For several seconds after the call ended, I simply stared at the phone.
No one moved.
The motel room seemed too small for what I had just heard.
“Dad?” Brielle asked.
I lowered the phone.
“He said you weren't the only patients.”
Taryn's face tightened.
“Patients from the program?”
“I don't know.”
Colette stood beside the window, staring into the darkness outside.
Her shoulders had gone rigid.
“You know something,” I said.
She turned.
“I know there were other families.”
“How many?”
“I don't know.”
“Colette.”
She closed her eyes.
“Dozens.”
The word landed heavily.
Brielle looked at the files.
“Dozens of children?”
“Yes.”
“And all of them were told the same thing?”
“Not exactly.”
Colette walked back to the bed.
“Some were told the treatment failed. Some were told they weren't eligible. Some were removed from the study without explanation.”
Taryn's voice was quiet.
“And some improved.”
Colette nodded.
“But their results disappeared.”
I looked at the memory card.
Daniel hadn't been investigating only my daughters.
He had been investigating an entire system.
“Why didn't you tell us?”
“You were children.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“No,” she said. “It doesn't.”
She sat down.
“I was afraid that if you knew the full scale of it, you'd try to find everyone.”
“I would have.”
“I know.”
“And you thought keeping me ignorant would protect me.”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“That decision cost us twelve years.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
Before anyone could say more, my phone vibrated again.
This time it was a text.
There was no number.
Only an image.
I opened it.
A photograph of three children appeared on the screen.
All three were in wheelchairs.
The image had been taken inside a medical facility.
On the back wall was a faded sign bearing the Mercer Biomedical logo.
Brielle leaned over my shoulder.
“Who are they?”
“I don't know.”
A second message appeared.
Find the original patient list.
Then another.
Before Vale finds it.
I looked at Colette.
“Where is it?”
She stared at the photograph.
“I don't know.”
“You must have seen it.”
“I saw parts of it.”
“Where?”
She thought for a long moment.
“Dr. Voss kept a separate file.”
“Where?”
“I never knew.”
Taryn opened the laptop.
“Maybe Daniel did.”
We searched through the copied files.
Nothing.
Then Brielle noticed a folder we hadn't opened.
It was labeled with a string of numbers.
She clicked it.
Inside was a scanned page.
A handwritten note.
Seven digits.
Then another set.
“Those aren't patient numbers,” she said.
“What are they?”
“Coordinates.”
Mara had given us Daniel's box.
Daniel had left the memory card.
And now another clue had appeared.
I entered the numbers into a map.
The location appeared in a rural county north of the city.
An abandoned rehabilitation center.
Colette recognized it immediately.
“That was one of the program's satellite facilities.”
“Is it still there?”
“Yes.”
“Then that's where we're going.”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because that's where they kept the children during the experimental phase.”
I looked at her.
“And?”
“They didn't keep records there.”
Her voice dropped.
“They kept originals.”
The next morning, we left before sunrise.
Mara called while we were driving.
She had discovered someone had entered her house after we left.
Nothing appeared to be missing.
That frightened me more than theft would have.
“They're looking for something,” she said.
“What?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at the road ahead.
“Stay somewhere safe.”
She laughed quietly.
“Daniel said the same thing twelve years ago.”
The call ended.
We drove in silence.
The abandoned center stood behind a rusted fence.
The sign had been removed.
Windows were boarded.
We entered through a side door Colette remembered.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and damp plaster.
Brielle switched on her flashlight.
Old examination rooms lined the corridor.
Taryn stopped at one doorway.
“There are children's names.”
Faded writing covered the wall.
Initials.
Dates.
Numbers.
Colette touched one of the marks.
“I remember this.”
“What?”
“This was where they recorded treatment responses.”
We found an office at the end of the hall.
The desk had been overturned.
Files were scattered across the floor.
Someone had been there recently.
I crouched beside the papers.
One sheet had been left deliberately in the center of the room.
It contained a list.
Twenty-seven names.
Twenty-seven children.
And beside each name was a code.
Brielle read the first few.
Then stopped.
“Dad.”
I looked.
At the bottom of the page were two familiar names.
Brielle Hale.
Taryn Hale.
Their codes were marked in red.
Underneath them was a handwritten word.
Continue.
I felt the room tilt.
Someone had been tracking them long after the treatment ended.
Then Taryn found a second page.
This one contained dates.
The most recent date was three weeks ago.
Colette's face went white.
“They're still monitoring us.”
A noise sounded in the corridor.
We froze.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Approaching.
I motioned for everyone to move behind the office door.
The footsteps stopped outside.
A shadow crossed the floor.
Then someone whispered through the doorway.
“Emmett.”
I recognized the voice.
It was Vale.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Martin Vale Offered an Explanation for the Hidden Children That Made the Truth More Dangerous Than We Had Expected
Twelve Years After Their Mother Disappeared, My Daughters Asked Me to Sit Down Before They Told Me Why
Part 9 of 20
