Chapter 3 - The Abandoned Clinic and the First Breadcrumb
The sleet was turning into freezing rain as my black bulletproof sedan cut through the slick, empty streets of the South Side, heading straight toward the address Miles had managed to decrypt from a discarded pharmacy receipt found in Ariana's old sewing basket. It was a run-down neighborhood where the streetlights flickered erratically and the brick tenements leaned against each other like exhausted old men.
My driver parked two blocks away from the dilapidated community health clinic, but I waved him off and stepped out into the biting cold without an overcoat, my suit jacket offering little protection against the lake wind.
The metal door of the clinic rattled on its hinges as I pushed it open, setting off a harsh electronic chime that echoed through the empty, sterile-smelling waiting room.
A tired-looking nurse behind a scratched plexiglass window looked up from her paperwork, her eyes narrowing when she saw an expensive bespoke suit in her poverty-stricken ward.
"We're closed for the night, mister, and if you're looking for emergency scripts, the county hospital is three miles north," she said flatly, not even bothering to be polite.
"I'm not here for drugs, and I'm not here for medical treatment," I said, slamming a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills onto the metal counter.
The nurse stared at the cash for three long seconds before looking back up into my eyes, her expression hardening further.
"Money doesn't buy patient records in this state, sir, no matter how many commas are in your bank account."
"I'm looking for Ariana Vale, my wife, who left my home three days ago with a newborn child," I said, leaning forward until my face was close to the glass.
The nurse’s posture shifted imperceptibly, a microscopic flash of recognition crossing her tired features.
"There are a lot of desperate women walking through these doors every single day, and most of them don't use their real last names when they're hiding from men like you," she said softly.
"She isn't hiding from a monster, she's hiding from a fool who didn't know she existed," I replied, my voice cracking slightly against my will.
"If you're talking about the quiet girl with the bruised wrists who came in here two nights ago asking for formula vouchers and temporary shelter vouchers, she didn't look like she had a billionaire husband," the nurse said, her voice losing some of its defensive edge.
"Her wrists were bruised?" I asked, a cold wave of nausea washing over me as I remembered Eleanor's words in the study.
"Not from violence, from holding onto her suitcase so tight her knuckles turned white while she sat on that plastic chair for six hours waiting for a ride that never came," the nurse explained, pointing a worn finger toward the back hallway.
"Where did she go when she left here? Who picked her up?" I demanded, stepping closer to the glass.
"Nobody picked her up, because she didn't have bus fare, so she walked out into that freezing downpour toward the old industrial district by the river," the nurse said, sliding a crumpled piece of paper toward the slot.
"What is this?" I asked, snatching the paper up.
"That's the intake form she started to fill out before she realized she didn't have a permanent address to write down, but she left her emergency contact blank because she didn't have anyone left in this city," the nurse said quietly.
I looked down at the paper and saw the faint, hurried pressure of Ariana's handwriting, the very same slant that had broken my heart back at Vale House.
"Did she say anything about where the baby was born?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
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"She whispered to herself while she was nursing her in the corner stall that the child deserved a father who didn't treat her like a business merger," the nurse said, her eyes piercing right through me.
"She was right," I muttered, turning around and heading back out into the freezing rain before the nurse could see the shame burning in my eyes.
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