Chapter 8 - THE BROTHER WHO WAS NEVER BURIED
Dominic obtained Adrian's original death records.
The file was surprisingly thin.
There was no confirmed identification of remains.
No DNA comparison.
No burial certificate.
Only a missing-person report that had been administratively closed after the fire.
Dominic stared at the documents.
“My father held a funeral.”
I looked at him.
“I know.”
“There was a coffin.”
I swallowed.
“Was it open?”
He shook his head.
“No.”
We sat in silence.
Then Dominic whispered:
“I spent twelve years visiting an empty grave.”
The next breakthrough came from a photograph recovered during the investigation into Blackwater House.
It showed six young people standing outside a private medical transport van.
One was Adrian.
He looked older.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
The photograph was dated eight years after the fire.
Dominic stared at it.
His hands began shaking.
“He was alive.”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Dominic pressed the photograph against the table.
For a moment, he looked as though he might break.
Then he began laughing.
A strange, disbelieving sound.
It turned into a sob.
I moved beside him.
He covered his face.
“My brother was alive.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
He looked up.
His gray eyes were wet.
“I stopped looking.”
“You were told he was dead.”
“I should have known.”
I shook my head.
“You were lied to.”
He stared at me.
Then whispered:
“So were you.”
Investigators traced the medical transport company.
The company had dissolved three years earlier.
But one former employee agreed to speak.
Her name was Rebecca Sloan.
She remembered Adrian.
“He used a different name,” she said.
“What name?” Dominic asked.
“Adam Voss.”
I felt cold.
Voss.
Eleanor's surname.
Rebecca continued.
“He was helping patients at one of the facilities. He seemed to know a lot about the records.”
“Where is he now?” Dominic asked.
Rebecca hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“Please.”
Rebecca looked at him.
May you like
Then whispered:
“He was trying to find his brother.”
