“She said every desk needed a secret constellation.”
Stephen crouched beside it.
“There are screws underneath.”
Ten minutes later, we removed a false bottom from the lowest drawer.
Inside was a sealed plastic envelope.
Daniel sat on the floor.
“I lived in this room for ten years after she left.”
He almost laughed.
“It was here the whole time.”
Inside the envelope were photocopied medical forms.
Names.
Dates.
Numbers.
Nothing immediately sinister.
Then Stephen found a handwritten page.
He read it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He handed it to me.
Claire’s handwriting, according to Daniel.
At the top:
Subjects incorrectly reassigned after original results.
Below were seventeen names.
My father’s was one of them.
I scanned farther.
Then stopped.
A surname near the bottom.
Hale.
Daniel’s surname.
“Evelyn?” I whispered.
Daniel looked.
“No.”
His finger moved beside the name.
“That’s my father.”
The room became silent.
Our fathers.
Both connected to the same mysterious records.
