CHAPTER ONE

Bill Price stepped into the whirling chaos of the emergency room.

To the left, he saw a woman holding a red-faced, crying baby. The child’s eyes were pools of tears, its mouth contorted into a wailing “O.” The mother made shushing noises, but the baby didn’t seem to hear them. Ahead of Bill, a teenage girl with a nose ring and a neck tattoo tried to calm a man holding a bloody rag against his shaven head. The man appeared agitated, waving his free hand around as though orating.

Bill looked to his right. He saw a small crowd gathered but no one he recognized.

He felt overwhelmed. Alone.

A nurse sat behind the admitting desk. She held a metal clipboard and wore half-moon glasses perched on the end of her nose. The glasses aged her, made her look ten years older than she probably was.

Bill approached her, a knot of tension growing in his chest.

“Excuse me,” Bill said.

“Just a minute.” The woman turned and stood up, walking away from Bill and going through a door behind her.

“Hello?” Bill said, his voice low.

He tapped his finger on the Formica desk.

She’s here. Somewhere. She’s here.

Should I just go find her?

“Hey,” he said, his voice louder.

But the nurse didn’t return. And no one else came out of the room to help him.

It felt like one of those dreams, the kind he’d been having too often lately. In the dreams, he’d open his mouth to scream but could make no sound. And the very act of trying to force words out made his throat feel as if he’d swallowed broken glass.

Bill looked around, hoping to see a familiar face. He saw only misery. The people in the room—the bleeders and the criers and the scared—were all his companions in misery.

She is here. She too is one of them....

The admitting nurse appeared again. She still carried the clipboard. She went out of her way not to make eye contact with Bill. She focused on the desktop, coming over and reaching for a piece of paper.

“Excuse me,” Bill said. “I’m here because—”

“One second, hon,” she said.

The nurse lifted the paper, studying it through her glasses. Her hair was streaked with gray, her pink smock decorated with a small mustard stain.

“My daughter—,” Bill said.

The woman raised her index finger in the air, requesting silence. She turned again, disappearing back behind the door through which she’d just emerged.

“Wait,” Bill said.

But she was gone.

Bill craned his neck, rising up on tiptoes to try to see into the room through the window in the door. He couldn’t.

“Hello?”

No response.

“Hey!” he said, his voice rising.

The nurse stuck her head out the door, her face creased with agitation. “Sir, we’re backed up now. I’ll be right there.”

“No, no.”

“Excuse me?”

“No!”

Echoing off the walls and the tiled floor, the single word cut through the room, bringing everyone to a halt. Bill sensed their anticipation, their fear, and, yes, their glee. They might get to witness a scene.

Some guy went apeshit in the ER....

The nurse looked angry as she walked toward him.

“My daughter is here,” Bill said. “Summer Price. Summer Price is my daughter.”

And then the nurse’s features softened. She understood.

She recognized the name. Everyone in the room probably did.

“Oh,” she said, removing her glasses. “I know who to call.”

A minute passed, maybe less, and then someone came through another door and into the emergency room, a familiar face above a coat and tie.

“Mr. Price?”

Bill felt the smallest measure of relief. “Detective Hawkins,” he said. “Where is she? Where’s Summer? Someone called. They said you were here—”

Hawkins wiggled his fingers, his hand in the air. “This way, okay? This way.”

Bill followed the detective as Hawkins stepped over to a plain brown door and turned the knob. It looked like a janitor’s closet, and Bill wondered why he was being led where mops and buckets were stored.

But then he saw it was a consultation room, one of those places where doctors took families to give them bad news. Bill had been in one of them before, almost a year and a half earlier. Nothing good ever happened in one of those rooms.

He stopped in his tracks even as Hawkins reached for him, trying to guide Bill along.

“Where is she?” Bill asked. “Just tell me something.”

“Inside, Bill. Please? We can talk in there.”

“Is she alive?” Bill felt anger laced with fear building in his chest, the heat and pressure at his core like lava waiting to burst forth. He gritted his teeth. “Just tell me the truth. On the phone they said she’s alive. Is Summer alive?”

Hawkins stared directly into Bill’s eyes. “She’s alive, Bill. Summer is alive.”

Bill closed his eyes, as though bracing for a blow. He felt a slight cooling in his body, a tiny sliver of relief. Okay, he thought. Alive. She’s alive .

“When can I see her?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“She’s alive, Bill,” Hawkins said. “But—we should talk inside.” +W0U3EOnpCmLxD1s14hvrsc2WELtpemAqa8UQF8ttCe0idX54ksBrMbJLk0WVpz5