Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO KNEW HIS NAME
For eleven months, I'd believed my brother was dead.
I'd attended his funeral.
Stood beside his coffin.
Watched the casket disappear into the ground.
Now a stranger was telling me he had two newborn daughters.
And had abandoned them in a snowstorm.
I stared at Lena.
“Marcus is their father?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
My jaw tightened.
“Where is he?”
Her breathing quickened.
“I don't know.”
“Lena.”
She flinched.
I stopped.
Something in her expression reminded me of the way wounded animals react when a person moves too quickly.
I stepped back.
Lowered my voice.
“You're safe here.”
She looked toward the guard.
Then back at me.
“You don't understand.”
I pulled a chair beside the bed.
“Then help me.”
She swallowed.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then whispered:
“Marcus told me you were the one who ordered his death.”
I froze.
“What?”
She continued.
“He said you wanted him gone.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“He said you killed your own brother.”
My chest tightened.
I looked toward the photograph.
Then whispered:
“Marcus lied.”
Lena studied me.
I met her eyes.
“I buried him.”
Silence.
May you like
Then I added:
“And if he's alive, I want to know why.”
