Just like in the snowstorm. One foot in front of the other.
I chose left and started walking. What if I encounter another security guard? What would I possibly say to explain myself? Did the houses of other hospital workers lead into this tunnel? I could feel heat, but I was still so chilled I kept my hood up and my hands in my gloves.
I passed another stairwell identical to Verna’s. At least hers had the stair lift, so it was clear which one I would need to take when I returned with William. If I returned with William—
The dead end came up so suddenly, I actually held up my hand to stop myself from walking right into the wall. Angrily, I hurried back down the opposite direction. How much time had I wasted?
Fifteen minutes later, another tunnel opened up to my right, snaking into a long darkness, again lit only by orange lights. How many tunnels were down here? Had the military used the same shafts of the miners? Or did they do all this as the town slowly declined into near abandonment, the locals unaware of what was being dug beneath them? There had to be questions as to why the workers at the hospital never left their homes but somehow got to work every day—
Stop it. Stop trying to make sense. Just find William.
I had no choice but trial and error. I could only guess the new tunnel headed towards town and the hospital was farther out. But how far? Yards? Miles? It couldn’t be; someone of Verna’s age couldn’t walk that distance every day.
I kept walking down the tunnel and noticed in the near distance how it began to expand quite dramatically, its walls receding into the darkness beyond the reach of the meager lights. The sound of my footsteps disappeared into the space without an echo. As the far end of the tunnel came into view, another metal staircase emerged, not off to the right or left, as had the others, but in the center. The answer as to how Verna arrived here each day was a golf cart parked to the side, right by another stair-lift chair. Verna didn’t walk to work. Someone came to get her.
As I approached, I could see, at the top of the stairs, a door leading to an upper level, somewhere above ground. I hurried towards it, looking up at the now familiar orange lights above.
When I reached the first step, the sides of the hallway suddenly flared with fluorescent lights. I stumbled in surprise, seeing now how the orange lights at the top of the stairs were also glowing brightly. I’d triggered a sensor of some kind.
A passing glance at the white lights coming from the walls of the hall revealed the man staring at me.
The greenish pall of the fluorescents weren’t coming from sconces on the walls, but from rooms with glass doors. I was so intent on reaching the stairs that I hadn’t even noticed the dozens of doors stretching down the corridor, or the face of the man looking out.
He was lying down, his head resting on some kind of bed. I waited for him to react to me or speak. Instead, he blinked, yet his blank expression remained the same.
I left the stairs and hesitantly stepped closer. Approaching the door, I could see his eyes were unnaturally glassy, and that he wasn’t alone. Dozens of rows—no, maybe hundreds of rows—of people on beds, all connected to tubing and machines, all dressed in white. All their eyes were open, faces either staring at the ceiling or turned to the side.
I stepped back to the middle of the tunnel, eyeing the doors, each with the same light. Did all of those doors lead to rooms full of comatose people?
I walked across the hall to a nearly identical sight, but this time, it was a young woman on the closest bed; beyond her were more rows of people. As she stared at the ceiling, I watched her chest rise and fall. An older man next to her appeared to be breathing as well. All had tubes going into their nostrils or mouths.
They’re vegetables, Verna had slurred. They don’t remember anything, Joe had said, not even how to tie their shoes.
William isn’t like them. There’s still time.
I propelled myself up the stairs, trying to ignore the pain in my knees. My heart was racing when I reached the top. This door had no window, no indicator of what lay beyond.
There was, however, a keypad.
I held up my hand to the orange light. My stomach sank as I saw how my hands had sweated in the gloves. The numbers were smudged a bit. I punched in 16-0-18-8-25-30.
The keypad flashed red.
I looked closer at my hand. Was that an 18 or 19? I tried it again. 16-0-19-8-25-30. No red flash, nothing. I looked closer at my hand, trying to recall the exact numeration—
The door unlocked and swung open an inch.
I pushed through it, momentarily relishing the familiar bright light of a hallway. Gone were the orange glow and the ghostly fluorescents, replaced with a stark white light illuminating well-traveled tile and undecorated walls.
I eased down the hall, looking all around for any signs of life. Verna had said something about William being moved to the second floor. But he could be anywhere, and I had no idea how large the hospital was or even where I was in it.
If William had been taken from his usual room here, were the other children from the park still here? If I did find another child, could I, in good conscience, ask for help finding William and leave that child behind?
I came to a door with a black sign reading “Stairwell.” I entered, cringing at the echo of my footsteps.
On the second floor, I peered out, seeing another empty hallway. I had no idea what time it was, but the storm must have emptied the place. The rooms here had no plates, only numbered plastic containers holding files and papers.
The windows in these doors were mostly dark, but as I walked, I saw one man sitting at a desk, his head resting on top of his arm. I stopped, wondering if I should knock. When he failed to move at all, I kept walking. Another window in another door revealed a woman standing directly in front of a wall, staring. I could feel the desolation without having to enter.
I started counting: twenty, forty, eighty rooms. I grew sadder with each step, as there were only first names on the folders; names likely assigned to them, like animals at the pound. I thought of Joe who, even without a memory, knew the name they’d first given him rang hollow.
William believes his name is Alan. Does that name sound wrong to him too?
I looked through each window, finding most rooms to be pitch black. If there was anyone inside, they were asleep. I kept moving. Room after room down the hall, no sign of anyone else awake. I prayed to Mother Mary, for soon I would have to start venturing into the darkness of each room, blindly looking for my grandson.
A faint light came from room 212. The lamp was bright enough, however, to show the red in the sheen of a boy’s hair, sitting at the edge of the bed, wearing navy-blue pajamas, his knees pulled up tight.
I whispered a thanks to Mary, forcing my hands to stop shaking and reaching deep in my coat pocket, finding the one thing I couldn’t bear to throw at the security officer who tried to kill us a few hours ago.
William turned when I opened the door and flinched when he saw me emerge. “Don’t be afraid, William.” I smiled, forcing back tears of relief. “Miss Cliff told me you’d be here.”
William didn’t move, looking so much like his mother that I found it difficult to speak. As I took a step closer, he slid a bit farther away on the bed.
“Honey, you don’t have anything to be afraid of—”
“My name is Alan. Miss Cliff told me not to pay any attention to you. She said you were crazy.”
“That’s before she knew who I was. Now she knows, and she told me where you would be. That’s how I found you. I’d like to show you who I am. Is that OK?”
He eyed me warily. I briefly glanced around the room, finding it completely empty. Two small bags were packed by end of his bed.
I took out the thin plastic photograph holder from my now-lost wallet and removed a single picture. “This is me and my husband, Tom. We live in a place called Nashville, Tennessee.”
William looked at it briefly, and I put it away, bringing out another. “This is an old pictu
re of my daughters. That’s my youngest, Stella, there’s Kate, and my oldest, Anne. Want to see my whole family?”
The boy shrugged, and I took out another picture. “Look at how many of us there are! Do you see all the boys?”
With that, William leaned in closer. “I only have grandsons. They are bigger now, including the baby. Do you want to see what the baby looks like, the one sitting in his Aunt Stella’s arms?”
I swallowed and took out a final photograph. “This was taken last summer on the Fourth of July. That’s Anne’s family—that’s her husband, Chris, and her sons Greg, Brian, and William.”
William stared for a moment and then slowly reached out. I gave him the photo, letting him look closely. “That’s you, my sweet boy. I know they call you Alan here. But your real name is William. William Grant Chance. You are seven and will turn eight this summer. And we’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
“But I don’t know you,” he said, still looking at the picture.
“I know you don’t, and that’s OK,” I eased onto the bed. “Maybe you will remember us one day. Your mom, your dad, your brothers, your aunts, and especially your grandpa, they all want you to come home. I’d like to take you there.”
“I’m not supposed to leave my room. Plus, they told me I’m moving. They said I was leaving first thing in the morning. They said I’ll like it where I’m going. They said it’s warm.”
“Well, where I live is really warm. We have a new minor-league baseball stadium, and even have two different water parks because it gets so hot in the summer.”
“Two water parks?” William’s eyes lit up, but then narrowed. “Miss Cliff said not to go anywhere.”
“Maybe we can go see her right now, and while we’re walking to her, I’ll tell you more about your family.”
His eyes softened. “You really are my grandma?”
I couldn’t stop the tears from glistening in my eyes. “I am. And I have missed you every day.”
“Can I keep the picture?”
“Of course. You can have all of them if you want.”
“I just want this one. My shoes are by my suitcase and my coat is in the closet. Are we going outside?”
“I hope not. It’s so cold!” I forced a smile, trying to appear casual. I opened the closet door and found the jacket. I knelt on the floor and opened the suitcase, finding a heavy sweater on top.
“I want to wear my jeans,” he said, still staring at the photo.
I grabbed a collared shirt, jeans, a pair of socks, and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“Do you have gloves?”
“On the hook by the door,” he said, throwing off his pajama top and putting on his shirt. “Will I get to say goodbye to Miss Cliff?”
“I hope so. I know she’d like to see you before you go.”
“Is Tennessee close to the mountains? I’ll miss my friends. Especially Todd, he’s funny. He wears red-high tops. I didn’t want to move, but they said it was for my own good.”
“I promise you, I will do everything I can for you to see any of your friends here again. But right now, I want to get you home.”
“What if they don’t want me, once they find out I don’t remember them?” he asked, slipping on his boots.
I wanted so badly to rush over and pull him into my arms. “Hon, we’ve all been waiting to see you for so long, it doesn’t matter what you do or don’t remember.”
“Then why am I here? How did I get here? All everybody says here is that we don’t have memories and they don’t know where we came from. But somebody has to know. Why did it take you so long to find me?”
I reached out and touched his arm. “I didn’t know where you were. Nobody did. And your parents would be here too, but I just figured it out first.”
“Figured out what?” he asked, his sweater now over his head.
“Let’s talk about all that when we get out of here. Can we go now?”
William clearly picked up on my nervousness. “I’m not supposed to leave my room, you know.”
“Well, Miss Cliff told me where you would be. She knew I had to get to you. Should we go see her?” I asked, hating the lie.
“Sure,” he shrugged.
“Let’s go quietly.” I put my hand on his back and carefully opened the door.
I led him out and we began to walk down the hall. With each door we passed, I fought the urge to grab him and run. He was coming willingly; I couldn’t do anything to spook him. I didn’t even dare hold his hand, although I wanted to desperately. I could see the sign for the staircase. We could be down to the first floor and out the door to the tunnel in a few minutes’ time. Roxy must have made the call by now, and Tom knows that William is here. I did put my hand on his back, hoping the gesture would move his little legs faster. All we had to do was make it down—
“Mrs. Roseworth.”
I closed my eyes. William quickly turned around, but I didn’t need to. I recognized the voice.
TWENTY
The woman who I thought was my husband’s press secretary, who once sat in my own kitchen giving us political advice, who then showed up in the FBI’s raid of Steven’s hotel room, was now wearing a black suit.
Deanna Ruck had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, just as she had when she drove me from the Murfreesboro motel back to Nashville. Walking up briskly behind her were two men dressed in white scrubs.
“Please let us go,” I whispered, placing my hands on William’s shoulders.
“I wish I could, Mrs. Roseworth,” she said. “Hi Alan. We haven’t met. But you know Josh and Rick. Josh is going to take you back to your room.”
“But this lady says she’s my grandma.” He looked up at me. “She showed me pictures of my family. She says my name is William.”
“I understand it’s confusing,” Deanna said with a sympathetic smile. “Tell you what: I need to talk to Mrs. Roseworth first, and then when we’re done, we’ll try to come to see you. OK?”
“Just let us go.” I pulled William close. “I swear to you, I won’t say anything.”
“Mrs. Roseworth, you’re only making this more difficult.”
“She said my name is William,” he grumbled with a sullen tone, pressing up against me.
It was that movement that made me grab William’s hand and run for the door. As I seized the door handle, a strong grip clamped down on my arm. I tried to pull away, but the man held tight, closing the door with his other hand. The other tore William from my grasp.
“William!” I cried out, trying to yank my arm free, knowing the strength of the man would leave bruises.
“I’ll come for you!” I struck out, trying to peel away from his grip. “Let me go!”
As I struggled, I saw William lift his hand towards me, his eyes wide with confusion, as he was carried back into his room.
“Right in there.” Deanna motioned to a door across the hall. With a good one hundred pounds on me, the man led me with ease, despite my attempts to wrestle away. He opened the door and sat me down in a swivel chair resting by a row of file cabinets. Shelves lined the walls, filled with thick plastic binders.
“Give us a few minutes,” she said, following us in. The man at last let go, giving me a stern look as he walked out.
“How can you be doing this?” I exploded, rubbing my wrist. “You know William’s alive! You know he’s my grandson! I thought you were an FBI agent! You’re supposed to be protecting people like us—”
“That’s exactly what I am doing, ma’am. There’s only one person responsible for this situation, and it’s you. I told you back in Tennessee to let this go. I told you what could happen. When we’d learned you and your friend suddenly decided to skip town in the midst of your family’s worst tragedy, I knew you’d disregarded my counsel.
“I suppose I should be grateful to that teenager in the airport terminal who tweeted out that he saw you. We’ve been monitoring all social media for you. He took one photo of you walking away, but failed to earn
even a single retweet from his seven followers, or everyone would know you’re here. That tweet, by the way, no longer exists anywhere, in case you thought someone in your family might find it. We had to fly a helicopter through that storm to get to you. Do you know how dangerous that was? Just to come and find you? I don’t know how much Dr. Richards told you about Argentum, but you really made a mistake coming here.”
“Made a mistake? What kind of person are you? You have seen yourself what this has done to my family. And you’re telling me it was a mistake to come find him?”
“It was a mistake because what your family will now have to go through.”
“And what does that mean?”
She pulled up another swivel chair and sat down, leaning forward. “Because you can’t go home now, Mrs. Roseworth. I wish you could, believe me. I don’t want to see your family suffer any more. I don’t know ultimately what my superiors will decide, but I do know with certainty that some sort of story will have to be arranged—”
“I promise you, I will say nothing about what I’ve seen.”
Her lips pursed in a frown. “Really? You’ll just show up with your grandson and not explain where you found him? And you just won’t ever explain why he doesn’t have a memory? This is why we go to extraordinary lengths, such as keeping this facility secluded in this godforsaken corner of the world and blocking it from Google maps and internet searches; to avoid exactly the kind of situation we are in now.”
Deanna reached down and pulled out a laptop from the satchel she’d been carrying. She tapped on the rectangle below the keyboard and turned the screen to face me. She touched the play button and frantic green pulses raced across the screen.
“Please listen.”
She turned up the volume, and at first all I could hear was rustling. Then, my own voice. “You know nothing about my life.”
The Darkest Time of Night Page 23
