Chapter 3 - THE PATIENT NAMED MICHAEL
Elena reached St. Catherine's Hospital shortly after midnight.
Her mother, Rosa Morales, lay in bed beneath a thin white blanket.
She was fifty-six.
Her dark hair had begun turning silver.
Her hands looked smaller than Elena remembered.
For months, Rosa had been struggling with a serious heart condition that required repeated hospitalizations.
Elena had taken the job at the Moretti estate because the salary offered a chance to keep up with the medical bills.
Now someone had tried to move Rosa without authorization.
Elena approached the bed.
“Mamá?”
Rosa opened her eyes.
“Elena.”
Her voice was weak.
“Why are you crying?”
Elena sat beside her.
“Someone tried to transfer you.”
Rosa's expression changed.
“What?”
Elena swallowed.
“Mamá, do you remember a patient named Michael?”
Rosa went completely still.
Elena felt a chill.
“You do.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then whispered:
“Who told you that name?”
Elena leaned forward.
“A man at the Moretti estate.”
Rosa's face drained of color.
“Dante Moretti?”
Elena nodded.
Her mother began trembling.
“No.”
“Mamá—”
“You must leave that house.”
Elena stared.
“Why?”
Rosa looked toward the door.
Then whispered:
“Because Michael wasn't his real name.”
Elena's heart hammered.
“Who was he?”
Rosa began crying.
“Gabriel Moretti.”
Seven years earlier, Rosa had worked as a nursing assistant at St. Agnes Clinic.
The clinic operated quietly outside Milwaukee.
Most patients were wealthy people seeking privacy.
One night, a young man arrived unconscious.
He had burns along his left arm.
A broken collarbone.
And a serious head injury.
The staff were told his name was Michael Grant.
But Rosa heard one of the doctors address him differently.
Gabriel.
The young man remained hospitalized for weeks.
When he finally regained consciousness, he seemed confused.
He remembered his first name.
But little else.
One evening, Rosa entered his room and found him crying.
He held a photograph of two young men standing beside a lake.
One was himself.
The other was Dante.
“He asked me who the man beside him was,” Rosa whispered.
Elena covered her mouth.
“What did you tell him?”
Rosa's eyes filled.
“I didn't know.”
She swallowed.
“But I knew someone was lying to him.”
Three weeks later, Gabriel disappeared from the clinic.
Rosa was ordered to sign a confidentiality agreement.
She refused.
Two days afterward, she lost her job.
Then came threatening letters.
She moved back to Chicago.
And tried to forget.
But she had kept something.
A small envelope.
Inside was the photograph Gabriel had been holding.
May you like
And on the back, written in shaky handwriting, were four words.
Tell Dante I'm alive.
