Chapter 5 - The Girl Who Disappeared Seventeen Years Ago
The cassette tape was almost eighteen years old.
Nathaniel found an old player in the garage.
At two in the morning, we sat at his kitchen table while the machine clicked and whirred.
Then a woman's voice filled the room.
"My name is Evelyn Mercer."
Nathaniel covered his mouth.
I watched his face.
He hadn't heard his sister's voice in nine years.
The recording continued.
"If you're listening to this, Nathaniel, then I didn't make it home."
A pause.
Someone was crying softly.
"I need you to understand something. They didn't take me because of my hair."
Nathaniel leaned forward.
"They took me because of what they found inside my blood."
The tape hissed.
"My hair was how they kept track of me. Every sample, every test, every treatment. They measured everything."
I looked toward Nathaniel.
His expression had gone rigid.
Evelyn continued.
"They told me I had a rare inherited condition. They said my body produced something valuable. Something they could use."
A door slammed in the recording.
Her breathing quickened.
"They made me believe I was helping sick children."
Another pause.
"Then I found out what happened to the girls who didn't survive."
The tape stopped.
Nathaniel stared at the player.
"No."
He pressed play again.
Nothing.
The tape had reached its end.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then Nathaniel stood.
"I have to find Miriam Vale."
I looked at the hospital bracelet.
It was small.
Infant-sized.
A name had been printed across it.
BABY GIRL MERCER.
Beneath the name was a date.
October 17, 2017.
Goldie's birthday.
But another number appeared beside the date.
E-18.
I frowned.
"Evelyn was E-17."
Nathaniel nodded slowly.
"And Goldie is E-18."
The realization hung between us.
Someone had assigned both girls numbers.
Someone had treated them as part of the same project.
And someone was still watching.
The next morning, I took the cassette tape to a former colleague.
Dr. Samuel Bennett was a retired pediatric neurologist who had worked at St. Catherine's Hospital for nearly forty years.
He listened without interrupting.
When the recording ended, he removed his glasses.
"Where did you get this?"
I told him.
He looked toward the office door.
Then he lowered his voice.
"Have you heard of the Bellwether Foundation?"
I shook my head.
"It was a private medical research organization. Very wealthy donors. Very little oversight."
"What did they study?"
"Rare hereditary disorders. Neurological conditions. Genetic anomalies."
He hesitated.
"At least, that's what their public records said."
"What happened to them?"
"They closed in 2010."
"Why?"
"Officially, funding problems."
"And unofficially?"
He looked at the cassette player.
"Three children disappeared from facilities connected to their research."
My heart began pounding.
"Was Evelyn one of them?"
"I don't know."
He stood and walked toward a filing cabinet.
After searching for several minutes, he removed a folder.
Inside was a newspaper clipping.
A photograph showed five researchers standing outside a medical building.
One was Dr. Miriam Vale.
Another was a tall man with silver hair.
I recognized him immediately.
He had been sitting in the front row at Goldie's concert.
I remembered because he hadn't applauded.
He had watched Nathaniel the entire evening.
"Who is that?" I asked.
Dr. Bennett followed my finger.
"Dr. Adrian Voss."
"What did he do?"
"He ran the foundation."
"Where is he now?"
"Dead."
I looked at him.
"When?"
"2011."
"Are you sure?"
"His obituary was published everywhere."
I thought about the man at the concert.
Same narrow face.
Same silver hair.
Same small scar beneath his left eye.
I pulled out my phone and searched the school event photographs.
There he was.
Standing near the exit.
Watching Goldie.
I showed Bennett.
His expression changed.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
He enlarged the photograph.
Then whispered, "Because I attended his funeral."
Before I could answer, my phone vibrated.
Nathaniel.
I picked up.
"Rebecca, where are you?"
"At a doctor's office."
"Come back."
"What happened?"
"Someone was at the school."
My blood ran cold.
"Goldie?"
"She's safe."
"Then what?"
He took a shaky breath.
"Someone gave her a birthday card."
I frowned.
"Her birthday isn't until next week."
"I know."
"What did it say?"
He was silent for several seconds.
May you like
Then he answered.
"Happy seventeenth birthday, Evelyn."
