Chapter 3 - The Christmas Doctor
Charles Wynn had been Adrian’s mentor for twelve years.
He taught him surveillance, interrogation, and the most important rule
Adrian had ever learned: never confuse the person who comforts you with
the person who is safe.
Now Adrian wondered whether Wynn had taught that rule because he
understood predators better than anyone.
They met at a diner beneath a plastic wreath.
Wynn was sixty-seven, silver-haired, warm-eyed, and still carried
himself like a man accustomed to being obeyed.
“You look terrible,” Wynn said.
“You look retired.”
“I am.”
“Liar.”
Wynn smiled.
Adrian placed the Saint Agnes photograph between them.
The smile disappeared.
“Where did you get that?”
“Michael Parker.”
“Michael is dead.”
“Convenient.”
Wynn leaned back.
“Careful.”
“No.”
Adrian slid Noah’s statement across the table.
“Who is he?”
Wynn read it.
“I don’t know.”
“He knows you.”
“Children confuse faces.”
“Then you won’t mind talking to police.”
Wynn’s eyes hardened.
“You’ve gotten sentimental.”
“Maybe.”
“That little girl hired you to play father and suddenly you think you
are one?”
Adrian went still.
He had never told Wynn about Lily’s arrangement.
“How do you know?”
Wynn realized the mistake.
Too late.
Adrian stood.
Wynn said, “Sit down.”
“No.”
“You are walking into something Michael died trying to expose.”
“Then tell me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“By watching a nine-year-old?”
Wynn looked toward the window.
“Lily saw something last Christmas.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Brent does.”
“Yes.”
“Is that why he wants her institutionalized?”
“Yes.”
Adrian’s hands curled.
“And Noah?”
Wynn’s face changed.
“Noah was never supposed to be in that house.”
“Who is he?”
Wynn said nothing.
Adrian leaned closer.
“If you helped hurt those children, every good thing you ever taught me
ends today.”
Wynn whispered, “I helped build Saint Agnes.”
Adrian stared.
“Why?”
“Witness protection.”
“What?”
“Twenty years ago it was a protected residence for children whose
parents testified against organized crime. New identities. Secure
schooling. Therapists.”
“And now?”
“Brent and Kessler turned it into a machine for controlling estates.”
“You let them.”
“I tried to shut it down.”
“When?”
“After Michael came to me.”
Adrian laughed bitterly.
“Everybody tried after children got hurt.”
Wynn accepted that.
He gave Adrian a key.
“Union Station. Locker 214.”
“What’s inside?”
“What Michael died for.”
Before Adrian could ask more, Wynn stood.
“Do not take Lily back to that house.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“And don’t trust Helen Ward.”
Adrian froze.
“Why?”
But Wynn had already walked away.
Locker 214 contained financial ledgers and a Christmas card from
Michael.
Adrian,
If you’re reading this, Lily found you.
She remembers more than she says.
Do not force it.
Protect Noah.
And if Helen tells you she was helping me, ask why her signature appears
on the first Saint Agnes trust.
Adrian stared at the card.
Another betrayal.
At the foster home, he found Lily sitting beneath a paper Christmas
chain.
She was angry.
“You took forever.”
“I had work.”
“Dad work?”
He paused.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
Then Noah screamed upstairs.
They ran.
The boy had awakened from a nightmare.
“No basement!”
The foster mother held her hands up, careful not to touch him.
Adrian sat on the floor several feet away.
“Noah. You’re here.”
The boy sobbed.
“He’ll make me carry them again.”
“Carry what?”
“Boxes.”
“Who?”
“Uncle Brent.”
Lily climbed onto the floor.
“They made Noah work at night.”
Noah described being taken to the mansion basement after midnight to
move heavy archive boxes because adults believed a small child could
crawl through a service opening. When he slowed, Brent struck the wall
beside him with a metal fireplace poker and threatened to use it on him.
On another night, Dr. Reese dragged him by the arm and locked him in a
freezing storage room until morning.
Adrian’s face went cold.
He did not ask the child for more graphic detail.
He asked, “Where were the boxes going?”
Noah pointed at a drawing Lily had made.
A Christmas church.
“The chapel.”
Police obtained a warrant.
Beneath the Parker family chapel they found records from Saint Agnes.
Hundreds.
Then an officer carried out a small red coat.
Lily saw it.
Her face changed.
“That’s mine.”
Adrian crouched.
“When did you wear it?”
“Last Christmas.”
“What happened?”
Her breathing quickened.
“Mom and Dad were fighting with Uncle Brent.”
“Where?”
“The chapel.”
Memory returned in pieces.
Claire Parker screaming.
Michael holding a folder.
Brent shouting about signatures.
Dr. Reese.
Judge Kessler.
And Helen Ward.
May you like
Lily began shaking.
Then she whispered, “Aunt Helen pushed my mommy.”
