THE PATIENT IN ROOM 13
THE EPILOGUE
Five Years Later
The cemetery was quiet on the spring morning, the sun warm on the grass, the birds singing in the old oak trees. Sloane stood at the edge of the graveyard, watching as Cora Delaney led a group of young volunteers through the stones.
They had uncovered more graves in the past five years. Dozens more. Hundreds more. The list of names had grown from fifty-seven to over three hundred. The forgotten children were being remembered, one by one.
Sloane walked to her father’s grave.
She knelt.
“Dad. It’s been five years. I’ve been busy.”
The grave did not answer.
But the voices in her head stirred.
“He would be proud,” Marian said.
“I hope so.”
“He would be proud of the work you have done. Of the lives you have touched. Of the children you have remembered.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You could have. You are stronger than you know.”
Sloane stood.
She walked to the old oak tree.
Cora was there, kneeling by a new grave.
“Who is this?” Sloane asked.
“Eleanor Cross. My grandmother. She died last week.”
Sloane’s heart ached.
“I’m sorry.”
“She was at peace. She knew she was remembered.”
Cora stood.
“She left you something. In her will.”
“What?”
“A letter. She said you would understand.”
Cora handed her an envelope.
Sloane opened it.
“Dear Sloane,
If you are reading this, I am gone. I have made my peace with the past. I have made my peace with the Watcher. I have made my peace with the children.
Thank you for remembering me. Thank you for remembering my story. Thank you for remembering the others.
You have given me a gift that I can never repay. You have given me my name. My memory. My legacy.
I am not afraid of dying. I am not afraid of being forgotten. Because I know that you will remember me.
With love,
Eleanor”
Sloane folded the letter.
She looked at the grave.
“Goodbye, Eleanor. Thank you for trusting me.”
The wind blew.
The birds sang.
The sun shone.
Sloane walked away.