Chapter 3: The Last Door
I found out at eight weeks. Sarah was the first person I told. Then Emma. Then Reyes.
Mark said, “We’re putting you on lockdown.”
I said, “I’m not Emma. I’m pissed.”
Reyes posted a patrol car at my apartment. I moved in with Emma for the third trimester. “Two AB negs in one house,” Mark said. “We’re a fortress.”
The woman from the jail was identified: Lana Kline. Daryl’s sister. No priors. She vanished after the visit.
At thirty-two weeks, I got a letter. No return address.
Inside: a sonogram photo. Mine. From my twelve-week appointment. The only copy was in my OB’s file.
Under it, written in red: “You went inside.”
I went into labor at 2:17am. Three weeks early. At home. Water broke in the hallway.
Mark drove. Emma held my hand. Sophie was at Sarah’s.
Reyes met us at the ER. “We’ve got a room,” she said. “Top floor. No windows. Code name only.”
The nurse band on my wrist said J. Doe.
My son was born at 4:03am. Six pounds. AB negative. We named him Leo.
I didn’t sleep. I watched the door.
At 6am, the fire alarm went off.
Not a drill. Smoke in the stairwell.
Nurses moved to evacuate. Reyes blocked my door. “Nobody moves,” she said.
Security came on the radio: “Smoke is from a trash fire. East stairwell. We’ve got it.”
Then the lights went out.
Backup generators kicked in. Hallway was red emergency light.
A nurse ran past. “We need to move the babies!”
Reyes drew her gun. “Nobody moves.”
The door opened.
It was Marisol.
She was in scrubs. Dirty. Holding a fire extinguisher.
“She’s in the vents,” Marisol said. “Lana. She’s coming through the old laundry chute. Same way they took my girl.”
Reyes moved. I grabbed Leo.
We ran, not to the stairs. To the roof.
The hospital roof was rain and wind. City lights everywhere.
Lana came through the roof access door two minutes later. She had a knife. She also had a baby carrier. Empty.
“For my brother,” she said. “He lost his kid. Court took her. You all take. Now I take.”
Marisol stepped in front of me.
“You don’t,” Marisol said. “You don’t take another one.”
Lana lunged.
Reyes shot her in the leg.
Lana went down. The knife skittered.
Sirens were already coming.
Later, in the secure room, Reyes said: “Laundry chute was sealed in 2015. After Marisol told us. We reopened it for the sting.”
“You used me as bait,” I said.
“We used Lana’s hate,” Reyes said. “And Marisol wanted to be the one who stopped it.”
Marisol was in the room. She was holding Leo.
“He’s got your eyes,” she said.
“He’s got his own,” I said.
She nodded. She handed him back. “I’m going to stay this time. For trial. For her.” She looked at Reyes.
Reyes nodded. “Room for you at my place.”
Emma came in with Sophie. Sophie toddled to Marisol. Hugged her knees.
Marisol froze. Then she knelt.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi,” Sophie said. “You’re the lady from the picture.”
Emma looked at me. I’d shown Sophie the drawing.
Marisol cried. First time, Reyes said.
One year later.
We’re at the park. Emma, Mark, Sophie, Leo, Sarah, me, Reyes, Marisol.
Daniel is there too, with Maren. They brought a kite.
Leo is walking. He runs to Daniel. “Up!”
Daniel picks him up. “Whoa, buddy. You’re heavy.”
“Strong,” Leo says. “Like Mama.”
Daniel looks at me. I nod.
Marisol pushes Sophie on the swing. Reyes times it. “Higher!” Sophie yells.
Emma sits beside me. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m just watching.”
“Watching what?”
“The doors,” I say. “All of them are open. And everyone who should be here, is.”
The parking lot is behind us. No one is on the curb.
But on my phone, I have a photo. From last week.
Marisol, at a shelter, handing a yellow blanket to a new mom.
The caption she sent me: “Not that door. This one.”
Leo runs back, falls, scrapes his knee.
He doesn’t cry. He looks at me.
“Up?” he asks.
May you like
I pick him up.
“Always,” I say.
