Chapter 3 - The Empty Grave
Vincent left the hospital against medical advice the next morning.
Delphine found out when his bed was empty.
She was furious.
She was more furious when she discovered him waiting in a wheelchair near the private exit.
"You cannot be serious."
"I've been accused of many things."
"You were shot four days ago."
"I remember."
"Sit."
"I'm already sitting."
"Stay sitting."
Vincent looked almost amused.
Tomas wasn't.
"We need to leave."
Delphine folded her arms.
"Then take a physician."
Vincent looked at her.
"I want you."
"No."
"I'll pay—"
"No."
His expression changed immediately.
"I wasn't buying you."
"Good."
She stepped closer.
"Because I don't care how many buildings have your name on them. You tear those stitches, you can bleed internally before anyone knows what's happening."
Vincent watched her.
"What do you want?"
"For you to recover."
"Anything else?"
"Answers."
He nodded.
"Come with me."
She should have refused.
Instead, twenty minutes later, Delphine sat in the back of an SUV beside the most dangerous patient she'd ever had.
They drove to a cemetery outside Chicago.
Vincent's father's grave had been disturbed.
Police had already come and gone.
Tomas led them to the family mausoleum.
Vincent walked slowly.
Delphine stayed close enough to catch him.
"I don't need help."
"Wonderful. Fall away from me."
His mouth twitched.
Inside the mausoleum, the open stone compartment looked obscene.
Empty.
No remains.
No coffin.
Nothing.
Vincent stared at it.
"My father died in front of me."
Tomas looked down.
"I identified him."
"Then explain this."
"I can't."
Delphine noticed something near the floor.
A white corner beneath a bench.
She picked it up.
A hospital bracelet.
Old.
Yellowed.
The printed name remained readable.
ANTHONY MORETTI.
Vincent's father.
Admission date:
Three days after his supposed death.
Vincent took the bracelet.
His hands trembled.
It was the first time Delphine had seen him truly shaken.
"He lived."
Nobody answered.
Vincent looked at Tomas.
"You knew."
"No."
"You arranged the burial."
"I buried the man they gave me."
"You identified him."
"His face was damaged."
Vincent stepped toward him.
Delphine moved between them.
"Not now."
Vincent looked at her.
"Move."
"No."
"Delphine."
"Your blood pressure is probably through the roof."
Tomas almost laughed from disbelief.
Vincent stared at her.
Then stepped back.
Later, in the SUV, he said nothing for nearly twenty minutes.
Delphine finally spoke.
"What was your father like?"
"Ruthless."
"Like you?"
His eyes turned toward her.
"Worse."
"That's comforting."
"He believed fear was cleaner than love."
"And you?"
Vincent looked out the window.
"I used to."
The answer stayed with her.
They returned to Vincent's guarded residence overlooking Lake Michigan.
Delphine had expected gold, marble, excess.
Instead, the house was quiet.
Dark wood.
Books.
Family photographs.
One photograph showed a teenage Vincent beside a smiling girl.
Elena.
Delphine recognized something around Elena's neck.
A silver crown pendant.
"She wore the symbol?"
Vincent followed her gaze.
"My father gave it to her."
"Why?"
"He said she was the only person in the family with a pure heart."
Vincent looked away.
"She hated it."
"How did she die?"
"Car accident."
"You don't believe that anymore."
"No."
They spent the afternoon going through Anthony Moretti's old records.
At sunset, Tomas arrived with information.
The hospital bracelet was authentic.
Anthony Moretti had been admitted under his own name twelve years earlier.
The physician who signed the chart was dead.
But one nurse from that ward was alive.
Her name was Teresa Rios.
Delphine stopped breathing.
Vincent looked at her.
"Rios?"
Delphine took the document.
Teresa Rios.
Her mother's name.
"No."
"Delphine—"
"My mother worked at St. Augustine."
"When?"
"Twenty-seven years."
Tomas looked uneasy.
"She was assigned to Anthony Moretti."
Delphine shook her head.
"My mother never mentioned him."
"Can we speak to her?"
Delphine's face hardened.
"No."
Vincent waited.
"She died six years ago."
Silence.
The same year Delphine began night shift.
Vincent looked at the paper.
"How?"
"Cancer."
He nodded.
"I'm sorry."
Delphine sat down.
Her mother had left boxes in storage.
Old uniforms.
Photographs.
Letters Delphine had never opened because grief had made ordinary objects unbearable.
That evening, they went to Delphine's apartment.
Vincent insisted.
She complained.
He ignored her.
They opened Teresa's boxes on the living-room floor.
Two hours passed.
Nothing.
Then Delphine found an old nursing handbook.
Something fell from between the pages.
A key.
Attached to it was a metal tag.
Delphine recognized the numbering system.
"Hospital locker."
Vincent looked at her.
"Still exist?"
"The old staff lockers are in the basement."
They returned to St. Augustine after midnight.
Locker 417 was rusted.
The key worked.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
Teresa's handwriting covered the front.
FOR DELPHINE.
Her hands began shaking.
Vincent stood beside her.
"You don't have to open it."
"Yes."
She tore the envelope.
Inside was one page.
My sweet Delphine,
If you are reading this, then someone has started looking for Anthony Moretti again.
Delphine stopped.
Vincent went still.
She continued.
Do not trust the man who says he saved him.
Do not trust the crown.
And whatever happens, never let them find Room 614.
Delphine stared at the last line.
Vincent whispered:
"What's Room 614?"
She slowly looked upward.
St. Augustine had no sixth floor.
Not anymore.
It had been sealed twelve years earlier after a fire.
Then something moved behind them.
The basement door clicked shut.
The lights went out.
May you like
And from the darkness, a man's voice said:
"Teresa should have burned that letter."
