Chapter 46: The Blockade

The card reader on the door of the Memory Care unit blinked a stubborn, angry red. *Access Denied.*

I swiped it again. *Access Denied.*

My hands were shaking. I had been visiting Clara here for months, paying the bills Edith "forgot," bringing her the soft yarn she liked even though she never knit anything. The card always worked.

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

I turned. A security guard I didn't recognize was standing behind me. He was young, thick-necked, with a gaze that landed heavy on my shoulder.

"I'm here to see Clara Sterling," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "I'm her niece. My card isn't working."

"Ms. Sterling has been placed on a restricted list," the guard said. "No visitors. Medical directive from the legal guardian."

"Edith," I spat. "Edith doesn't even come here. I'm the only one who visits."

"The order stands," he said, crossing his arms. "You need to leave the premises."

"She's sick," I said, desperation leaking into my tone. "She needs..."

I couldn't say it. *She needs to be tested for compatibility with the son she doesn't know she has.*

"She needs to know I'm here."

"Leave," the guard said, his hand dropping to his belt. "Or I'll have you removed."

I backed away. I walked to the parking lot, my heart hammering against my ribs. Edith had moved fast. She knew I was close. She knew about the genetic marker. She was locking down every piece of evidence, human or otherwise.

I got into my rental car and called Ben.

"She locked me out," I said. "Clara is in isolation. I can't get the DNA."

"We don't need to get in," Ben said. "We need to get her out."

"Kidnapping?" I asked. "Ben, we're already fugitives."

"It's not kidnapping if you're saving her," Ben said. "And I know a way in. The service tunnels."

"There are tunnels?"

"This place used to be a sanitarium in the twenties," Ben said. "They moved the... difficult patients underground. The tunnels are still there. They use them for laundry and waste."

"Meet me there," I said.

An hour later, we were in the basement of the facility, surrounded by carts of dirty linens. The air smelled of bleach and decay.

We found the service elevator. Ben pried the panel open and hotwired the call button.

"Third floor," I whispered.

The elevator groaned upward.

When the doors opened, the hallway was empty. It was late, the shift change window.

We crept down the hall to Room 304.

The door was locked. But not with a keypad. An old-fashioned key lock.

Ben pulled out his tension wrench. Ten seconds later, we were inside.

Clara was in bed, asleep. She looked smaller than I remembered, frail under the thin hospital blanket.

"Clara," I whispered, touching her shoulder.

She stirred. Her eyes opened. They were milky, unfocused.

"Sarah?" she rasped.

"It's me," I said. "I'm here to take you home."

She grabbed my wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

"The baby," she said. "Did you find him?"

"I found him," I said, tears pricking my eyes. "He's safe. But we need to go to him."

"Safe," she repeated. A smile, ghost-like and beautiful, crossed her face.

We helped her into a wheelchair. We covered her with a blanket. We moved toward the door.

But before we could open it, the handle turned from the outside.

We froze.

The door opened.

It wasn't a nurse.

It was Edith.

She stood there, framed by the hallway light, looking like a statue made of ice. Behind her were two orderlies, big men in white scrubs.

"Going somewhere?" she asked.

"Get out of my way," I said, stepping in front of the wheelchair.

"You really are a disappointment, Sarah," Edith said. "I gave you everything. And you repay me by stealing my sister?"

"She's not your sister," I said. "And I'm not your daughter."

Edith's eyes flickered to Clara.

"She told you?" Edith asked. "In her delirium?"

"The DNA told me," I said. "I know everything, Edith. I know about the twins. I know about Thorne. I know about Leo."

Edith sighed. She gestured to the orderlies.

"Take her," she said. "Take Sarah to the secure wing. Dr. Thorne has prepared a room."

"What about Clara?" one of the orderlies asked.

Edith looked at the woman in the wheelchair. Her sister. Her victim.

"Clara is tired," Edith said. "She needs her rest. Permanent rest."

She pulled a syringe from her pocket.

"No!" I screamed, lunging at her.

The orderlies grabbed me. I fought, kicking and scratching, but they were too strong. They pinned me against the wall.

Edith walked to the wheelchair. She uncapped the syringe.

"It's better this way," she said to Clara. "No more pain. No more memories."

Clara looked up at her. Her eyes cleared, just for a second.

"You were always jealous," Clara whispered.

Edith's hand shook.

"Goodbye, sister," she said.

She raised the needle.

And the fire alarm went off.