PART 5 — The Syringe and the Missing Hour
Charles grabbed Lillian's bed and pushed it backward.
The syringe flashed beneath the emergency lights.
“Stay away from her!”
Langley stopped.
For one second, neither man moved.
Then Langley smiled.
“Charles.”
“Drop it.”
“You don't understand what you're involved in.”
“I understand enough.”
“You really don't.”
Teresa appeared behind him with her weapon drawn.
“Put the syringe down.”
Langley's smile disappeared.
He dropped it.
Two deputies rushed forward and restrained him.
“Where's Warren?” Teresa demanded.
Langley said nothing.
“Where is he?”
Still nothing.
Then he laughed.
“You think Warren is the one you should be worried about?”
Charles stared at him.
“Who is?”
Langley looked directly at Lillian.
“She knows.”
Lillian's eyes filled with fear.
Teresa immediately ordered Langley taken into custody.
The fire was extinguished within minutes.
It had been deliberately started in an unused records room.
No patients were injured.
But something was missing.
The hospital's security footage from the previous hour.
Every camera.
Every hallway.
Deleted.
Someone had erased the evidence.
Teresa stood in the security room staring at the monitors.
“This wasn't Langley alone.”
Charles looked at her.
“Why?”
“He wouldn't have the access.”
“Who would?”
She didn't answer.
Then one technician spoke.
“There is one backup.”
Teresa turned.
“Where?”
“Server beneath the surgical wing.”
They rushed there.
The backup contained only eleven minutes of footage.
But eleven minutes was enough.
At 3:42 a.m., Warren entered the hospital.
At 3:47, Langley joined him.
At 3:49, both entered the records room.
At 3:52, Lillian's medical file was accessed.
At 3:54, Warren left.
At 3:55, Langley removed something from a locked cabinet.
At 3:56, another person entered.
Teresa paused the footage.
“Enhance.”
The image sharpened.
Charles stared.
He recognized the person.
“That's impossible.”
Teresa looked at him.
“Who is it?”
“My brother.”
“You don't have a brother.”
Charles swallowed.
“Not him.”
The man turned toward the camera.
Charles's blood went cold.
It was Warren.
But Warren had already left.
There were two Warrens.
Identical.
One entered at 3:42.
The second appeared at 3:56.
Teresa stared at the screen.
“Twins?”
Charles shook his head.
“Warren never had a twin.”
“Then who is that?”
Nobody knew.
Until Lillian spoke.
“Evelyn.”
Charles turned.
“What?”
“That's Evelyn's father.”
“But Evelyn is Warren's daughter.”
“No.”
Lillian shook her head.
“That's what Warren wanted everyone to believe.”
“Then whose daughter is she?”
Lillian looked at Charles.
“His.”
She pointed at the screen.
“The man on the footage.”
Charles felt dizzy.
“Who is he?”
Lillian whispered:
“Warren's older brother.”
Teresa frowned.
“Warren had a brother?”
“He died twenty-five years ago.”
Charles looked at the screen.
Another dead man.
Another identity.
Another lie.
Then Lillian's face changed.
“Oh God.”
“What?”
“I remember him.”
“From where?”
“He was at our wedding.”
Charles stared at her.
“That was thirty years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Why would he disappear?”
“Because Warren killed him.”
The room went silent.
Teresa stepped closer.
“What are you saying?”
Lillian's voice trembled.
“Warren didn't build his pharmacy business alone.”
She looked toward Charles.
“He inherited it.”
“From whom?”
“His brother.”
“Why would his brother leave everything to him?”
“He didn't.”
Lillian closed her eyes.
“Warren forged the documents.”
Charles suddenly understood.
The first wife.
The insurance.
The pharmacy.
The altered medical records.
The fake identities.
Warren had spent decades constructing a life out of other people's deaths.
But one question remained.
“Why Lillian?”
She looked at Charles.
“Because I found the original inheritance document.”
“Where is it?”
“In a safety deposit box.”
“Which bank?”
Lillian hesitated.
“First National.”
Teresa immediately called the bank.
A minute later, she hung up.
“The box was opened yesterday.”
“By whom?”
“Lillian Prescott.”
Charles stared.
“That can't be.”
“She was listed as the authorized person.”
“But she was unconscious.”
Teresa nodded.
“Exactly.”
Then Charles remembered something.
The second phone.
The photographs.
The woman named Evelyn.
The life insurance.
And the date on Lillian's document.
Someone had planned her death.
But someone else had been preparing to expose it.
“Teresa.”
“Yes?”
“I think Lillian wasn't the only target.”
Teresa looked at him.
“The insurance policies?”
Charles nodded.
“Maybe Warren doesn't want Lillian dead.”
“Then what does he want?”
Charles looked toward Lillian.
Her face was pale.
“He wants everyone to believe she died.”
Teresa frowned.
“What difference does that make?”
“So he can disappear with her identity.”
Silence.
Lillian suddenly whispered:
“Charles…”
He turned.
She was staring at the doorway.
“Someone is here.”
A shadow moved.
The door slowly opened.
A man entered.
Same height.
Same face.
Same gray eyes.
Warren Prescott.
But this time, Charles noticed something different.
The man's left hand was shaking.
Warren's never did.
He looked at Lillian.
Then at Charles.
“I didn't put the patch on her.”
Teresa raised her weapon.
“Hands where I can see them.”
He obeyed.
“I came here to warn you.”
“About what?”
He looked toward the hallway.
“My brother.”
Charles's heart stopped.
“Your brother is dead.”
The man gave a bitter smile.
“No.”
He reached into his coat.
Teresa tightened her grip.
“Slowly.”
He pulled out a photograph.
He placed it on the table.
It showed two identical men standing together.
One was Warren.
The other was the man in front of them.
On the back was a date.
And one sentence:
“Only one of us is supposed to survive.”
Charles looked at Lillian.
She was crying.
“His name isn't Warren,” she whispered.
Charles stared at her.
“Then who is he?”
She closed her eyes.
“The real Warren died twenty-five years ago.”
The man in front of them looked toward Charles.
“My name is Daniel Prescott.”
Then he said the words that shattered everything Charles thought he knew.
“And the man you've called your best friend for forty years…”
He paused.
“…has been living under my brother's name.”
Suddenly, the hospital lights went out.
In the darkness, a gunshot echoed.
When the emergency lights came back on—
Daniel was gone.
Teresa was bleeding from her shoulder.
And Lillian's bed was empty.
Only one thing remained on the floor.
A small rectangular patch.
With a single word printed across it:
DEXOPRALINE.
