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And I fainted.
CHAPTER49
Day Four
FBIHEADQUARTERS AREin a gray, nondescript high-rise building in a sea of gray, nondescript high-rise buildings in midtown Manhattan. Unlike the others that barely have any lights on at this late hour—2:07AM—this one’s lit up like a Christmas tree and bustling.
I’m sitting on a chair in a small room with harsh fluorescent lights. Jason is standing in front of me.
“Someone from the US Marshals office will be coming by soon to discuss WITSEC with you,” he says. “Want something to drink?”
“No, but I’d like to use the restroom,” I say. “I haven’t used one in hours.”
“Of course, it’s the last door on your right,” he says, pointing down the hall. He has no reason to believe I might walk out of here, so I continue acting like I’m not planning to. I don’t have time to waste arguing over WITSEC with his colleagues.
She’s running out of time.
I can only pray that if Mom is still alive, she hasn’t been found yet, which is why those thugs tried to kidnap me in DC.
I walk down the hallway and make a right, but instead of going into the bathroom, I duck into the first stairwell I see, run down five flights of stairs as quickly as possible, straight through the lobby until I’m in front of the building.
Several taxis are driving down the street in the city that thankfully never sleeps, and I immediately hail one.
“Bell Hospital,” I tell the driver as I jump inside. “Quickly, please.”
“Medical emergency?” he asks.
I nod, he puts his foot on the gas, and we peel away.
A woman with pursed purple lips sits behind the information desk at the hospital entrance, playing Animal Crossing on her cell phone.
I stare at a row of television screens hanging behind her, tuned to different news channels—NY1, ABC, MSNBC—covering Cristina Cadell’s flight from justice for her mother’s murder. Footage plays of the Cadell brothers with a group of reporters. Quentin Cadell implores the public for tips about Cristina’s whereabouts while his older brother William Jr. stands behind him. They’re still intent on framing Cristina for her mother’s murder.
The woman with the pursed lips looks up at me. “What can I do for you?” she asks.
My gaze moves away from the television screens back to her.
“I’m trying to get the contact information for Dr. Siegel, who worked in the opioid detox ward in 1974,” I say.
She looks at me as if I’m not in my right mind. “You know that was fifty years ago?”
“Yes,” I say.
“The hospital doesn’t keep contact information that long. Try Google.”
I can’t Google anything on the burner Jason gave me. I glance over at the computer screen in front of her.
“May I use your computer to search for him?” I ask.
She gives me another funny look. “Not allowed, hospital policy,” she says. “There are computers at the New York Public Library. You’re free to wait at the coffee shop behind me until it opens.”
I consider my options. At this point, Jason probably has a slew of FBI agents fanned out throughout the city looking for me, worried the Cadells have kidnapped me again. I know from my work as a therapist that the first places authorities look when people disappear are hospitals, so if I stay here, it’s just a matter of time before they find me.
Maybe I should go back to Claire’s place. I bet she’d help me, but it’s the middle of the night, and I don’t want to wake her baby or entangle her in the Cadell web I’m caught up in. Esther Hermes spared her family for a reason.
“Thank you for your time,” I say to the woman.
I walk out of the hospital and notice an open FedEx store across the street. I dash toward it.
