Chapter 3: What My Mother Knew About My Father
My mother said my father’s name like it hurt her to breathe.
“Your father,” she whispered.
“That’s what this is about.””
I pulled the visitor’s chair closer to her bed.
“What does Dad have to do with Marissa?””
Mom looked toward the door again.
“Close the blinds.””
I stood and pulled them shut.
The room became dim, lit only by the bedside lamp and the pale glow from the hallway beneath the door.
When I turned back, my mother was staring at me.
There were tears in her eyes.
Not the frightened tears I had seen earlier.
These were older.
Deeper.
The kind that looked as though they had been waiting years for permission to fall.
“Mom,” I said softly, “you need to tell me everything.””
She shook her head.
“I should have told you before.””
“Before what?””
“Before you married her.””
My stomach tightened.
“You knew something about Marissa?””
“No.””
“Then why say that?””
“Because I knew something about what she was looking for.””
I leaned forward.
“What?””
My mother reached beneath her pillow.
For a second, I thought she was searching for medication.
Instead, her trembling hand came out holding a small brass key.
She placed it in my palm.
It was old.
Scratched.
Cold.
“What does this open?””
“My father’s safe.””
I stared at her.
“Dad had a safe?””
“He did.””
“You never told me.””
“I was trying to protect you.””
“From what?””
“From him.””
That answer silenced me.
My father had been dead for twenty-six years.
I had spent most of my life remembering him as a handful of images.
His laugh.
His work boots by the back door.
A navy baseball cap.
The smell of sawdust on his jacket.
The way he used to lift me onto his shoulders when I was little.
Then one day, when I was nine, he was gone.
My mother had always told me it was a heart attack.
Sudden.
Unavoidable.
Tragic.
I had believed her.
Now I looked at her and realized I had never actually known the whole story.
“You told me Dad died at work.””
“He did.””
“You told me it was his heart.””
She looked down.
“It was.””
“Then what are you saying?””
“I’m saying that wasn't the whole truth.””
A knock came at the door.
We both froze.
“Mrs. Hail?””
A nurse.
Mom quickly shoved the brass key into my hand.
“Don't let anyone see that.””
I closed my fingers around it.
The nurse entered.
She smiled politely.
“Just checking your vitals.””
Mom nodded.
I stepped aside.
The nurse wrapped the cuff around Mom’s arm and checked the monitor.
“What happened tonight?”” I asked.
The nurse glanced at me.
“I wasn't assigned to your mother's room during the incident.””
“But you saw her afterward?””
“Yes.””
“Did she seem frightened?””
The nurse hesitated.
“Mr. Hail, I really can't discuss another person’s involvement.””
“You don't have to discuss my wife.””
I held her gaze.
“Just tell me whether my mother was afraid.””
The nurse looked at Mom.
Then back at me.
“She was.””
That was all she said.
She finished checking the monitor and left.
The door clicked shut.
Mom waited until the footsteps disappeared.
Then she whispered, “Marissa has been asking questions.””
“How long?””
“Since we moved in together.””
My chest tightened.
“What kind of questions?””
“About your father.””
“Why?””
“She said she was curious.””
“And you believed her?””
“No.””
I stood up.
“Mom, you have to tell me everything.””
She took a slow breath.
“Your father didn't die because his heart simply failed.””
My skin prickled.
“He had been under enormous stress. He was working with someone on a construction deal. There was money involved. A lot of money.””
“How much?””
“Enough to make people dangerous.””
“Who?””
“I never knew all their names.””
“But you knew one.””
She looked at me.
“Yes.””
“Who?””
“Thomas Vale.””
The name hit me like a memory trying to surface.
“Thomas?””
Mom nodded.
“The man you asked me about earlier.””
“So Thomas Vale knew Dad?””
“He wasn't just Dad's friend.””
“What was he?””
“He was his business partner.””
I sat down.
My thoughts raced.
“My father had business partners?””
“A small company. Construction and development.””
“Why don't I remember any of this?””
“Because your father wanted you to remember being his son, not his debts.””
I stared at her.
“What debts?””
“He discovered money was disappearing.””
“How much?””
“Enough to ruin him.””
“From the company?””
“Yes.””
“Who was taking it?””
Mom closed her eyes.
“I never knew for certain.””
“But you suspected someone.””
She nodded.
“Thomas.””
I felt the room tilt.
“Did Dad confront him?””
“Yes.””
“What happened?””
“They had a fight the night before your father died.””
“What kind of fight?””
“The kind where men stop pretending they're friends.””
My hands went cold.
“What did Dad say?””
Mom's eyes filled again.
“He told Thomas he was going to the police.””
I stopped breathing for a second.
“Then the next day Dad was dead.””
She nodded.
“No.””
The word came out before I could stop it.
“No. Mom, you told me his heart gave out.””
“It did.””
“But if he was going to expose someone…”
“I know.””
“Why didn't you tell the police?””
“I was afraid.””
“Of Thomas?””
“Of everyone.””
I stood and began pacing.
“You let me grow up believing Dad just died.””
“I thought I was saving you.””
“You could have told me when I was older.””
“I tried.””
“When?””
She looked at me.
“The first time you brought Marissa home.””
I stopped.
“What?””
“I told you something wasn't right.””
I remembered.
Barely.
My mother had pulled me into the kitchen after dinner that first night.
She had looked nervous.
I had thought she was simply being protective.
Now I remembered her exact words.
“Daniel, sometimes the person who smiles at you the most is the person you need to watch.””
I had laughed.
I had told her she was being dramatic.
I had defended Marissa.
And I had watched my mother smile sadly.
“You knew she was looking for something,” I whispered.
“I suspected.””
“What?””
“The red folder.””
I pulled out my phone.
“Where is it?””
“In a place Marissa couldn't reach.””
“Where?””
Mom looked toward the wall.
“Your father hid it.””
“Where?””
She shook her head.
“I never found out.””
I stared at her.
“But you just said it was in a place Marissa couldn't reach.””
“Because I know how he thought.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
“Your father didn't trust banks.””
She looked at the brass key in my hand.
“He trusted locks.””
I turned the key over.
There was a tiny number engraved on it.
218.
My heart stopped.
“Mom…”
She nodded.
“Yes.””
“This key is for Room 218?””
“No.””
Her eyes moved to the key.
“It’s for the storage locker connected to Room 218.””
I stared at her.
“What?””
She whispered, “Mercy Hill wasn't always Mercy Hill.””
I didn't understand.
“This hospital used to be St. Agnes.””
She nodded.
“Your father was involved in the renovation project. He had access to an underground storage area beneath the old east wing.””
“That's here?””
“Yes.””
“Why would he hide evidence in a hospital?””
“Because nobody would look there.””
I looked at the door.
Then back at her.
“Does Marissa know?””
Mom's answer came immediately.
“Yes.””
“How?””
“She asked me about it three months ago.””
My heart pounded.
“She asked you about the storage area?””
“She asked whether your father ever kept records at Mercy Hill.””
“And what did you say?””
“I lied.””
“Good.””
“I told her no.””
Mom gripped the blanket.
“That night, she stood in my doorway for nearly ten minutes.””
“Why?””
“She told me she knew I was lying.””
A chill moved over my shoulders.
“And then?””
“She smiled.””
That single word made the room feel colder.
“She said, ‘Eleanor, I don't want to hurt you. I only want what's mine.’”
“What did she mean?””
“I don't know.””
“She must have thought Dad left her something?””
Mom looked at me strangely.
“No.””
“Then what?””
“She said something else.””
I waited.
“She said, ‘I know what your husband stole.’”
My mouth went dry.
“Your wife said that?””
Mom nodded.
“She knew details nobody should know.””
A memory flashed through my mind.
Marissa standing in my childhood home six months after we got married.
Opening an old cabinet.
Running her fingers over a stack of photographs.
I had asked what she was doing.
She smiled and said, “Just curious.””
I had never questioned it.
Now I wished I had.
I pulled out my phone and called Leonard Price.
He answered on the second ring.
“Mr. Hail?””
“Do you know anything about an old underground storage area beneath the east wing?””
There was silence.
Then:
“How do you know about that?””
My pulse jumped.
“So it exists.””
“Where are you?””
“Room 218.””
“Stay there.””
“Why?””
“Because that area was sealed years ago.””
“Who has access?””
Leonard didn't answer.
“Leonard?””
“Hospital administration.””
“Anyone else?””
Another pause.
Then he said, quietly, “Maintenance.””
“Who in maintenance?””
But the line went dead.
I called back.
Nothing.
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at the door.
“Mom?””
Her face had gone white.
“What?””
She lifted one trembling finger.
Pointing.
At the bottom of the door was a shadow.
Someone was standing in the hallway.
I moved toward it.
The shadow disappeared.
I opened the door.
Nobody.
The hallway was empty.
Except for a small white envelope lying on the floor.
No name.
No stamp.
Just my name written across the front.
*DANIEL HAIL*
My hands shook as I picked it up.
Inside was a photograph.
My father.
Standing outside Mercy Hill.
Alive.
And beside him was a much younger Thomas Vale.
May you like
On the back of the photograph, someone had written four words:
*ASK YOUR MOTHER WHO THE WOMAN IS.*
