Chapter 2 - The Mafia Boss Asked for Me Before He Asked Where He Was
Dominic remained unconscious for another fourteen hours.
Doctors called it a fluctuation.
I called it a warning.
By evening, his neurological team had completed a new series of tests.
Responses were inconsistent.
But they existed.
That alone changed everything.
The federal agents assigned to Dominic's case questioned me for nearly an hour.
They wanted to know what I had said.
What I had read.
How often I spoke to him.
Whether I had ever discussed his business.
I told them the truth.
“Books.”
One agent raised an eyebrow.
“Books?”
I nodded.
“Mostly history. Sometimes novels.”
“And you read to him regularly?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I looked at Dominic through the glass.
“Because he was still alive.”
The agent didn't respond.
Then he asked:
“Did you ever discuss anything with him that someone else might consider confidential?”
“No.”
“You're certain?”
“Yes.”
He slid the photograph from the anonymous envelope across the table.
“Then how do you explain this?”
I stared.
The photo showed me sitting beside Dominic's bed.
Timestamped six nights earlier.
There was no photographer visible.
No camera angle I recognized.
“How did someone get into the room?”
“That is what we're trying to determine.”
“Then check the hospital cameras.”
“We did.”
“And?”
“Someone erased eleven minutes.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?”
“The same period when you're visible in this photograph.”
I looked at the image again.
Someone had been close enough to photograph me.
And I had never noticed.
The next morning, Dominic woke again.
This time, he remained conscious.
I was assigned to his room.
When I walked in, his eyes followed me.
“Good morning.”
His voice was weak.
“Good morning.”
He stared.
“You.”
“Me.”
“You stayed.”
I smiled.
“You told me not to leave.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You told me to stay.”
I frowned.
“I don't remember.”
“I do.”
I paused.
“Do you remember the last eighty-nine days?”
His expression darkened.
“Fragments.”
“What do you remember?”
“Rain.”
I looked toward the windows.
“Then a voice.”
My heart stopped.
“What voice?”
“Yours.”
I couldn't speak.
He continued.
“You read to me.”
“You heard?”
“Sometimes.”
My eyes burned.
He looked at me for several seconds.
“Why?”
“Because nobody should disappear just because they can't answer.”
He looked away.
“Who were you before this?”
“A nurse.”
“And before?”
I hesitated.
“Nothing important.”
He looked back.
“Everyone says that before they prove themselves wrong.”
I smiled.
“You're talking too much for a patient.”
His mouth lifted slightly.
It was the first smile I'd seen from him.
Then he became serious.
“What's your name?”
“Anna Reed.”
His expression changed.
“Anna.”
“Yes.”
He repeated it softly.
“Anna.”
A security officer entered.
“Mr. Vale.”
Dominic ignored him.
“Are you safe here?”
I blinked.
“I work here.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Before I could answer, Dr. Victoria Hale entered.
Dominic's entire body tensed.
“Mr. Vale, you need rest.”
He looked at her.
“No.”
She stopped.
“You just regained consciousness.”
“I know.”
“You need to avoid stress.”
“I need to know why you were trying to move me.”
The room went silent.
Victoria glanced at me.
“I never attempted to move you.”
Dominic's eyes narrowed.
“You did.”
“That is impossible.”
He looked at me.
“Tell them.”
I swallowed.
“You said something about a blue room.”
Victoria stepped forward.
“That was likely confusion from the coma.”
Dominic stared at her.
Then he said:
“Basement.”
Victoria went pale again.
He continued.
“Room B-17.”
I looked at her.
She said nothing.
Dominic's security team immediately entered.
The hospital administrator arrived.
A search of the basement began.
Room B-17 existed.
It had been sealed for six years.
It was an old storage room beneath the original ICU.
Inside they found medical supplies, abandoned equipment, and a locked cabinet.
The cabinet contained patient records.
Most were decades old.
But one file was recent.
Dominic's.
His original name.
His real age.
His medical history.
And a handwritten note:
TRANSFER AT 03:00.
AUTHORIZED BY DR. VICTORIA HALE.
Victoria denied writing it.
But the handwriting was hers.
The federal agents took the file.
Dominic watched them.
Then he looked at me.
“Anna.”
“Yes?”
“Do you trust her?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because she was in the room when I was shot.”
I froze.
“What?”
Dominic closed his eyes.
“I remembered.”
He described the night of the shooting.
Rain.
A parking garage.
A woman.
A blue medical jacket.
A voice.
Then a needle.
He had recognized the person before losing consciousness.
Victoria.
But there was more.
“She said my name,” he whispered.
“What did she say?”
“Not Dominic.”
I leaned closer.
“What did she call you?”
He opened his eyes.
“Jonathan.”
I stared.
The false name in his chart.
Someone had known it before the hospital admitted him.
Someone had created the identity.
Someone had prepared for him to disappear.
Dominic looked at me.
“Anna.”
“Yes?”
“I need you to do something.”
“What?”
“Find out who created my chart.”
“I thought the hospital did.”
“They didn't.”
He reached toward me.
His hand barely touched mine.
“Someone wanted me dead before I arrived.”
May you like
His eyes locked onto mine.
“And they may have chosen you because they thought I would never wake up.”
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