PART 2— THE MARKS UNDER THE SCARS
Hailey’s windpipe clamped shut.
For several seconds, neither woman moved.
The bathroom seemed to shrink around them.
The fluorescent light above their heads hummed faintly, casting a sickly glow across Edith’s ruined skin.
Hailey had seen injuries before.
During her brief nursing training, she had witnessed surgical wounds, pressure sores, burns, even injuries caused by domestic violence.
But this was different.
These scars had not come from one accident.
They had been created deliberately.
Repeatedly.
Over years.
Hailey stepped closer.
“Oh my God…”
Edith immediately reached for her shirt.
“No.”
Hailey stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t pity me.”
“I don’t.”
Edith looked over her shoulder.
“What do you feel?”
Hailey swallowed.
“Anger.”
For the first time, Edith’s expression softened.
“Good.”
She slowly lowered her shirt.
“Anger means you still understand that what happened to me was wrong.”
Hailey stared at her.
“Who did this?”
Edith walked toward the bed.
She sat down heavily.
“My husband.”
Hailey’s stomach tightened.
“Walter?”
Edith nodded.
“But Walter Ledbetter died twenty years ago.”
“So everyone believes.”
Hailey frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Edith reached beneath her mattress and pulled out a small envelope.
It was yellowed with age.
“There are things people can bury,” she whispered.
“Bodies. Documents. Memories.”
She placed the envelope in Hailey’s hands.
“But they cannot bury everything.”
Hailey opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A much younger Edith stood beside Walter outside a massive brick building.
Behind them was a sign:
LEDBETTER INDUSTRIES — PRIVATE RESEARCH FACILITY
Hailey turned the photograph over.
A date was written on the back.
September 1987.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because that building is where these scars began.”
Hailey looked at her.
“What happened there?”
Edith’s eyes became distant.
“Walter had a program.”
“A medical program?”
“No.”
She paused.
“A financial one.”
Hailey frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
“He found elderly people who had money, property, investments. People without trustworthy families.”
Edith’s voice trembled.
“He would arrange for them to be declared mentally incompetent.”
Hailey’s face hardened.
“Then he took control of their assets.”
“Yes.”
“Through guardianship?”
“Exactly.”
Hailey looked down at the photograph.
“And you found out.”
“I helped build the system.”
The confession hit harder than anything else.
“You?”
Edith nodded.
“I was his wife. I handled his correspondence. I knew every account. Every company.”
She closed her eyes.
“At first, I believed it was legitimate.”
“And then?”
“I discovered people were disappearing.”
Hailey whispered:
“What people?”
“Clients.”
Edith’s fingers trembled.
“They would enter one of Walter’s facilities. A few weeks later, their families were told they had suffered a mental breakdown.”
“And their money?”
“Transferred.”
“To Walter?”
“To shell companies.”
Hailey stared at her.
“How many?”
Edith looked at her.
“Seventy-three.”
Hailey felt sick.
“Seventy-three people?”
“Seventy-three families.”
She reached for the envelope again.
“There were more.”
Hailey turned another photograph over.
This one showed a row of elderly men and women sitting in wheelchairs.
Every face had been blacked out with ink.
“What is this?”
“Evidence.”
“Why hide it?”
“Because Walter found me.”
Hailey looked at the scars again.
“He did this to you?”
“He wanted the evidence.”
“Where was it?”
Edith slowly touched the center of her back.
“Here.”
Hailey froze.
“What?”
“Walter tattooed a series of numbers onto my skin.”
Hailey stared.
“Why?”
“Because he believed I had memorized the location of every account.”
She shook her head.
“He was wrong.”
“Then why the scars?”
“Because I refused to tell him.”
Hailey felt tears sting her eyes.
“What happened to the evidence?”
Edith smiled faintly.
“I hid it where he would never think to look.”
“Where?”
Edith looked directly at her.
“Inside my own skin.”
Hailey’s breath caught.
“Your scars…”
Edith nodded.
“Some of the numbers are still there.”
Hailey stepped closer.
She examined the skin carefully.
At first, all she saw were scars.
Then something strange appeared beneath the distorted tissue.
Tiny dark marks.
A sequence.
Three digits.
Then a letter.
Then another number.
Hailey whispered:
“C-17.”
Edith immediately grabbed her wrist.
“Never say that aloud.”
Hailey looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because someone is listening.”
The room went silent.
Hailey glanced toward the ceiling.
“Who?”
Edith pointed toward the smoke detector.
Hailey stared at it.
Then at the air vent.
Then at the bedside clock.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying Oakridge was never just a nursing home.”
Hailey felt a chill spread through her body.
“It was built to watch people.”
“Watch who?”
“People like me.”
Edith leaned forward.
“And people like you.”
Hailey’s heart skipped.
“Why me?”
Edith’s eyes filled with fear.
“I don’t know.”
She reached beneath the mattress again.
This time she pulled out a folded piece of paper.
Hailey opened it.
Her own name was printed across the top.
HAILEY MORGAN — EMPLOYEE PROFILE
Below it was a photograph.
Hailey as a child.
Eight years old.
Standing beside her mother.
Hailey stared at the picture.
“That’s impossible.”
Edith whispered:
“No.”
Hailey looked up.
“What?”
“It means they have been watching you much longer than I realized.”
A sudden metallic click came from the hallway.
Both women froze.
Someone had stopped outside the door.
Then a man’s voice came through.
“Mrs. Ledbetter?”
Hailey recognized it immediately.
Carter.
Edith’s face drained of color.
She whispered:
“Hide the paper.”
Hailey stuffed it into her uniform.
The door handle slowly began to turn.
Edith grabbed Hailey’s arm.
“Whatever happens…”
Her voice broke.
“Do not let my son see your back.”
The door opened.
And Carter stepped inside.
