Chapter 3 - The Man Watching the Hospital Room
Clara stood completely still.
The man outside Lily's room lowered his phone.
For one second, their eyes met.
Then he turned and walked away.
"Michael."
Her attorney looked up.
"What?"
"That man."
Michael glanced through the glass.
"Do you know him?"
"No."
They stepped into the hallway.
The man was gone.
Only an elevator door closing at the far end remained.
Michael looked concerned.
"Did he say anything?"
"No."
Clara showed him the messages.
His expression changed.
"Don't respond."
"I wasn't going to."
"Good."
They returned to Lily's room.
Clara locked the door.
Not because she thought the man would attack her.
Because she suddenly understood that someone had been watching.
David's threats no longer seemed like isolated cruelty.
They felt connected to something larger.
That evening, a Vancouver hospital representative called Clara.
"Mrs. Whitmore?"
"Yes."
"I'm calling regarding your husband's care."
Clara sat beside Lily.
"How is he?"
"Stable."
"And Emily?"
"Also stable."
"Did my husband request anything?"
The representative hesitated.
"He asked whether you had arrived."
Clara almost laughed.
"No."
"He seemed surprised."
"I imagine he was."
There was another pause.
"Mrs. Whitmore, there's something else."
"What?"
"Your husband's medical records show that he was not simply traveling for leisure."
Clara's face tightened.
"What does that mean?"
"We can't discuss confidential information over the phone."
"I am his wife."
"I understand."
"Then tell me what you can."
The representative lowered her voice.
"He was meeting someone before the accident."
"Who?"
"We don't know."
"Was it Emily?"
"No."
Clara sat forward.
"Then who?"
"We can't say."
The call ended.
Clara stared at the wall.
Michael had warned her not to chase every clue.
But every clue seemed to be chasing her.
At midnight, Lily finally fell into deep sleep.
Clara sat beside her.
She opened the photograph again.
Young David.
Her mother.
Vancouver.
Then she noticed something she had missed.
A small hotel sign in the background.
She zoomed in.
The name was visible.
Harbor Crest Hotel.
Michael recognized it immediately.
"That hotel still exists."
Clara looked at him.
"You know it?"
"I know the name."
"Why?"
"Because your mother's case file contains a payment from that hotel."
Clara's breath caught.
"When?"
"Three days before she died."
"Who paid?"
"David."
She stood.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
"Because I didn't know until today."
Clara walked to the window.
The city lights reflected against the glass.
David had lied.
Not once.
Not twice.
For years.
She called the hotel.
A night manager answered.
"Harbor Crest."
"I'm calling about a historical guest record."
"We don't provide private information."
"I'm not asking for a guest name."
"What do you need?"
"The hotel had a guest named David Whitmore approximately ten years ago."
Silence.
Then the manager said:
"I'll have to check."
A minute passed.
"We do have a record."
Clara's heart began pounding.
"Was he alone?"
Another pause.
"No."
"Who was with him?"
The manager hesitated.
"Mrs. Whitmore, I can't disclose—"
"Please."
The manager sighed.
"There was another guest listed under the same room."
"Who?"
"Clara Whitmore."
Clara froze.
"That's impossible."
The manager checked again.
"No."
Her voice trembled.
"I'm Clara Whitmore."
The manager went silent.
Clara looked at Michael.
"Someone used my name."
Then the manager said something worse.
"The second guest wasn't a woman."
Clara's blood ran cold.
"Who was it?"
The manager said:
"Your mother."
Clara couldn't breathe.
Her mother had supposedly never traveled to Vancouver.
She had died in their hometown.
Yet the hotel record said she had shared a room with David.
Ten years earlier.
Three days before her death.
Clara sat down.
Michael placed a hand on her shoulder.
"There's more."
She looked at him.
"What?"
He opened the brown folder.
Inside was a photocopy of an old handwritten statement.
The signature at the bottom belonged to Clara's mother.
The statement contained only one sentence.
David knows what happened to me.
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
Not grief.
Not yet.
Rage.
She whispered:
"He knew."
Michael nodded.
"Possibly."
"No."
Clara looked at the document.
"He knew."
Her phone vibrated.
Another unknown message.
You finally found Vancouver.
Clara's heart pounded.
A second message arrived.
Now ask why David was really there.
Then a third.
And ask him what he did to your mother.
Clara slowly looked toward Lily.
Her daughter was asleep.
Safe.
For the moment.
Clara turned back to Michael.
"We're going to Vancouver."
Michael shook his head.
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because whoever is sending these messages wants you there."
Clara stared at him.
Then the hospital lights flickered.
Her phone vibrated one more time.
A photograph appeared.
It showed Clara sitting beside Lily's bed.
Taken from inside the hospital.
The timestamp was five minutes earlier.
May you like
And beneath the photograph were six words:
You should have come alone.
