Chapter 8 - St. Agnes
Sophie refused to let go of my hand.
Even after the officers searched the floor.
Even after the hospital reviewed every security camera.
Even after they confirmed Dr. Everett Sloan had entered using an expired medical badge.
She held me as if the moment she released me, another member of my family would appear.
I did not blame her.
Nathaniel stood near the window.
He had not spoken since I asked about St. Agnes.
Detective Alvarez arrived fifteen minutes later.
She read Anna’s note twice.
Then she placed it inside an evidence bag.
“You are not going there.”
I looked at her.
“My father is there.”
“Maybe.”
“Anna believes he is.”
“Or someone wants you isolated.”
“She asked me to come alone.”
“That is exactly why you won’t.”
Nathaniel turned from the window.
“She may refuse to appear if police are visible.”
Alvarez looked at him.
“You do not get a vote.”
He stepped closer.
“You have no idea what St. Agnes was.”
“Then explain it.”
Nathaniel’s jaw tightened.
The detective waited.
So did I.
Finally, he spoke.
“St. Agnes was presented as a private home for abandoned girls.”
“Presented?”
“It was funded by wealthy families.”
“Politicians.”
“Judges.”
“Businessmen.”
“What did it really do?”
Nathaniel looked at Sophie.
“Not here.”
I asked the nurse to stay with her.
Sophie immediately shook her head.
“No.”
I sat beside her.
“I need to talk right outside.”
“Are you leaving again?”
“Not yet.”
She searched my face.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
That word felt dangerous.
My family had used promises as disguises for betrayal.
I kissed her forehead.
Then I stepped into the hallway.
The officers remained close enough for me to see Sophie through the glass.
Nathaniel lowered his voice.
“St. Agnes was used to hide children.”
“What kind of children?”
“Children born from affairs.”
“Children who inherited money.”
“Children who witnessed crimes.”
“Children whose existence embarrassed powerful people.”
Alvarez’s face hardened.
“You knew this?”
“I suspected.”
“You represented the Whitmore family.”
“I found invoices.”
“Payments to St. Agnes.”
“Then why didn’t you report it?”
“I did.”
“To whom?”
“A circuit judge.”
“What happened?”
“He told Victor.”
I crossed my arms.
“And then?”
“Anna was moved there.”
The hallway went silent.
“You caused it,” I said.
Nathaniel flinched.
“I tried to expose the home.”
“And my father sent Anna there because of you.”
“Yes.”
“You told me she went through foster care.”
“She did.”
“After St. Agnes?”
“Yes.”
“How long was she there?”
“Eleven months.”
“What happened during those eleven months?”
His eyes darkened.
“I don’t know everything.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
Nathaniel looked toward the floor.
“When Anna came out, she had the scar.”
“She stopped speaking for six months.”
“She was afraid of doctors.”
“And she refused to sleep in rooms with locked doors.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you see her after St. Agnes?”
“Once.”
The answer came too quickly.
I stared at him.
“You said you spent twenty years searching.”
“I did.”
“But you saw her.”
“One time.”
“When?”
“Three years after she disappeared from this house.”
“Where?”
“A bus station in Milwaukee.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me to stop looking.”
“Why?”
“She said people would die.”
“Did she mention my father?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Nathaniel closed his eyes.
“She said Victor Whitmore did not own St. Agnes.”
“He served it.”
Detective Alvarez frowned.
“Served whom?”
“She would not tell me.”
I thought of the ledgers.
Judges.
Doctors.
Police officers.
Reporters.
My father had not built his protection alone.
He belonged to something older.
Larger.
“What happened next?” I asked.
“I reached for her.”
“She screamed.”
“A man approached.”
“What man?”
“Dr. Sloan.”
Nathaniel’s voice hardened.
“He told me Anna was under psychiatric care.”
“I tried to stop him.”
“Two police officers arrested me.”
“For what?”
“Assault.”
“Did you assault him?”
“Yes.”
At least he answered honestly.
“They held me for three days.”
“When I was released, Anna was gone.”
“And that is why you disappeared?”
“Partly.”
“What is the other part?”
Nathaniel looked at me.
“I made a deal.”
My stomach tightened.
“With whom?”
“Your father.”
Alvarez stepped closer.
“What deal?”
Nathaniel’s face was filled with shame.
“I agreed to stop searching publicly.”
“In exchange for what?”
“Proof that Anna was alive.”
I stared at him.
“He sent photographs?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Once a year.”
“For how long?”
“Fourteen years.”
I could not believe what I was hearing.
“You let my father control you with photographs.”
“I was trying to keep her alive.”
“You helped him hide everything.”
“I stayed away from you.”
“From your mother.”
“From the company.”
“Because he threatened Anna.”
“And you believed him.”
“I had seen what happened when I did not.”
I wanted to hate him.
Part of me did.
But another part understood too well.
When someone threatened your child, morality stopped being simple.
It became survival.
Detective Alvarez held out her hand.
“I need the photographs.”
“They are in a safe.”
“Where?”
“My office.”
“An officer will collect them.”
Nathaniel nodded.
Alvarez looked at me.
“You are staying here.”
I glanced through the glass at Sophie.
She was watching us.
“I am not leaving her unprotected.”
“Good.”
“But I am going to St. Agnes.”
Alvarez’s eyes narrowed.
“No.”
“My father escaped.”
“Dr. Sloan entered this hospital.”
“Anna came here first.”
“Every answer leads back to that building.”
“That is exactly why it is dangerous.”
“Then make it less dangerous.”
She shook her head.
“The note says alone.”
“I did not say I would obey.”
Nathaniel looked at me.
“What are you suggesting?”
“We go visibly alone.”
“Police remain out of sight.”
Alvarez folded her arms.
“That is not a plan.”
“It is the only way Anna might appear.”
“She may not be Anna.”
“Sophie saw her.”
“Sophie saw a woman who used that name.”
Nathaniel spoke quietly.
“She knew about St. Agnes.”
“Victor.”
“Sloan.”
“Me.”
“It is her.”
Alvarez looked from him to me.
She knew we were going with or without her.
Finally, she exhaled.
“We control the route.”
“You wear a wire.”
“Officers enter if communication stops.”
I nodded.
“One more condition.”
“What?”
“Sophie is moved.”
“To where?”
“A secure pediatric unit under another name.”
Alvarez considered it.
“Agreed.”
Nathaniel remained behind.
I did not invite him.
He noticed.
“You are going without me?”
“The note told me not to trust you.”
“You believe it?”
“I believe you lied.”
“I omitted things.”
“That is what liars call lying.”
His face tightened.
“You do not know what waits there.”
“Neither do you.”
“I know enough.”
“Then stay with Sophie.”
He looked through the glass.
For the first time, I saw something softer in him.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
“I will protect her.”
“You had better.”
We transferred Sophie just before dawn.
Her new room was in another wing under the name Sophie Lane.
Two plainclothes officers stood nearby.
Nathaniel sat beside her bed.
She held his hand reluctantly.
Before I left, she whispered to me.
“Anna was crying.”
I stopped.
“When?”
“When she gave me the note.”
“Did she say why?”
“She said she had done something bad.”
“What?”
Sophie shook her head.
“She said you would hate her.”
I touched her cheek.
“I don’t know her.”
Sophie looked toward Nathaniel.
“She knows you.”
The drive to St. Agnes took forty-five minutes.
The building stood beyond the southern edge of the city.
Abandoned warehouses surrounded it.
The old children’s home was hidden behind a rusted iron fence.
Its stone walls were blackened by years of rain.
Most of the windows were boarded.
A cracked statue of the Virgin Mary stood near the entrance.
Someone had painted her eyes red.
Detective Alvarez parked two blocks away.
She helped attach a transmitter beneath my coat.
“If I say your name twice, we enter.”
“And if the signal fails?”
“We wait three minutes.”
“Then we enter.”
“I’m not waiting three minutes.”
“Evelyn.”
“My daughter was nearly killed.”
“Three minutes is an eternity.”
Alvarez held my gaze.
“Then don’t let the signal fail.”
I walked alone toward the building.
The gate was unlocked.
It opened with a long metallic groan.
The front doors were chained.
But a side entrance stood open.
Inside, the air smelled of mold and burned wood.
Old children’s drawings still hung on the walls.
Stick figures.
Houses.
Smiling yellow suns.
Several faces had been scratched out.
“Anna?”
My voice echoed.
No answer.
I moved deeper into the building.
A hallway led toward a chapel.
Wooden benches faced a broken altar.
A single candle burned near the front.
Beside it sat another red shoe.
Adult-sized this time.
A piece of paper was tucked inside.
I unfolded it.
You brought the police.
I looked around.
“Anna.”
A speaker crackled above me.
Then a woman’s voice filled the chapel.
“You never were good at following instructions.”
My breath caught.
“Where are you?”
“Close.”
“Did you go to Sophie’s room?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To see if Victor had already reached her.”
“He did.”
“No.”
The voice sounded certain.
“Sloan did.”
“What does Sloan want?”
“The same thing he has always wanted.”
“Control.”
“Of whom?”
“Everyone.”
I moved toward the altar.
“Show yourself.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because Nathaniel is listening.”
“He isn’t here.”
“That doesn’t mean he isn’t listening.”
My anger rose.
“He told me what happened.”
“No.”
“He told you enough to keep you useful.”
“What did he do?”
Silence.
Then the voice returned.
“He signed the papers.”
“What papers?”
“The ones that sent me here.”
I stopped breathing.
“He said my father sent you.”
“Victor ordered it.”
“Nathaniel signed it.”
I looked toward the hidden transmitter beneath my coat.
“Why?”
“Because Victor promised to keep you safe.”
The betrayal cut deeper than I expected.
Nathaniel had chosen me.
A child he knew.
Over the daughter he had lost.
“He thought he was saving you,” Anna said.
“Did he?”
“No.”
“He taught Victor exactly how much a frightened parent would surrender.”
A door opened behind the altar.
A woman stepped into the candlelight.
Tall.
Dark hair.
A pale scar ran from her left temple to her jaw.
She looked older than the nurse had described.
Tired.
Thin.
But alive.
Her eyes met mine.
They were my mother’s eyes.
“Anna.”
May you like
She gave a small, broken smile.
“Hello, little sister.”
