Chapter 3 - THE DOOR WITHOUT A WINDOW
Marcus followed the sound upstairs with a police dispatcher still on his phone. Brent and a second guard moved after him, but a woman in a gray catering jacket pushed her cart into their path.
“Sorry,” she said, sending glasses crashing. “Awful accident.”
Hazel Alvarez had worked for the Sterlings for twenty-eight years. Marcus caught her eye. She nodded once toward the east corridor.
The blue room had been a nursery when Marcus was young. Now a metal hasp crossed the door. On the floor outside sat a child's dinner plate, empty except for two crackers.
“Lily?” He crouched by the door. “I'm here.”
“Is it really you?”
“Remember the ducks at the lake? You called the brown one Professor Bread.”
A little laugh broke into a sob. “He stole your sandwich.”
Marcus tested the lock. Hazel arrived carrying an old ring of housekeeping keys. Her hand trembled as she fitted the third one. The latch opened.
Lily was sitting behind a blanket near the bed. There were no toys, only a narrow mattress and a plastic pitcher. Marcus gathered her carefully into his arms. She smelled of floor polish and strawberry shampoo.
“I'm sorry I was late,” he whispered.
“Grandma said you didn't want me anymore.”
“Never. Not for one second.”
A woman appeared at the doorway: Dr. Mara Chen, a guest and pediatrician at Baylor Children's. She had followed the ambulance call. Her eyes moved from Lily's hands to the locked door.
“Keep her warm,” Mara said. “I want her checked tonight.”
Downstairs, sirens rose above the party music. Hazel set a folded piece of paper in Marcus's free hand.
“I kept this hidden,” she whispered. “It's the first letter Lily wrote you.”
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Across the paper, in uneven purple crayon, were five words: PLEASE FIND ME BEFORE FRIDAY.
