Chapter 6 - The Mother Who Came Back From the DeadEthan drove to the hospital at eight the next morning.
He hadn't told Rebecca about Margaret Mercer.
Detective Ortiz had asked him to let investigators verify the information before confronting her.
But he could barely look at his wife without thinking about the funeral.
The church.
The white flowers.
The photograph on the casket.
Rebecca collapsing against him when the minister said her mother had finally found peace.
Had someone staged all of it?
Had Rebecca participated?
Or had she been deceived too?
He didn't know which possibility frightened him more.
When he entered her room, Rebecca was sitting in an armchair beside the window.
The color had returned to her cheeks.
Dr. Alvarez had told her that the evaluation was progressing, but several questions remained.
She had been able to sleep without the intense confusion she'd experienced earlier in the week.
Seeing her look healthier should have made Ethan happy.
Instead, it made him angry all over again.
So much suffering.
So much fear.
So much time lost.
And he still didn't know how much of it had been necessary.
Rebecca looked up.
"You're early."
"I wanted to see how you were."
She smiled faintly.
"That's a first."
Ethan didn't smile back.
She noticed.
"What's wrong?"
He hesitated.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better."
"Any headaches?"
"A little. Nothing like before."
He nodded.
Rebecca studied him.
"Something happened."
He sat down.
"The police found Samuel Price."
Her eyes widened.
"He's alive?"
"Yes."
She covered her mouth.
"Oh, thank God."
Ethan frowned.
"You knew him?"
Rebecca lowered her hands.
"He contacted me four months ago."
Ethan stared.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked ashamed.
"Because he knew about the financial transfers."
"What did he want?"
"He said he'd found discrepancies in the old patient-assistance accounts. He thought Nolan and Voss were preparing to blame someone outside the hospital."
"You."
Rebecca nodded.
"He warned me that if I kept cooperating, I might be left responsible for the entire scheme."
Ethan rubbed his face.
"And you kept cooperating."
"I thought I could still recover Evelyn's records."
He looked at her.
"Rebecca, how many people warned you?"
She flinched.
"Please."
"No. I need to know."
She began counting softly.
"Evelyn, before she died."
Ethan stared.
"Laura tried to reach me afterward."
Another pause.
"Samuel warned me this summer."
"And me."
She lowered her head.
"Yes."
Ethan looked away.
He wasn't sure whether he felt more anger or grief.
Rebecca whispered, "I thought I was protecting everyone by keeping it contained."
"That's what people say when they're losing control."
She nodded slowly.
"You're right."
They sat in silence.
Then she asked, "Did Samuel say anything else?"
Ethan looked at her carefully.
"What do you remember about your mother's funeral?"
Rebecca frowned.
"What?"
"Your mother."
Her expression changed.
"Why?"
"Just answer."
Rebecca stared at him.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"What happened?"
Ethan exhaled.
"I don't want to give you unverified information."
"About my mother?"
"Rebecca—"
She stood too quickly and gripped the armchair.
"Ethan, tell me."
He rose.
"Sit down."
"No."
Her voice sharpened.
"If somebody has said something about my mother, I deserve to know."
He looked into her eyes.
Then he said, "The police found records suggesting she may have been alive after her funeral."
Rebecca went completely still.
For a moment, she didn't seem to understand the words.
Then she whispered, "That's impossible."
"I know."
"My mother died of a stroke."
"That's what we were told."
"I saw her in the hospital."
"Did you see her after she died?"
Rebecca's face drained.
"She was covered."
Ethan swallowed.
"The casket was closed."
She took a step backward.
"No."
He reached toward her.
She shook her head violently.
"No. Don't."
"Rebecca—"
"My mother was sick. She was unconscious. They told me she died. I signed the funeral arrangements."
Her voice cracked.
"I buried her."
Ethan felt his own eyes burn.
"I know."
She stared at him.
Then she whispered, "Who would do that?"
He had no answer.
Rebecca sat down heavily.
Her hands shook.
For several minutes, she could barely speak.
Then she looked up.
"Was Nolan there?"
Ethan frowned.
"At the funeral?"
"No. At the hospital when she died."
He tried to remember.
The funeral had taken place six years earlier.
Rebecca's mother had been admitted to a different hospital in Harrisburg after a reported stroke.
Ethan had been working a double shift when Rebecca called him from the emergency department.
By the time he arrived, her mother was already in intensive care.
She was unconscious.
A physician explained that her condition was critical.
Two days later, Rebecca received a call saying she'd died overnight.
The funeral arrangements moved quickly.
Ethan remembered that Nolan Pierce had not attended the service.
But one man had.
A hospital executive Rebecca described as an old family acquaintance.
Charles Voss.
Ethan's stomach tightened.
"Voss was there."
Rebecca stared.
"What?"
"At the funeral. He gave you an envelope."
She blinked.
For a moment, he thought she didn't remember.
Then she whispered, "He said it was a condolence payment from the hospital foundation."
"What did you do with it?"
"I deposited it into an account for my mother's remaining expenses."
Ethan shook his head.
"How much?"
"Twenty thousand dollars."
He closed his eyes.
Another payment.
Another envelope.
Another supposedly compassionate gesture from people who had already manipulated her family's grief.
Rebecca began shaking.
"I thought he was helping."
Ethan crouched beside her.
"Listen to me. The police are verifying everything. We don't know what happened yet."
She looked at him desperately.
"If she's alive, where has she been?"
"I don't know."
Rebecca started crying.
Not the guilty, restrained tears of their recent conversations.
These were raw, almost childlike sobs.
Ethan held her shoulders until she could breathe.
He didn't think about forgiveness.
He didn't think about the loan.
He thought only about a daughter learning that she might have spent six years mourning a mother who was still somewhere in the world.
At ten, Margaret Hale arrived.
She had brought new information.
A private investigator working with her firm had found a record of a woman named Margaret Ellis being admitted to a long-term residential care facility outside Scranton five years earlier.
The woman's birth date matched Rebecca's mother.
An old identification photograph appeared consistent with her appearance.
But it was not yet proof.
The facility was called Willow Creek Rehabilitation Residence.
It provided long-term nursing and rehabilitative care for patients with significant cognitive or physical disabilities.
The records suggested Margaret Ellis had been transferred there under a court-appointed guardianship arrangement.
The listed guardian was a professional fiduciary.
His name was Harold Baines.
Rebecca stared.
"Who is Harold Baines?"
Margaret shook her head.
"We're investigating."
"Can I see her?"
"We're working to confirm her identity and legal status first."
Rebecca looked devastated.
Ethan stood beside her.
"Then we'll find out."
Margaret gave him a careful look.
He understood.
They would find out.
That didn't mean he was promising to repair the marriage.
It meant he wasn't going to abandon a woman who might have been separated from her mother through fraud.
He could do one without promising the other.
That afternoon, Ortiz obtained additional records through the appropriate legal process.
The information was astonishing.
Margaret Mercer had indeed been admitted to a hospital six years earlier after a stroke.
Her condition had been serious.
But the available treatment records did not support the claim that she died two days later.
Instead, they showed a transfer request.
Someone had arranged to move her to a specialized neurological care facility.
That transfer had been canceled in one system and completed under another patient identifier.
The paperwork named Charles Voss as an administrative contact.
Ethan listened as Ortiz explained the discovery over a conference call with the attorneys.
Rebecca sat beside him.
Her hands were clenched in her lap.
"Are you saying my mother was transferred alive?"
Ortiz answered carefully.
"That's what the records indicate. We still need to confirm the identity of the woman currently living at Willow Creek."
Rebecca covered her mouth.
Ethan asked, "What happened to the death certificate?"
"The state records show a death certificate was filed, but there are discrepancies in the supporting documentation. Investigators are examining whether the certificate was issued using false information."
Rebecca whispered, "And the funeral?"
Ortiz hesitated.
"We have not established what the casket contained."
Ethan felt sick.
Rebecca bowed her head.
The room was silent.
Then she asked, "Why would they do this?"
Ortiz looked at her.
"We're still investigating motive."
Ethan thought of the financial records.
The foundation.
The research program.
The professional guardianship.
And the mother of the woman who knew too much.
"Could her accounts have been used after she was declared dead?" he asked.
Ortiz nodded.
"That's one of the possibilities we're examining."
Rebecca raised her head.
"What accounts?"
Ethan looked at her.
"Your mother's assets."
Rebecca shook her head.
"She didn't have much."
Margaret Hale spoke quietly.
"She may have had more than you knew."
Rebecca frowned.
"What?"
Margaret opened a document.
"Your mother's estate included a claim connected to Evelyn's death. But there's also a trust agreement that may have been established before the funeral."
Rebecca stared.
"I've never seen that."
"We're reviewing its validity."
"Who created it?"
Margaret looked at the signature page.
"Charles Voss arranged for the preparation."
Rebecca whispered something Ethan couldn't hear.
Then she sat back.
For years, she'd believed her mother had died.
Now she was learning that the same man who attended the funeral may have been involved in moving her to a long-term care facility and controlling the financial arrangements surrounding her disappearance.
Ethan didn't know whether Rebecca would ever recover from that knowledge.
He wasn't sure he would either.
That evening, Dr. Alvarez completed another review with Rebecca.
The physician explained that the available evidence did not support the claim that she had a rapidly progressive fatal neurological disease.
There were genuine symptoms requiring follow-up, and further testing was necessary to understand their causes.
But the frightening prognosis given earlier had not been independently substantiated.
Rebecca asked whether any of her medications could have contributed to the recent confusion.
Alvarez answered that medication effects were among the possibilities being examined.
She emphasized that the review was ongoing.
Ethan listened carefully.
He didn't want another doctor replacing uncertainty with certainty merely because he was desperate for reassurance.
Still, one fact stood out.
Rebecca was improving under a different treatment plan.
And Dr. Pierce no longer controlled her care.
That night, Rebecca asked Ethan to sit beside her.
He did.
She looked at him.
"Do you remember what you told me after our second miscarriage?"
His throat tightened.
"Yes."
"You said we didn't have to be parents to have a family."
He nodded.
Rebecca smiled through tears.
"And I told you I didn't believe you."
"I remember."
She looked down.
"I was angry at my body. Angry at every woman who got pregnant without trying. Angry at you because you seemed able to keep living."
Ethan's eyes filled.
"You were grieving."
"I was cruel."
"Sometimes."
She laughed painfully.
"I know."
He looked at their wedding rings.
Rebecca continued.
"I think after Evelyn died, I stopped believing I deserved anything good. Then we lost the babies, and I thought maybe I was being punished."
Ethan shook his head.
"Rebecca."
"I know it doesn't make sense."
"Grief isn't punishment."
She nodded.
"But I kept making choices as if I needed to pay for what happened."
Ethan looked at her.
"And now other people are paying too."
Rebecca's face crumpled.
"Yes."
He took a breath.
"I need you to speak to your attorney about every transfer. Every forged document. Every lie. Even the ones that make you look terrible."
She nodded.
"I will."
"And you need to stop asking me to carry things you won't face yourself."
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
"I will."
He stood.
Rebecca reached for his hand.
"Do you think you could ever forgive me?"
Ethan looked at her.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then he answered, "I don't know."
Rebecca lowered her head.
He continued.
"But I'm not going to lie to make you feel better."
She nodded.
"That's fair."
He kissed her forehead.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because she was frightened, and he still cared.
Then he left.
The following morning, Ortiz called with the confirmation everyone had been hoping for.
The woman living at Willow Creek Rehabilitation Residence was Margaret Mercer.
She was alive.
She had significant lasting effects from her stroke, including difficulty speaking and moving independently.
But she was conscious.
She recognized photographs.
And when shown a picture of Rebecca, she had reportedly begun crying.
Ethan stood motionless in the café kitchen as Ortiz delivered the news.
For six years, Rebecca had mourned her mother.
For six years, someone had kept them apart.
Now there was a chance they might see each other again.
But Ortiz had one more detail.
"Mr. Cole, Margaret's attending physician asked whether we'd located her family."
"Why?"
"Because she's been trying to communicate something."
Ethan held his breath.
"What?"
"She keeps repeating a name."
"Rebecca?"
"No."
Ortiz paused.
"Benjamin."
Ethan closed his eyes.
The child from Evelyn's notebook.
The child Rebecca had once sat beside in a hospital room.
The child whose treatment documents bore a disputed signature.
Somehow, Margaret Mercer knew about him too.
May you like
And if she had been trying to speak his name for years, maybe the greatest secret in Bellweather wasn't hidden inside Evelyn's research records.
Maybe it was sitting in a nursing home, waiting for someone to listen.
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