Chapter 10
The hospital was busy, chaotic.
We found the officer who'd called me in the waiting room.
"He's in room 302," the officer said. "He's got a broken leg, a concussion, some internal injuries. He's going to live. But he's pretty banged up."
"Who hit him?" Emily asked.
The officer shook his head. "We don't know. No witnesses. The driver left the scene. We're investigating."
I thought about David. About his anger. About the bat.
Could he have done this?
"Can we see him?" I asked.
The officer nodded. "He asked specifically for you. Said he has something important to tell you. But be careful. He's still Marcus Bennett."
Elaine and Emily came with me down the hallway.
We stopped outside room 302.
"Maybe I should go in alone," I said.
Elaine nodded. "We'll be right here if you need us."
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
Marcus lay in the hospital bed, his leg in a cast, his face bruised and cut. He looked smaller somehow, more human, less like the monster I'd built him up to be in my mind.
He opened his eyes when I walked in.
"Margaret," he said. His voice was hoarse, weak.
"Marcus."
I pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down.
"They told me you asked for me," I said.
He nodded slowly. "I need to tell you something. Before... before something happens to me."
"Who hit you, Marcus?"
He smiled—a bitter, pained smile.
"Does it matter? I've made a lot of enemies in my life. Any one of them could have done it."
He paused, then winced in pain.
"But that's not why I asked you here. I need to tell you the truth. All of it. The part I didn't put in the letter."
I waited.
"Thomas didn't just embezzle from the Cooperative," Marcus said. "He... he was involved in something worse. Something that got a man killed."
My blood ran cold.
"What are you talking about?"
"There was a farmer," Marcus said. "Old Man Peterson. He found out about the embezzlement. He was going to expose Thomas. Thomas... he panicked. They argued. It got physical. Thomas pushed him. Old Man Peterson hit his head. Died instantly."
I stared at him.
"No," I said. "That's not true. Old Man Peterson died of a heart attack. Everyone knows that."
"Everyone was told he died of a heart attack," Marcus said. "Thomas made sure of it. He paid off the doctor. He told everyone it was natural causes. But I was there, Margaret. I saw it happen."
I shook my head. "You're lying. Thomas would never—"
"Wouldn't he?" Marcus said. "You already know he was a thief. You already know he was a liar. Is it really so hard to believe he was capable of more?"
His words hit me like a physical blow.
Because I knew he was right.
I'd already learned that Thomas was capable of terrible things.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Because I'm dying, Margaret," Marcus said quietly. "The doctors aren't telling you everything. My internal injuries are worse than they look. I don't have much time. And I don't want to die with all these secrets."
He reached into the drawer beside the bed and pulled out an envelope.
"This is the proof," he said. "Photographs. The doctor's confession. Everything you need to know."
I took the envelope. It was heavy.
"Why?" I asked again. "Why give this to me? You hate me. You hate Thomas."
Marcus looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something other than anger or arrogance in his eyes.
I saw regret.
"I'm not a good man, Margaret," he said. "I've done terrible things. I've destroyed lives. But Emily... she's my daughter. And she's a good person. She doesn't deserve to be haunted by our family's secrets. Give her the truth. All of it. Let her decide what to do with it."
He paused, then closed his eyes.
"And tell her... tell her I'm sorry. For everything. For being the kind of man who couldn't be a father to her."
A nurse came in then. "Visiting hours are over. The patient needs to rest."
I stood up, the envelope clutched in my hand.
"Marcus," I said.
He opened his eyes.
"Who hit you?" I asked again. "Was it David? My grandson?"
Marcus was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "Yes."
The words hung in the air.
David had tried to kill Marcus.
And who knew what he'd try to do next.
I left the room. Elaine and Emily were waiting in the hallway.
"What happened?" Emily asked. "What did he say?"
I looked at my granddaughter.
At the girl who was somehow the product of all this pain and darkness, and yet had turned out to be the best of all of us.
May you like
"We need to talk," I said. "All of us. There's more to the story. Much more."
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