Chapter 4 — The Night the Little Girl Disappeared
Chapter 4 — The Night the Little Girl Disappeared
Twenty-seven years earlier, the rain had started at 11:47 p.m.
It struck the windows of St. Catherine's Hospital so hard that the nurses could barely hear the thunder.
On the fourth floor, Eleanor Blackwood lay exhausted beneath a white hospital blanket.
She had been awake for hours.
Her newborn daughter was sleeping beside her.
Rose.
Eleanor smiled whenever she looked at her.
The baby had tiny fingers.
A small birthmark near her left shoulder.
And around her neck was a delicate jade pendant.
Eleanor touched it gently.
“My little rose,” she whispered.
She had no idea that within the next hour, someone would make her believe that child was dead.
At 12:03 a.m., the hospital lights flickered.
Eleanor opened her eyes.
A nurse stood near the door.
“Mrs. Blackwood?”
“Yes?”
“Your husband asked me to check on you.”
“Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“In the corridor.”
Eleanor smiled.
“Tell him to come in.”
The nurse hesitated.
“He's on the phone.”
Eleanor noticed the woman's nervousness.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
The nurse smiled.
“Everything is fine.”
She walked toward the baby's bassinet.
Eleanor watched her.
“Where are you taking Rose?”
“To check her temperature.”
“She just fell asleep.”
“It won't take long.”
The nurse lifted the baby.
Eleanor immediately sat up.
“No.”
The nurse froze.
“I'm sorry?”
“I'll come with you.”
“You need to rest.”
“I said I'll come.”
The nurse smiled.
“You're still weak from the delivery.”
Eleanor stared.
Something was wrong.
Before she could say anything, the door opened.
Thomas entered.
His face was pale.
“Eleanor.”
She looked at him.
“What happened?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?”
Thomas glanced toward the nurse.
The nurse lowered her eyes.
Eleanor's stomach tightened.
“What is happening?”
Thomas walked toward the bed.
“There has been an accident.”
The next thing Eleanor remembered was pain.
A sharp pain in her arm.
A needle.
Thomas standing beside her.
“Just relax.”
“What are you doing?”
“You need to sleep.”
“Where's Rose?”
“She is safe.”
Eleanor tried to sit up.
“I want my daughter.”
Thomas placed his hand on her shoulder.
“You'll see her in the morning.”
“Thomas.”
“Sleep.”
The room blurred.
The ceiling lights stretched into long white lines.
Eleanor heard a baby crying.
Then a door slammed.
And everything went black.
At 1:18 a.m., the fire alarm sounded.
Smoke filled the fourth floor.
Patients screamed.
Nurses ran through the corridors.
Someone shouted:
“Fire!”
The sprinkler system failed.
A security guard tried to reach the maternity wing.
He found the hallway blocked.
And in the middle of the chaos, a man walked calmly toward the elevator.
Thomas Blackwood.
He carried a small leather case.
Inside was a birth certificate.
A passport.
A trust document.
And a photograph of a three-year-old girl.
But the child in the photograph wasn't Rose.
It was another little girl.
A child Eleanor had never met.
At 1:26 a.m., Eleanor woke.
Her room was filled with smoke.
She coughed.
“Rose!”
No answer.
She pushed herself out of bed.
The bassinet was empty.
Her heart stopped.
“Rose?”
She staggered toward the door.
A nurse grabbed her.
“You can't leave.”
“My baby!”
“Mrs. Blackwood, you have to stay here.”
“Where is my daughter?”
The nurse looked terrified.
“I don't know.”
Eleanor pushed past her.
The corridor was chaos.
Firefighters rushed through.
Patients were being evacuated.
A doctor shouted instructions.
Eleanor screamed:
“MY BABY!”
Someone tried to restrain her.
She fought.
“LET ME GO!”
Then she saw Thomas.
He was standing at the end of the corridor.
Holding a blanket.
Eleanor ran toward him.
“Where is she?”
Thomas stared at her.
“Eleanor…”
“Where is Rose?”
He shook his head.
“I couldn't save her.”
Eleanor froze.
“What?”
“There was smoke in the nursery.”
“No.”
“I tried.”
“No.”
“I couldn't reach her.”
Eleanor slapped him.
“Where is my daughter?”
Thomas didn't answer.
A firefighter walked toward them.
“Sir, we need you downstairs.”
Eleanor grabbed Thomas.
“You're lying.”
He looked into her eyes.
“She is gone.”
At 2:11 a.m., police arrived.
The nursery was destroyed.
Two bodies were found.
One adult.
One child.
The child was badly burned.
There was no way to identify her immediately.
Eleanor screamed when they told her.
“That isn't my daughter.”
The doctor tried to calm her.
“Mrs. Blackwood…”
“That isn't Rose!”
“We need to wait for identification.”
“She has a birthmark!”
“What?”
“Near her shoulder.”
The doctor looked at Thomas.
Thomas shook his head.
“Eleanor is confused.”
“No.”
“You've been sedated.”
“I know my daughter.”
Thomas held her.
She pushed him away.
“Don't touch me.”
At dawn, a man entered the hospital.
His name was Richard Blackwood.
Eleanor's younger brother.
He walked toward her.
She looked up.
“Where were you?”
Richard froze.
“What?”
“Where were you when the fire started?”
“I was downstairs.”
“No.”
Eleanor's eyes were full of suspicion.
“You weren't.”
Richard looked at Thomas.
Thomas gave him a warning glance.
Eleanor saw it.
“What are you hiding?”
Richard didn't answer.
Eleanor stood.
“Where is Rose?”
Richard swallowed.
“She didn't make it.”
Eleanor slapped him.
“You knew before they told me.”
Richard stepped backward.
“I didn't.”
“You knew.”
“I didn't.”
“You knew.”
Her voice echoed through the corridor.
Then she collapsed.
Two days later, the hospital officially declared Rose dead.
A death certificate was issued.
A funeral was arranged.
Eleanor refused to attend.
She kept saying:
“My daughter is alive.”
Everyone called it denial.
The doctors called it trauma.
Thomas called it grief.
But Eleanor knew.
She knew her daughter.
The body found in the nursery had no jade pendant.
Rose's pendant was missing.
And that was enough for Eleanor to keep searching.
Three weeks later, Sarah Hart disappeared.
She had been a nurse at St. Catherine's.
She was the last person seen carrying a baby from the maternity wing.
Police questioned her.
She claimed she had been evacuating patients.
Then she vanished.
Her apartment was empty.
Her car was abandoned.
Her bank account was closed.
But one thing remained.
A letter.
It was addressed to Eleanor.
The letter contained only one sentence:
Your daughter is alive.
Eleanor read it hundreds of times.
Thomas told her it was a cruel prank.
Richard said it was nonsense.
The police couldn't verify it.
But Eleanor believed it.
She searched for Sarah for years.
She never found her.
Now, twenty-seven years later, Amelia sat inside a moving car.
Daniel was beside her.
Eleanor sat in the front.
Rebecca drove.
Rain covered the windshield.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Amelia asked:
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Rebecca looked at her in the mirror.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of the people who took you.”
“You knew who they were?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Your father.”
Amelia's jaw tightened.
“I thought you said Thomas wasn't my biological father.”
“He wasn't.”
“Then why call him my father?”
“Because he controlled everything.”
Amelia looked out the window.
“Where are we going?”
Rebecca answered:
“St. Catherine's.”
Eleanor turned.
“The hospital?”
“What's left of it.”
Daniel frowned.
“Why?”
Rebecca's voice became quiet.
“Because Sarah left something there.”
“What?”
“The proof that Rose survived.”
The hospital had been abandoned for years.
Its windows were broken.
Vines climbed the walls.
The old maternity wing was scheduled for demolition.
Rebecca stopped the car.
Eleanor stared at the building.
“I've never been back.”
“You need to.”
“Why?”
“Because the truth began here.”
They entered through a side door.
The hallway smelled of dust.
Eleanor's breathing became shallow.
She remembered everything.
The white walls.
The fluorescent lights.
The baby crying.
Thomas standing beside her.
The empty bassinet.
She touched the wall.
“I remember this.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Keep walking.”
They reached the old nursery.
The room was nearly destroyed.
But one wall remained intact.
Rebecca stopped.
“Look.”
There was a tiny metal plate near the floor.
Eleanor crouched.
Her fingers brushed the dust away.
A number appeared.
417.
Daniel frowned.
“What is that?”
“A room number.”
“There was no room 417.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Exactly.”
She pulled out a key.
Inserted it into a hidden lock.
The wall clicked.
A section opened.
Behind it was a narrow room.
Inside stood a metal cabinet.
Eleanor stared.
“What's inside?”
Rebecca opened it.
A box.
She handed it to Eleanor.
The older woman's hands trembled.
Inside was a photograph.
Rose.
Three years old.
Alive.
Wearing the jade pendant.
Eleanor covered her mouth.
Beside the photograph was a second image.
A baby.
Then a third.
A little girl.
And underneath them was a handwritten note.
Eleanor read it.
Her eyes widened.
“What does it say?”
She couldn't speak.
Daniel took the note.
His face changed.
“Mother?”
Eleanor whispered:
“It says…”
She swallowed.
“Rose wasn't the only child they took.”
Amelia stared.
“What?”
Eleanor looked at her.
“They took another little girl.”
Rebecca nodded.
“Lily.”
Amelia's heart stopped.
“My daughter.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at the photographs.
“Then where is Rose?”
Rebecca pointed to another photograph.
It showed a car leaving St. Catherine's.
A woman sat behind the wheel.
Eleanor recognized her immediately.
Sarah Hart.
But Sarah wasn't alone.
A man was sitting beside her.
Thomas Blackwood.
Eleanor stepped backward.
“No.”
Rebecca whispered:
“He wasn't trying to kill Rose.”
“Then what was he doing?”
“He was taking her.”
“Why?”
Rebecca looked at Amelia.
“Because Rose was the key to the inheritance.”
Eleanor stared at the photograph.
For twenty-seven years she had believed her husband had failed to save their daughter.
The truth was worse.
He had taken her.
He had helped erase her.
He had turned his own child into a secret.
Suddenly, footsteps echoed through the hallway.
Everyone froze.
Daniel turned.
“Someone's here.”
Rebecca quickly closed the cabinet.
Eleanor whispered:
“Who?”
A man's voice came from the corridor.
“You shouldn't have opened that.”
Richard.
Daniel stepped forward.
“Uncle.”
Richard entered.
He was holding a gun.
Eleanor stared at him.
“You followed us.”
Richard smiled.
“I knew you'd come.”
“Why?”
“Because you always were predictable.”
Rebecca stepped in front of Amelia.
Richard raised the weapon.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Rebecca.”
“You've already taken enough.”
Richard's eyes hardened.
“Give me the box.”
Eleanor stepped forward.
“You will not touch my daughter's things.”
Richard laughed.
“Your daughter?”
He looked at Amelia.
“You still don't understand.”
“What?”
Richard pointed the gun toward the old photographs.
“Rose was never supposed to come home.”
Amelia stared at him.
“Why?”
Richard's expression became cold.
“Because if she comes home…”
He paused.
“…the person who ordered her disappearance will lose everything.”
Eleanor whispered:
“Who?”
Richard smiled.
“You already know.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He looked directly into her eyes.
“Thomas.”
Eleanor's world shattered again.
But Richard wasn't finished.
“He's alive.”
Everyone froze.
Daniel whispered:
“My father?”
Richard nodded.
“And he's been waiting for Rose to come home.”
Then the lights went out.
A gunshot exploded through the darkness.
And when the emergency lights flickered back on—
Richard was gone.
So was the box.
And on the floor lay a single jade pendant.
Not Amelia's.
May you like
A second one.
With the letter R engraved on the back.
