Chapter 14 - Margaret Finally Chose Someone Other Than HerselfThe gunshot came from the west stairwell.
Police rushed.
Daniel locked the room door himself.
Emily held Grace.
The baby slept through chaos.
Margaret stood beside Noah in the corridor with two officers.
Then smoke appeared near the far end.
Not fire.
A discharged emergency extinguisher.
Visibility dropped.
People shouted.
Margaret grabbed Noah.
“Stay with me.”
He pulled away.
“Where’s Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
A figure emerged through the white haze.
Michael.
Margaret stopped.
Six years dead.
Thirty-nine years her son.
He looked thinner.
Harder.
A scar crossed his forehead.
But he was Michael.
“Mom.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“Michael.”
Noah stood beside her.
“Dad?”
Michael’s expression softened instantly.
“There you are.”
Noah didn’t move.
Michael held out his hand.
“Come.”
Noah looked at Margaret.
Then back at Michael.
“Why?”
Michael frowned.
“We’re leaving.”
“With the baby?”
“No.”
A lie.
Margaret saw it.
She knew the tiny shift in his eyes.
She had taught him that too.
Noah saw it.
“You’re lying.”
Michael’s face tightened.
“Don’t start.”
The words sounded like Margaret.
She heard herself inside him.
Michael stepped closer.
“Come here.”
Noah backed away.
“No.”
Margaret moved between them.
Michael stared.
“Seriously?”
“You’re not taking him.”
He laughed.
“You barely knew he existed.”
“He’s twelve.”
“He’s my son.”
Margaret whispered:
“That doesn’t mean you own him.”
Michael’s face changed.
The sentence was betrayal.
Coming from her.
“Emily changed you quickly.”
“No.”
Margaret shook her head.
“She showed me what I sound like.”
Police shouted from the other corridor.
Michael reached into his coat.
Margaret flinched.
He pulled out no gun.
A keycard.
He swiped a side door.
“Come on, Noah.”
Noah remained behind Margaret.
“No.”
Michael’s face hardened.
“Now.”
“No!”
Grace started crying inside the room.
Michael looked toward the sound.
Margaret saw it.
That was the goal.
He moved.
Margaret grabbed his arm.
“Don’t.”
He shoved her.
She hit the wall.
Noah screamed.
Michael reached the maternity-room door.
Locked.
Daniel stood on the other side.
Michael looked through the narrow glass.
The brothers saw each other.
Daniel holding Grace.
Michael outside.
Michael whispered:
“She’s mine.”
Daniel shook his head.
“No.”
Police were seconds away.
Michael pulled something small from his pocket.
Not a weapon.
A flash drive.
He pressed it against the glass.
“Proof.”
Daniel didn’t move.
Michael shouted:
“DNA!”
Grace cried louder.
Emily held her.
Margaret got up.
Her shoulder hurt.
She stepped toward Michael.
“You need to leave.”
He turned.
“Stay out of this.”
“No.”
His eyes widened.
Margaret had almost never told Michael no as a child.
He was the brilliant one.
The difficult one.
The son Charles pushed hardest.
Margaret often defended him even when he was wrong.
Perhaps that had helped create this.
“Mom.”
“No.”
Michael stared.
“You chose Daniel again.”
Margaret swallowed.
“I should have chosen right from wrong more often.”
Michael laughed bitterly.
“Too late.”
“Yes.”
Margaret nodded.
“It is late.”
“But it isn’t too late to stop you now.”
Police entered the corridor.
Michael grabbed Margaret around the shoulders and pulled her in front of him.
No firearm appeared.
He simply used her body as a shield while backing toward the side exit.
Noah screamed:
“Dad!”
Michael looked at him.
For one second, something human appeared.
Then disappeared.
He pushed Margaret toward officers and ran.
Police pursued.
Margaret fell.
Daniel saw everything through the glass.
Emily whispered:
“Is she okay?”
Daniel hesitated.
“I think so.”
Margaret stood with help.
She looked toward the door.
Daniel unlocked it after police confirmed Michael had left the immediate floor.
Margaret entered slowly.
Emily stiffened.
Margaret stopped several feet away.
She looked at Grace.
Her granddaughter.
Maybe not biologically.
The realization was strange.
Then she looked at Daniel.
Her son.
Also not biologically Charles’s.
Yet that changed nothing.
Not really.
Margaret finally understood what everyone else had been trying to tell her.
Blood was information.
Not ownership.
She whispered:
“Can I see her?”
Emily’s face hardened.
“No.”
Margaret nodded.
“Okay.”
No fight.
No guilt.
No manipulation.
She turned to leave.
Emily stopped her.
“Margaret.”
She turned.
Emily held Grace closer.
“You can see her from there.”
Margaret stared.
It wasn’t forgiveness.
It wasn’t trust.
It was six feet of grace.
Margaret looked at the baby.
“She’s beautiful.”
Daniel said:
“Her name is Grace.”
Margaret started crying.
This time nobody cared whether the tears were real.
Then Noah entered.
He looked at Grace too.
“My sister?”
Daniel looked at Emily.
Emily nodded.
Daniel answered:
“If you want her to be.”
Noah smiled for the first time.
Then Detective Monroe rushed in.
“Michael reached the parking structure.”
Daniel stood.
“Did you get him?”
“No.”
“He escaped?”
“For now.”
Daniel swore.
Monroe continued:
“But we found what he left behind.”
“What?”
“A vehicle.”
Inside were passports.
Cash.
Medical supplies.
And a second infant car seat.
Emily stared.
“A second?”
Monroe nodded.
“There were two.”
One for Grace.
One for Noah.
Michael had planned to leave with both children.
Then Monroe held up a document.
“And this.”
A flight plan.
Departure:
Los Angeles.
Destination:
Belize.
Passenger list:
Michael Whitmore.
Noah Whitmore.
Grace Whitmore.
Emily looked at Daniel.
No name for her.
May you like
No Daniel.
Michael’s future had never included either parent.
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