THE SISTER’S PLEA
The sister’s name was Rachel Bennett.
Maya found her at a coffee shop in Hartford, the day after Clara’s funeral. Rachel was younger than she expected—late twenties, with dark circles under her eyes and a trembling hand that couldn’t quite steady her cup.
“You’re the reporter,” Rachel said. “The one who wrote about Clara.”
Maya nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“She didn’t kill herself.”
Maya sat down. “What makes you say that?”
Rachel set down her cup. Her hands were shaking so badly that coffee sloshed over the rim.
“Clara wasn’t depressed. I mean, she had bad days—everyone has bad days. But she wasn’t suicidal. She was planning a trip. She had just planted a garden. She was talking about adopting a cat.”
“People who are suicidal often hide it.”
“I know. I’ve read the articles. I’ve watched the PSAs. But Clara wasn’t hiding. She was my sister. I knew her.” Rachel’s eyes filled with tears. “She was scared of something. The last time I talked to her, she said someone was watching her. Someone she trusted.”
“Who?”
“She wouldn’t say. She said I wouldn’t believe her. She said everyone loved him.”
Maya’s heart pounded. “Dr. Vance?”
Rachel looked up. “You know about him?”
“I’m learning.”
“He’s everywhere. At the funeral. At the memorial. On the news. He called me the night Clara died. Offered his condolences. Offered to help with the arrangements. He was so… kind.”
“Too kind?”
Rachel nodded slowly. “That’s what Clara said. She said he was too kind. Too perfect. Too interested in her dreams.”
“What dreams?”
“Bridge dreams. She kept dreaming about the Mercy Bridge. She said he asked her about them every session. Encouraged her to talk about them. To explore them.”
Maya’s blood ran cold.
“How long was she seeing him?”
“Six weeks. Her doctor referred her. Said it would help with her anxiety.”
“Dr. Marcus Webb?”
Rachel’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
Maya didn’t answer.
She stood up.
“Rachel, I need you to write down everything Clara told you about Dr. Vance. Every session. Every conversation. Every dream. Can you do that?”
“I don’t—”
“Please. It might be important.”
Rachel nodded slowly.
She pulled out her phone and began typing.
Maya walked outside.
The rain had stopped. The sky was clearing.
But she felt colder than before.