Chapter 8 — Erin Vale
Maisie laughed.
It was a strange sound.
Too sharp.
Too empty.
“My mother died in a hospice room.”
Caleb shook his head.
“The woman in that room wasn’t Erin.”
“I held her hand.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
“I saw Erin six days ago.”
Maisie threw the water cup at him.
It missed and shattered against the wall.
“You’re lying!”
Dana moved closer, but Maisie pushed her away.
“She was sick. She couldn’t breathe. She knew my name.”
“Erin arranged it,” Caleb said.
“Stop calling her Erin!”
“That is her name.”
“She was my mom!”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything!”
Maisie’s face crumpled.
She grabbed the edge of the bed.
For one second, I thought she would fall.
I moved toward her.
She pointed at me.
“Don’t.”
I stopped.
Caleb continued carefully.
“Your mother used a terminally ill patient named Elaine Vale. Same last name. Similar age. No family.”
Dana stared at him.
“You’re describing identity fraud.”
“Yes.”
“You helped?”
“Yes.”
Maisie’s eyes filled with tears.
“Why would she do that?”
“To make Adrian stop looking.”
“She let me think she died.”
“She thought it would protect you.”
Maisie looked away.
“That’s not protection.”
No one argued.
Because she was right.
Caleb sat down.
“Erin believed Adrian was going to kill her. She staged her death, then disappeared.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You saw her six days ago,” I said.
“She contacted me outside a diner. She asked about Rowan.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to know whether he had met Maisie.”
I looked at him.
“She planned this.”
“She planned parts of it.”
Maisie wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“She sent me to Rowan without telling me she was alive.”
“Yes.”
“She watched me cry at her funeral.”
Caleb said nothing.
That silence was an answer.
Maisie began pulling out her IV.
Dana grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t.”
“I’m leaving.”
“You have an infection.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do,” I said.
Maisie looked at me.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know you ask permission before sitting in an empty chair.”
Her expression shifted.
I continued.
“I know you apologize when other people hurt you. I know you pretend your leg doesn’t hurt because pain makes adults uncomfortable. And I know you are furious.”
Her chin trembled.
“You should be.”
She stopped pulling at the IV.
Caleb looked exhausted.
“The key opens a locker at Union Station.”
Maisie turned toward him.
“Which locker?”
“Your mother never told me.”
“There are hundreds.”
“The number is connected to the crash.”
I thought of the date.
March 17.
Locker 317.
At dawn, after doctors cleared Maisie for temporary discharge, we went to Union Station with Dana and two detectives.
Locker 317 stood near the old baggage claim.
Maisie inserted the key.
Inside sat a red metal box.
No drive.
No files.
Only an old digital recorder.
I pressed play.
Erin’s voice filled the station.
“Maisie, if you’re hearing this, I made another terrible decision and called it love.”
Maisie closed her eyes.
The recording continued.
“Adrian Cross was not responsible for Hannah Mercer’s death.”
I looked at Caleb.
His face went pale.
May you like
Then Erin said the sentence that changed everything again.
“Neither was Caleb.”
