“We will.”
Before he could say more, an orderly arrived to take me for imaging.
The scan showed three fractures around my left eye, a broken cheekbone, and a deep laceration that required surgery.
But the ophthalmologist brought the first small mercy of the night.
“My preliminary examination suggests your eye itself is intact,” he said. “The swelling and bleeding are affecting your vision, but I believe there is a strong chance it will return.”
Wyatt exhaled like a man surfacing from deep water.
I closed my right eye.
For the first time since the brick struck me, hope entered the room.
It lasted less than a minute.
When we returned to the treatment area, a hospital volunteer was waiting near my door.
She was an elderly woman with silver hair and kind eyes. In her hands was a cream-colored envelope.
“Are you Sadie Davis?”
“Yes.”
“A gentleman asked me to give this to you.”
“What gentleman?”
“He wouldn’t give his name. He seemed nervous.”
Wyatt took the envelope before anyone else could touch it.
“Where is he?”
“He left through the main entrance.”
“What did he look like?”
“Older. Gray coat. He walked with a cane.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“Was he the man from my parents’ house?”
“I wouldn’t know, dear.”
Wyatt examined the envelope. My name was written across the front in shaky blue ink.
There was no return address.
Detective Beckett arrived as Wyatt opened it.
Inside was a faded business card belonging to an estate attorney named Samuel Grayson.
On the back were six handwritten words:
