Chapter 3 - The Hospital Room vigil
The sterile scent of antiseptic and clinical efficiency filled the pediatric intensive care unit. Outside, the city lights of downtown blurred into a wash of amber and neon against the rain-streaked windows. Inside Room 412, the rhythmic, electronic beep of the monitors was the only sound keeping time.
Tommy was sleeping, his small chest rising and falling beneath a nest of diagnostic leads, an IV line taped securely to his chubby forearm. The pediatric specialist, Dr. Hayes, had assured me that while he was severely dehydrated and suffering from electrolyte imbalances, his vital organs showed no permanent damage. With proper nutrition and fluids, he would make a full recovery.
Lily lay in the adjacent bed, curled on her side with a stuffed rabbit clutched tightly to her chest. She had finally fallen asleep an hour ago after eating a bowl of warm broth and crying herself to exhaustion in my arms.
"Mr. Vance?"
I turned from the window. A young female nurse stood in the doorway, holding a plastic clipboard.
"Yes?"
"There's a detective downstairs from the Major Crimes Division," she said quietly. "Detective Sarah Vance—no relation, she joked—wants to speak with you regarding the vehicle recovery."
"Send her up," I said immediately.
A moment later, Detective Sarah Miller walked into the room. She was in her late thirties, sharp-eyed, wearing a tailored charcoal trench coat over a business suit, her badge clipped neatly to her lapel. She nodded respectfully toward the sleeping children before turning her full, analytical gaze onto me.
"Mr. Vance. I'm Detective Miller," she introduced herself, extending a hand. I shook it firmly. "I've been assigned to the fugitive warrant for Clara Vance."
"Have you found her?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Her vehicle was spotted on the northbound tollway heading toward the Canadian border approximately four hours ago," Miller said, pulling out a small tablet. "State troopers intercepted the car near the state line about twenty minutes ago. She didn't put up a fight. She’s currently in custody at the state police barracks in Orwell."
A cold, dark satisfaction flickered in my chest, mixed with an overwhelming urge to look the woman I had loved in the eye and demand an explanation.
"Is she talking?" I asked.
"Not a word," Miller replied, her expression hardening. "Refused legal counsel, refused to answer questions, and demanded to speak exclusively with you. She claims she has information regarding your children that you 'need to hear before it's too late.'"
May you like
I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Information? What else could she possibly have to say? She nearly starved my son to death and locked my daughter in a closet."
"Mr. Vance, people who commit acts of extreme domestic isolation rarely operate without a warped internal logic," Miller said, stepping closer. "If you want answers, you’re going to have to go to Orwell and look her in the eye. But I have to warn you—she isn't acting like a panicked fugitive. She’s acting like someone who believes she was justified."
