Chapter 4 - THE FIRST RECORD
The ambulance took Chloe and Sophie to St. Catherine’s Medical Center.
I followed in my car with the evidence bag on the passenger seat and Jonah’s words looping through my mind.
Three doctors.
Unstable.
Records.
At the emergency entrance, nurses separated Chloe and Sophie for examination.
Chloe panicked immediately.
“No. She stays with me.”
A trauma nurse named Grace crouched beside her.
“She’s in the room next door. You can hear her.”
Chloe gripped my hand.
Her nails pressed into my skin.
“They always separate us.”
“Who?”
“Jonah. Linda. The doctors.”
Grace looked at me.
I shook my head slightly.
Not here.
Not yet.
A physician photographed Chloe’s bruises.
Old yellow marks covered her ribs beneath the fresh purple swelling.
There were finger-shaped bruises on both upper arms.
A healing cut behind her ear.
Her left ankle was swollen.
The doctor’s jaw tightened.
“How long has this been happening?”
Chloe stared at the wall.
“Two years.”
My hand went cold.
Two years.
I had visited.
Called.
Sent birthday gifts.
Asked whether she was okay.
Every time, Jonah had answered for her.
“She’s tired.”
“She’s having a bad day.”
“She doesn’t want visitors.”
I had believed I was respecting her boundaries.
I had been respecting his cage.
A hospital social worker entered with a laptop.
“Mrs. Miller, I need to ask about your psychiatric history.”
Chloe’s whole body stiffened.
“I don’t have one.”
The social worker frowned.
“Your chart lists involuntary treatment for delusional episodes.”
“That never happened.”
“Three admissions over eighteen months.”
Chloe shook her head.
“No.”
The social worker turned the screen.
The record listed Chloe Miller.
Hallucinations.
Paranoia.
False accusations against spouse.
Risk of harm to child.
Every entry was signed by Dr. Adrian Pike.
I recognized the name.
He attended Jonah’s family barbecue the previous summer.
Linda had introduced him as an old family friend.
I leaned closer.
“Where did these records come from?”
“They were transferred from Brookhaven Behavioral Health.”
Chloe’s face drained of color.
“I’ve never been there.”
The social worker’s fingers moved across the keyboard.
“These records include your signature.”
She opened a scanned consent form.
The handwriting looked like Chloe’s.
But I saw the flaw immediately.
My sister formed the letter H with a loop because nerve damage made straight vertical strokes difficult.
The signature on the document had sharp lines.
“This is forged,” I said.
The social worker looked uncomfortable.
“That would require an investigation.”
“Start one.”
A police detective entered.
Detective Mara Ellison.
Mid-forties. Dark suit. Careful eyes.
She introduced herself, then placed a sealed evidence folder on the counter.
“We searched the hidden room.”
Chloe looked at her.
“What did you find?”
“Medication bottles with your name.”
“I don’t take medication.”
“Antipsychotics and sedatives.”
I looked at the dates.
The prescriptions matched the periods when Chloe had sounded slow and confused during our phone calls.
“They drugged her,” I said.
Ellison didn’t react.
“We also found a hard drive.”
Sophie’s voice drifted through the connecting doorway.
“It has Mommy’s videos.”
Ellison turned.
“What videos?”
Sophie appeared wrapped in a hospital blanket.
Her eyes were huge.
“Dad said if Mommy ever told, he’d show everyone she was crazy.”
Ellison crouched.
“Did you see the videos?”
Sophie nodded.
“He made her say things after Grandma put medicine in her tea.”
Chloe covered her mouth.
Ellison stood.
“We need a warrant for Brookhaven and Dr. Pike.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I opened the message.
A photograph showed Sophie sleeping in the hospital room next door.
May you like
The text beneath it read:
THE RECORDS ARE ONLY THE BEGINNING.
