police are looking for us. Thanks to you."

She pulled a gun from her coat pocket. A small, silver pistol.

"Get back," she said. "We're leaving."

"You're not taking him," I said. I took a step forward.

Edith raised the gun. "I made you, Sarah. I bought you. I can break you."

"Do it," I said. "Shoot me. But you're not taking my son."

"He's not your son," Edith said.

"I know," I said. "I know I'm the doctor's daughter. I know you swapped the babies. But I raised him. I loved him. That makes him mine."

"No," Edith said. A strange smile twisted her lips. "You don't understand."

She looked at Thorne.

"Tell her, Aris. Tell her who the boy is."

Thorne looked down at the ground.

"He's not Clara's," Thorne whispered. "And he's not Alice's."

"Then whose is he?" I asked.

Edith laughed. "He's yours, Sarah."

I froze. "What?"

"You were pregnant," Edith said. "Eight years ago. You remember the 'appendicitis'? The surgery?"

I touched my stomach. The scar.

"You told me it burst," I whispered. "You told me I lost the..."

"You didn't lose anything," Edith said. "We took him. We took him out before you even knew he was there. And we put him in an incubator until he was ready."

I stared at her. The cruelty was so vast, so complete, it stole the air from my lungs.

"You stole my baby," I whispered. "From my own body."

"I needed an heir," Edith said. "A true heir. One with the blood. And since I couldn't have one... and Clara was... unavailable..."

She pointed the gun at my chest.

"I used the spare."

I looked at the boy on the stretcher. My son. My flesh and blood. Not adopted. Not a decoy. Mine.

And hers.

Because if I was Thorne's daughter... and Edith was raising me...

"Who is the father?" I asked. "Who is Leo's father?"

Edith smiled.

"That," she said, "is the one secret I'll take to my grave."

She cocked the hammer.

"Now, step back. Or I'll kill you in front of him."

I looked at Ben. He was tense, ready to spring.

But he was too far away.

I looked at Thorne. He looked broken. Defeated.

"Dr. Thorne," I said. "You saved me once. You didn't kill me when you killed my mother. Save him now."

Thorne looked at me. He looked at the gun in Edith's hand.

And then he looked at the plane.

"The fuel line," he whispered.

I didn't understand.

But Ben did.

He grabbed a wrench from his belt and threw it. Not at Edith.

At the plane.

The wrench hit the fuel tank with a metallic *clang*.

A spark.

And then, the world turned white.