Chapter 9 - THE BROTHER WHO WAS STILL BREATHING
The search for Matteo led investigators to a rehabilitation facility in northern Louisiana.
The building stood behind iron gates and old oak trees.
It was privately owned.
Quiet.
Almost invisible.
Lorenzo arrived with Amelia and two investigators.
He had barely slept.
For six years, he had imagined what he would say if he could speak to Matteo one more time.
Now he had no words.
The administrator led them down a long corridor.
At the end was a sunlit room.
A man sat beside the window.
He was thin.
His dark hair had grown longer.
A scar crossed his temple.
His hands rested on the arms of a wheelchair.
Lorenzo stopped breathing.
"Matteo?"
The man turned slowly.
His eyes moved across Lorenzo's face.
For a moment, there was no recognition.
Then his expression changed.
"Lolo?"
Lorenzo nearly fell.
Only Matteo had called him that.
Not since they were boys.
He crossed the room.
Knelt beside the wheelchair.
And embraced his brother.
Matteo's arms moved slowly around him.
"Lolo," he whispered again.
Lorenzo began crying.
He had not cried at the funeral.
He had not cried when their father died.
He had not cried through six years of believing his brother was gone.
Now he couldn't stop.
Matteo's recovery had been complicated by a traumatic brain injury.
He had periods of confusion and memory loss.
Some days were better than others.
But he remembered Clara.
And he remembered the night of the fire.
"They said you were dead," Lorenzo whispered.
Matteo shook his head.
"Carlo."
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
"I know."
Matteo gripped his hand.
"Clara?"
Lorenzo swallowed.
"She's missing."
Matteo's face changed.
"Find her."
"I will."
Matteo struggled to sit straighter.
"Promise."
Lorenzo looked at his brother.
Then nodded.
"I promise."
Before leaving, Lorenzo showed him a photograph of Millie.
Matteo stared.
His fingers touched the image.
"Who?"
Lorenzo's voice broke.
"Your daughter."
Matteo looked up.
"My daughter?"
Lorenzo nodded.
"Her name is Millie."
Matteo began crying.
He held the photograph against his chest.
May you like
And whispered:
"Clara."
