Chapter 18 - The Memory Buried in Her Childhood|
Norah had not slept in thirty hours.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the hospital photograph, the newborn wrapped in yellow, and the expression on Matteo's face when his father appeared on the phone.
It was not the look of a man who had merely seen a ghost.
It was the look of a son discovering that his entire childhood had been staged.
At dawn, Gabriel drove them to a small house outside the city. Adrian had arranged the location through an old contact, someone who had once worked as a nurse at the hospital where Norah was born.
The woman was eighty-one now.
Her name was Margaret Ellis.
She opened the door before they knocked.
“You took your time,” she said.
Matteo glanced at Gabriel.
“You told her we were coming?”
“I told her someone might.”
Margaret stepped aside.
“Then come in before someone decides to shoot up my porch.”
Inside, the house smelled of coffee and old books. Photographs covered the walls, most of them showing children who had long since grown up.
Margaret studied Norah for a long moment.
“You have your mother's eyes.”
Norah's throat tightened.
“You knew my mother?”
“I helped deliver you.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Matteo pulled out a chair for Norah, but she remained standing.
“Who was the woman in the photograph?” she asked. “The nurse holding the baby?”
“Me.”
Margaret sat down slowly.
“I was a young nurse then. I believed I was helping a frightened mother escape a dangerous husband. I didn't understand that I was helping powerful people erase a child from history.”
“Which child?” Matteo asked.
Margaret looked at him.
“Both of you.”
Norah stared at her.
“Both?”
Margaret nodded.
“Your mother gave birth first. Your father was there, but the family had arranged for you to be registered under a different name. Matteo was born two days later, in another room. His father insisted that the records be sealed.”
Matteo's expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because there had been a death. A woman had died during childbirth, and the family feared the scandal would destroy a business arrangement involving two powerful households.”
“That doesn't explain the false records,” Norah said.
“No. The real reason was the inheritance.”
Margaret opened a drawer and removed a folded sheet of paper.
“Your mother believed someone intended to take you away. She asked me to keep this until you were old enough to understand.”
Norah unfolded the paper.
It was a child's drawing: a house, two stick figures, and a yellow sun. Beneath it, in uneven handwriting, were the words MOMMY SAID DON'T OPEN THE RED DOOR.
Norah felt the room fall silent around her.
“I drew this.”
“Yes.”
“I don't remember it.”
“You were four when you were brought back here after the fire.”
Matteo stepped forward.
“What fire?”
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
“The fire at the old Falcone estate. The one the newspapers said killed Matteo's father.”
Matteo went rigid.
“My father was supposedly in the house.”
“He wasn't. At least, not when the fire began. Your father came to the hospital afterward. He was injured, furious, and carrying a little girl who wouldn't stop asking for her mother.”
Norah gripped the paper.
“What happened to me?”
“You were frightened. You kept saying a man had taken your mother through a red door. You said he told you your father was dead.”
“Who was the man?”
Margaret shook her head.
“I never saw his face clearly. But I remember his voice.”
Matteo leaned closer.
“Describe it.”
“Soft. Educated. Almost kind. He told me the girl would forget everything if I gave her the medicine he brought.”
Norah looked up sharply.
“What medicine?”
“A sedative. Your mother had been given the same drug. I refused to administer it, and he threatened my family. By morning, you had disappeared from the hospital.”
Matteo's face darkened.
“Who signed the discharge?”
Margaret opened another drawer and produced a photocopy of an old form.
The signature was clear.
Matteo Falcone Senior.
Norah looked at Matteo.
“Your father took me.”
“Or someone used his name,” Matteo replied.
Margaret reached for the paper in Norah's hands.
“There is one more thing. Your mother told me that if you ever came looking for the truth, I should ask you a question.”
Norah swallowed.
“What question?”
Margaret's voice dropped to a whisper.
“Do you remember the man who called you his little star?”
A fragment of memory flashed through Norah's mind: a dark hallway, the smell of smoke, a large hand closing around hers.
A man's voice.
My little star. Don't tell anyone what you saw.
Norah stumbled backward.
Matteo caught her before she fell.
“What did you see?” he asked.
She stared at him, trembling.
“I saw a man standing over someone who was lying on the floor.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Her breath quickened.
“But the man wasn't your father.”
Matteo held her steady.
“How do you know?”
Norah's eyes filled with tears.
“Because I remember what he said.”
She looked directly at Matteo.
“He told the other man, ‘The boy can keep the name. The girl will keep the secret.’”
Before Matteo could respond, Gabriel's phone rang.
He listened for three seconds, then went pale.
“What happened?” Matteo demanded.
Gabriel lowered the phone.
“Vincent has surrendered to the police.”
Matteo frowned.
“Why?”
“Because he claims he has evidence that you murdered your father.”
At that exact moment, every light in Margaret's house went out.
A car door slammed outside.
Then came a voice from the front porch.
“Norah?”
It was Elizabeth.
“Sweetheart, open the door.”
Norah rushed toward the hallway.
Matteo caught her arm.
“Wait.”
Something was wrong.
Elizabeth had never called her sweetheart in that voice before.
The woman outside knocked again.
“Norah, please. I know what happened that night.”
May you like
Then she said the words that made Norah stop breathing.
“I know which one of you was supposed to die.”
