Chapter 8 - The Second DoctorBy dawn, Eleanor’s hospital room had doubled its guard.
No one entered without Detective Ellis approving it. Every nurse was checked. Every medication was scanned twice. The food trays came sealed.
Still, Sophie refused to leave the hallway.
“She’s scared,” she told me.
I brushed hair from my daughter’s forehead. “Eleanor?”
Sophie shook her head.
“The baby.”
I wanted to say children could not know things like that.
But Sophie had already seen more truth than most adults.
At 7:16 a.m., a nurse arrived with a medication cart.
She wore the correct badge. Correct uniform. Correct hospital shoes. Her smile was calm.
But Sophie sat up straight.
“That’s not the nurse from before.”
Detective Ellis looked up.
Hospitals change shifts all the time. The woman could have been legitimate. But after everything, no one ignored Sophie.
“Stop,” Detective Ellis ordered.
The nurse froze.
Her hand was inside the cart drawer.
An officer stepped forward.
“Remove your hand slowly.”
Instead, the woman ran.
She made it six steps before hospital security tackled her near the elevators.
Inside the drawer was a syringe with no label.
Later, the lab identified the drug as something that could trigger catastrophic labor complications.
Eleanor had been right.
Friday was too far away.
Someone wanted the baby gone now.
The fake nurse’s name was Dana Voss. She had no nursing license. She had worked for Briar Glen Clinic before it closed.
Dr. Mercer recognized her immediately and went pale.
“She wasn’t working for Vanessa,” he whispered.
Detective Ellis looked at him.
“Then who?”
He swallowed.
“The second doctor.”
Alexander’s head lifted.
“What second doctor?”
Mercer closed his eyes.
“I didn’t perform the implantation.”
Eleanor, listening from the bed, went still.
Mercer continued, voice shaking.
“I only signed the records afterward. The procedure was done by Dr. Adrian Vale.”
Harlan Pierce stiffened.
“That’s impossible.”
Alexander turned toward him.
“You know him?”
Harlan’s face had lost color.
“Adrian Vale is not just a doctor.”
“Then what is he?”
Harlan looked through the glass toward Eleanor.
“He is your father’s former private physician.”
Alexander’s father had died eight years earlier.
Or so everyone believed.
At that moment, Eleanor whispered from the bed, “Alexander…”
He rushed to the doorway but stopped, waiting for permission.
This time, she looked at him.
Her voice was weak.
“Your father came to the blue room.”
Alexander’s face turned white.
“My father is dead.”
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Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.
“No,” she said. “He isn’t.”
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