Arnold shook his head.
“There was no rest.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s the page Ben gave me.”
“Where is Ben now?”
Arnold looked toward the elevator.
“Room 814.”
I started walking.
He caught my arm.
“Wait.”
I turned.
“What?”
“There’s something you need to know before you go in.”
“What?”
Arnold’s eyes filled with tears again.
“Ben hasn’t slept in three days.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because Emily disappeared last night.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?”
“She was in Room 814.”
I looked toward the elevator.
“No.”
“She was gone when the nurses came in this morning.”
“And Ben?”
Arnold swallowed.
“He was the last person seen with her.”
The elevator doors opened.
I stepped inside.
As the doors began closing, Arnold shouted,
“Whatever Ben tells you, please let him finish!”
But I barely heard him.
Because on the hospital floor beneath my feet, there was a piece of paper I hadn’t noticed before.
A tiny handwritten note.
One sentence.
She knows who took me.
And underneath it was a name.
My husband’s.
BEN.
Part 3 — The Truth
Room 814 was empty.
Not simply empty.
Abandoned.
The bed was stripped.
The monitors were silent.
The curtains were open.
And the window was locked from the inside.
“Ben?”
My voice sounded impossibly small.
I stepped into the room.
“Ben!”
Nothing.
Then I noticed something on the chair.
His hospital jacket.
I picked it up.
His badge was still clipped to the pocket.
Ben never went anywhere without that badge.
My hands began trembling again.
I searched the room.
Nothing.
Then I saw the floor.
Near the bed was a small pink hair clip.
I knew it immediately.
I had bought a dozen of them for Emily.
I crouched and picked it up.
“No…”
The door opened behind me.
I spun around.
Ben stood there.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
He looked older.
Not older by years.
Older by decades.
His face was pale. His beard had grown out. His eyes were red and sunken.
He looked at me as though seeing me was both the greatest relief and the worst thing that could have happened.
“You came.”
I laughed through my tears.
“Of course I came.”
He closed the door.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His lips trembled.
“I wanted to.”
“When?”
“Every day.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I was afraid.”
I walked toward him.
“Afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He looked down.
“Afraid that if I told you the truth, you would become involved.”
“I am your wife, Ben.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to decide whether I’m involved.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked at me.
And for the first time in eleven years, I saw genuine fear in my husband’s eyes.
