Chapter 7: The Woman Who Came Home From the Dead
I stared at Patricia's hospital wristband until the letters blurred.
November 18, 2018.
The night my mother died.
The night someone else had been transported to County General Hospital.
The night my aunt supposedly disappeared from our family history.
Except she hadn't disappeared.
She had attended my mother's funeral three days later. She had cooked dinner for us, helped Malik organize the paperwork, and sat beside me when I couldn't stop crying.
For eight years, she had been there.
And now I was learning that she had been the unidentified survivor in the car.
“Carter?””
Morrison's voice brought me back.
I handed him my phone.
He studied the photograph.
“That's Patricia?””
“Yes.””
“Are you certain?””
I nodded.
“She raised us after Mom died. I would recognize her anywhere.””
Morrison enlarged the photograph.
“Look at the background.””
I leaned closer.
The hospital room had pale blue walls, a metal bed frame, and a window overlooking a parking structure.
There was a whiteboard behind Patricia.
Room 309.
The same room Malik had mentioned.
Morrison immediately called the hospital.
He requested an emergency records preservation order and instructed the security team to locate the patient associated with the photograph.
The response came back within minutes.
Room 309 had been empty for four days.
No patient named Malik Carter had been admitted.
No patient named Patricia Carter had been registered.
I looked at Morrison.
“Then where was that photograph taken?””
He didn't answer.
I called Patricia.
She picked up immediately.
“Sweetheart.””
Her voice sounded exactly as it always had.
Warm.
Gentle.
Almost musical.
I hated how familiar it felt.
“Where's Malik?””
A pause.
“Is that how you're greeting me now?””
“Where is he?””
“I can't tell you over the phone.””
“Then tell me about November 18, 2018.””
Silence.
I heard a faint clinking sound, as though she were placing a cup on a table.
“Your mother would be very disappointed in you,” she said.
I gripped the phone.
“Don't bring Mom into this.””
“She wanted to protect you.””
“From what?””
“From Malik.””
My stomach tightened.
“What did my brother do?””
Patricia sighed.
“He was young. Angry. He believed he could fix things that were much bigger than him.””
“Did you kill my mother?””
The silence that followed was so long I thought the call had dropped.
Then Patricia spoke.
“I loved your mother more than anyone in this world.””
“That wasn't my question.””
“No, Nia. It wasn't.””
I heard a door open on her end.
Someone spoke quietly.
Patricia lowered her voice.
“You have the recording?””
“I found the photograph.””
“Then you know enough to understand that some truths destroy families.””
“Tell me where Malik is.””
“Come to the old house.””
I frowned.
“What old house?””
“Your grandmother's house. The one your mother sold before she died.””
“That's been empty for years.””
“Not anymore.””
Before I could ask another question, she hung up.
Morrison was already reaching for his jacket.
“We're not going anywhere without backup.””
I shook my head.
“She asked me to come alone.””
“That's exactly why you won't.””
I looked at him.
“Patricia knows my family. She knows how I think. If she sees a team, she'll disappear.””
“Carter, this is no longer just about your brother.””
“I know.””
I looked down at the photograph again.
“She might be the only person who knows what happened that night.””
Morrison considered it.
Then he called two investigators and arranged for them to follow us at a distance.
We drove to my grandmother's old property just after sunset.
The house sat at the end of a narrow road lined with bare trees. Its white paint had peeled, and weeds covered the front steps.
A single light glowed in the upstairs bedroom.
I recognized the curtains.
My mother had chosen them.
For a moment, I was twelve years old again, running through the hallway while she called after me to take my shoes off.
Then the front door opened.
Patricia stood there.
She wore a dark blue sweater and black trousers.
Her hair was shorter than I remembered, but her face was unmistakable.
She smiled.
“Come inside, sweetheart.””
I didn't move.
“Where's Malik?””
“He's safe.””
“Show me.””
“First, we need to talk.””
I stepped inside.
The house smelled of furniture polish and old books.
On the mantelpiece stood a photograph of my mother, Malik, and me.
I picked it up.
“Why do you still have this?””
Patricia closed the door.
“Because she was my sister.””
“You told us you weren't at the accident.””
“I never said that.””
“You said you were at home that night.””
She looked at me.
“I said many things.””
I put the photograph down.
“Were you in the car?””
“Yes.””
The answer came so easily that I almost stumbled.
“Why?””
Patricia walked toward the kitchen.
“Your mother called me. She was frightened. She said someone was following her.””
“Who?””
“She wouldn't tell me.””
“And then?””
“We met near the river. She had a folder containing documents she wanted to give to someone.””
“Who was the person?””
Patricia stopped.
“Thomas Harris.””
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Captain Harris?””
She nodded.
“He was supposed to help her expose the corruption.””
“Then why was Derek there?””
“Because Derek had been following us.””
I stepped closer.
“What happened?””
Patricia looked down at her hands.
“Your mother and I were driving away when another vehicle hit us. I woke up in the hospital. She didn't.””
“Who was driving?””
“Your mother.””
“Who hit you?””
“I don't know.””
“Why did you lie?””
Patricia's eyes filled.
“Because I was told Malik would be killed if I spoke.””
I stared at her.
“Who told you?””
She walked toward an old wooden cabinet.
Then she unlocked a drawer and removed a small cassette recorder.
“This.””
I recognized the device.
My mother used to record voice notes when she was preparing financial reports.
Patricia placed it on the dining table.
“She recorded something before the accident. I kept it hidden because I knew someone would come looking for it.””
“Why didn't you give it to the police?””
“Because the police were involved.””
“Why didn't you give it to me?””
“Because I was afraid.””
I stared at the recorder.
“Press play.””
Patricia didn't move.
“There's something you need to understand first.””
“What?””
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Your mother didn't die because she discovered the corruption.””
I frowned.
“Then why?””
“Because she discovered who was running it.””
“Who?””
Patricia swallowed.
“Someone inside your own family.””
Before I could ask another question, a loud crash came from upstairs.
Patricia jumped.
I reached for my radio.
Then I heard a familiar voice.
“Nia?””
My heart stopped.
It was Malik.
I ran toward the staircase.
“Malik!””
But Patricia grabbed my arm.
“Wait!””
I turned.
“What are you doing?””
Her expression had changed.
The warmth was gone.
“Your brother isn't upstairs.””
“Then who is?””
Patricia released my arm.
A door opened behind me.
And someone stepped out of the dark hallway.
It was Captain Harris.
He was holding a photograph.
It showed my mother standing beside a younger man.
I recognized the man immediately.
My father.
The man we had been told died before I was born.
Harris looked at me.
May you like
“There's something your aunt hasn't told you,” he said.
“Your mother wasn't the only person who survived that night.””
