Chapter 11 - Beneath the East Wing
Nico’s arrest lasted six hours.
By morning, a judge had released him on bond, citing his lack of prior convictions and the “confusion surrounding the historical materials.” The district attorney promised a full investigation. The city manager promised cooperation. Morrow House issued a statement describing the shooting as an unfortunate misunderstanding.
Ruth read the statement twice and threw the newspaper into the sink.
“They’re already softening the language,” Eli said.
“They can soften words. They can’t soften evidence.”
“Evidence can disappear.”
They stood outside the locked gates of St. Orison with Lenora and Iris Bell. The old hospital rose above them, its boarded windows reflecting a colorless sky.
“The second entrance is beneath the riverbank,” Iris said. “The tunnel flooded years ago.”
“Then we need a boat,” Eli replied.
Lenora looked toward the east wing. “There is a dry passage from the boiler room.”
“How do you know?” Ruth asked.
“Victor showed it to me.”
“Why?”
“He wanted me to understand where Nico had come from.”
The answer unsettled Ruth more than she expected. Lenora had not merely been married to Victor. She had been brought into the machinery and taught to admire its locks.
They entered through a broken basement window. Eli disabled the alarm while Iris held a flashlight. Dust drifted through the beam like ash.
The boiler room contained rusted pipes and a wall of abandoned shelves. Behind the largest shelf, Lenora found a steel hatch.
The brass key marked eleven fit the lock.
The hatch opened onto a narrow stairway descending into darkness.
“After you,” Eli said.
“You’re supposed to be brave,” Ruth told him.
“I’m supposed to be alive.”
They reached a concrete corridor lined with old nursery tiles. A faded mural of moons and stars covered one wall. At the end stood a door painted blue.
Room Eleven.
Ruth touched the handle.
The door opened easily.
Inside were shelves, file boxes, and a metal table. The room had been preserved beneath layers of dust. Eleven empty bassinets stood against the far wall.
Iris crossed herself.
“They kept the room after the fire,” she said. “Victor told the city it was too damaged to enter.”
Eli moved to the shelves. “There are files.”
Ruth found the ledger in a cabinet wrapped in plastic. Its spine had been cut and resewn with blue thread.
She opened it.
The first pages contained names, birth times, and medical notes. Near the middle, eleven entries had been crossed out. Beside each was a handwritten destination: Phoenix, Denver, Portland, San Diego.
The last entry read ELIAS CALDER.
Beneath it, in different ink, was TOMAS SOTO.
“The babies were switched,” Eli said.
“Not by June,” Iris said. “The original entry shows the switch occurred before the fire.”
Ruth turned the page.
At the bottom was Victor Vail’s signature and a sentence written in red pencil.
THE TWELFTH CHILD REMAINS UNACCOUNTED FOR.
Lenora took a step backward.
“Nico,” she whispered.
“Your husband found him here?” Ruth asked.
“He said the child was abandoned in the corridor.”
“Was he?”
Lenora shook her head. “Victor had a second file. He said Nico’s mother was dead.”
Eli lifted a sealed envelope. “This is addressed to Lenora.”
She broke the seal with shaking fingers.
Inside was a birth record for a woman named Celia Vail, age seventeen, who had been admitted to St. Orison the night of the fire.
“Victor’s daughter?” Ruth asked.
Lenora read the final line. “Mother deceased. Infant male transferred to private guardianship.”
“Nico was Celia’s son,” Eli said.
“Victor’s grandson,” Iris corrected.
Lenora sank into a chair. “He told me Nico was ours.”
“You raised him,” Ruth said.
“I raised a lie.”
A sound came from the corridor.
Footsteps.
Eli closed the ledger. The blue-thread binding caught on a nail and tore.
“Someone followed us,” he whispered.
The door slammed shut.
Smoke began to seep beneath it.
Ruth grabbed the ledger. Iris reached for the handle, but it would not turn.
“There’s no other exit,” Lenora said.
Eli searched the walls. “There has to be.”
The smoke thickened.
Ruth looked at the mural of moons and stars.
One painted moon was slightly raised.
She pressed it.
The wall opened behind the bassinets.
May you like
“Move,” she said.
They crawled into the dark as flames rose outside Room Eleven.
