“Baby...I -”
"You're awake, Mrs. Finley." The doctor, Finch, I recall, steps in, and interrupts.
I look between the two of them.
"Let's have a look, shall we?" He reviews my chart and nods. "You're doing great."
"Doc, can I have a word with you?" Cohen asks, and Dr. Finch nods.
“We’ll be right back.” The doctor assures me.
I watch them retreat and sink back onto my pillow, a hand on my stomach. Is there something they are not telling me? Oh God, I hope my little bean is alright. I remember the look on Cohen’s face when he found out we were going to have a baby, the joy in his eyes.
They return, and the doctor takes a seat in one of the two chairs, while Cohen takes the other. "Sinclair, what's the last thing you recall, before the accident?"
"I remember that I took a pregnancy test, and I went over to Co's office to give him the news."
The doctor looks over at Cohen.
“Baby, that was eight months ago.”
I laugh. This must be some kind of joke. “What do you mean, Cohen?”
"You were in an accident, Sinclair, and you've lost some of your memories from this year in particular."
"That is impossible." I'm outraged. "Why would you even say that?" I glare at Cohen.
“We’re going to run some tests, but we don’t want you to panic.”
"Not panic. You're telling me I don't recall months of my life, and I am not supposed to panic."
“Calm down, baby.”
“Don’t.” I place a hand up. “Just don’t. Can you just go? Both of you.”
They stand and exit the room. This makes no sense, none at all.
I have so many questions, but right now, I just want to be by myself. I'm not angry at the doctor or Cohen. I'm mad at the unfairness. Where is my child? How long have I been out? I feel indignant tears burn my eyes, and I try to keep them at bay. I call a nurse.
“I want to see my baby.”
Chapter 12
Sinclair
Five months ago
Ireceived the scarf in the mail a week after Chelsea disappeared. There was no note attached. It was sent in a standard envelope. It's light blue with silver seashells on it. It's beautiful, and I remember the day she wore it. At the bake sale. I complimented her on it. It picked up the blue of her eyes. Made her look relaxed, happy, in love. I hold it close to me. She was taken by a monster, and I cannot not shake the feeling that I have something to do with it.
Have you ever read a status message and just knew it was about you even though it wasn't addressed to you? The words cut through you like a knife. That is what this feels like. I know I can't keep this to myself, but what will the cops think? Will this just add to their list of reasons why I am a suspect? They have not said it in so many words, but there is no doubt Jameson feels that way. I open my purse and pull out the simple business card that Detective Willis handed me. It had the station number and his personal number on it. I rotate it between my fingers, contemplating what would be the right thing to do. After tapping my fingers on the counter, I decided to take the plunge.
“Park Station, Officer Ward speaking.”
"Hi - uhm - Could I speak to Detective Jameson?"
“Sure, who may I say is calling?” she asks.
“It’s Sinclair Finley. I have information on the Morgan case.”
