THE PATIENT IN ROOM 13
THE INVESTIGATION
Thursday, October 19th – 8:00 AM
The knock on her office door came at exactly eight o’clock.
Sloane had not slept. She had spent the night in her chair, her father’s journal in her lap, the list of names spread across her desk. The voices in her head were quiet but not silent. They murmured at the edges of her consciousness, a soft chorus of forgotten souls who were finally learning to rest.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened.
Two men stood in the hallway. They wore dark suits, white shirts, and ties the color of dried blood. Their faces were neutral, professional, but their eyes — their eyes were sharp. They had been watching her for longer than she knew.
“Dr. Vance,” the taller one said. “I’m Special Agent Mercer. This is Special Agent Hale. We’re with the Department of Health and Human Services. We need to ask you some questions about the deaths on the third floor.”
Sloane did not stand.
“Am I under investigation?”
“Not at this time. But we are reviewing the hospital’s protocols. Several patients have died under unusual circumstances. We understand you were involved in their treatment.”
“I was involved in their care, yes.”
“Can you tell us about your relationship with Patient Zero?”
Sloane leaned back in her chair.
“Patient Zero was a John Doe. He was admitted three weeks ago. Catatonic. Non-verbal. No identification. I spoke with him once, briefly, before his death.”
“What did you discuss?”
“I asked him how he was feeling. He didn’t respond.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Mercer and Hale exchanged a glance.
“Dr. Vance, we have reason to believe that you entered a sealed area of the hospital last night. The basement. Room 13.”
Sloane’s heart rate did not change.
“I was in the basement, yes. I was looking for old patient files.”
“Did you find any?”
“I found several. They were from the 1970s and 1980s. Patients who were treated in Room 13.”
“And what did you learn from those files?”
Sloane looked at the two men.
She could lie. She could tell them she had found nothing. She could protect herself, protect the hospital, protect the secrets that had been buried for decades.
But she was tired of lying.
“I learned that Room 13 is not a normal hospital room. I learned that patients who were treated there died at a higher rate than patients on other floors. I learned that the hospital administration has been covering up those deaths for forty years.”
Mercer’s face tightened.
“Dr. Vance, I’m going to ask you to come with us.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“You are being detained for questioning. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney.”
Sloane stood up.
She picked up her father’s journal.
“I’m not going anywhere without my lawyer.”
“You can call your lawyer from the car.”
“I can call my lawyer from here.”
Mercer stepped forward.
Sloane did not flinch.
“Special Agent Mercer, I have been a forensic psychologist for fifteen years. I have testified in dozens of criminal cases. I know my rights. I know the law. And I know that you do not have a warrant for my arrest.”
Mercer’s jaw tightened.
“Dr. Vance, we are trying to help you.”
“You are trying to silence me. There’s a difference.”
Hale stepped between them.
“Dr. Vance, no one is trying to silence you. We are trying to understand what happened to those patients. We are trying to prevent it from happening again.”
“Then let me help you. Let me show you what I found.”
Mercer shook his head.
“We can’t. The files you found are hospital property. You had no right to take them.”
“I had every right. I am a doctor at this hospital. Those files are part of my patient records.”
“Room 13 was sealed by court order. Those files are under seal.”
“Then unseal them.”
Mercer and Hale exchanged another glance.
“We’ll be in touch, Dr. Vance.”
They turned and walked out of the office.
Sloane watched them go.
She had won this round.
But the war was just beginning.
The voices in her head were agitated.
“They will be back,” Marian said. “They will not stop. They cannot stop. Someone sent them.”
“The hospital administration.”
“Or someone higher. Someone who has been protecting the Watcher for decades.”
“The Watcher doesn’t need protection anymore.”
“The Watcher is not the only secret buried in this hospital.”
Sloane walked to the window.
The parking lot was full of cars. The sun was bright. The sky was blue.
But she could see the shadows.
They were still there. At the edges. Waiting.
“The investigation will not stop you,” the tree whispered. “The agents will not stop you. The administration will not stop you. You are the Keeper. You are the memory. You are the truth.”
“And what is the truth?”
“The truth is that the forgetting must end. The buried must rise. The silenced must speak.”
“And if I fail?”
“You will not fail. You cannot fail. You are not alone.”
Sloane turned from the window.
She had work to do.
She spent the morning in her office, reviewing the patient files she had taken from the archives. The list of names was longer than she remembered. Dozens of patients who had died in the psych ward over the past forty years. Dozens of families who had been told lies.
Dozens of stories that had never been told.
She picked up her phone.
She dialed the first number on the list.
A woman answered.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Holloway? My name is Dr. Sloane Vance. I’m a psychologist at Meridian Psychiatric Hospital. I’m calling about your daughter, Greta.”
The woman was silent.
“My daughter has been dead for twenty years.”
“Greta is not dead. She is a patient at this hospital. She has been here for twenty years.”
“That’s not possible. We were told she died. We had a funeral. We buried an empty casket.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Holloway. But your daughter is alive. She has been here the whole time.”
The woman began to weep.
Sloane held the phone and listened.
She made twelve calls that morning.
Twelve families who had been told their loved ones were dead.
Twelve families who had buried empty caskets.
Twelve families who had been forgotten.
By noon, her voicemail was full.
By one o’clock, the hospital’s switchboard was overwhelmed.
By two o’clock, the news trucks had arrived.
Sloane stood at her window, looking down at the parking lot. Reporters shouted questions at the hospital’s security guards. Cameras filmed the entrance. The world was waking up to the truth.
“You have done it,” Marian said. “You have opened the door.”
“I have opened many doors.”
“This one cannot be closed.”
Sloane watched the reporters.
She watched the cameras.
She watched the world begin to remember.