Chapter 16 - THE LAST CANDIDATE
Robert was in custody.
His program was supposedly dismantled.
So who sent the photograph?
Hayes reopened the candidate list.
Thirty-two numbers existed in Robert's notebook.
Candidate Thirty-Three appeared nowhere.
The anonymous note could be a hoax.
Then Valerie called.
Her voice shook.
“I know what thirty-three means.”
It was not another child.
It was an embryo.
Robert's final planned research subject.
Created through the same fertility clinic.
Stored before the investigation collapsed.
Rachel went cold.
“Mine?”
Valerie hesitated.
“Yes.”
The embryo had been created using Rachel's reproductive material and an unidentified donor.
Robert labeled it Candidate Thirty-Three.
The clinic records claimed it had been destroyed.
Valerie did not believe them.
Maya asked the crucial question.
“Where is it?”
The fertility clinic's storage facility had transferred tanks during bankruptcy.
Documentation was incomplete.
An embryo legally and biologically connected to Rachel might still exist.
The problem was not a future child lurking mysteriously somewhere.
It was consent.
Ownership.
Whether genetic material taken through fraud could remain in storage, be sold, transferred, or used.
Rachel filed emergency injunctions.
The court froze all remaining biological materials from Parker-associated research.
After two weeks, Candidate Thirty-Three was located.
Still frozen.
Unused.
Rachel sat in court as attorneys debated terminology.
Property.
Tissue.
Embryo.
Research material.
She hated every phrase.
Ultimately she received authority over disposition because her genetic material had been obtained and used without valid consent.
The decision was hers.
She chose not to implant.
Not to donate for research.
She chose medically supervised destruction after statutory waiting periods.
Some criticized her.
Others praised her.
Rachel ignored both.
“No one gets to make this decision except me.”
That was the point.
Candidate Thirty-Three never became another secret person.
It became the final evidence of how far Robert's control had extended.
The anonymous package remained unexplained until Sarah recognized the handwriting.
Elaine Foster.
Emma's old neurologist.
She had sent the photograph because she feared calling police again.
Maya confronted her.
“You should have come forward.”
“I know.”
Everyone in this story seemed to arrive at that sentence eventually.
Elaine cooperated fully afterward.
Candidate Thirty-Three closed the research case.
But Emma's recovery had only begun.
She developed nightmares.
Food hoarding.
Panic around medical visits.
She screamed when a school nurse tried to take her temperature.
Rachel did not force improvement.
Therapists helped.
Sarah accompanied appointments.
Dr. Miller let Emma control simple things.
“Which arm?”
“Do you want the door open?”
“Want me to explain first?”
Choice rebuilt what control had damaged.
One afternoon Emma returned to the emergency department.
Not as a patient.
Sarah brought her.
The rusty wheelbarrow remained in evidence storage.
Hayes had arranged permission for her to see it before it was released.
Emma stared at the rusted handles.
“So ugly.”
Sarah laughed.
“It is.”
“I hate it.”
“You can.”
Emma touched the handle.
“It saved them.”
“You saved them.”
Emma shook her head.
“We both did.”
Sarah did not argue.
The wheelbarrow had been a tool.
Emma had been the courage.
Later the hospital offered to display it in a charity campaign.
Rachel declined.
Emma should not become a mascot for trauma.
Instead, after the case ended, they gave it to Emma.
She had an idea.
They sanded it.
Repaired the wheel.
Painted it bright yellow.
Then filled it with flowers.
For the first time, the object that carried two silent newborns into an ER looked like something meant for living things.
Emma placed it beside the front porch.
Every morning she checked the flowers.
One evening Rachel found her sitting beside it.
“What are you thinking?”
Emma shrugged.
“Nothing.”
Rachel sat.
After a while Emma asked:
“Am I still Candidate Seventeen?”
Rachel's eyes filled.
“No.”
“What am I?”
Rachel smiled.
“Emma.”
The girl considered that.
“Just Emma?”
“If you want.”
Emma leaned against her.
“Good.”
But inside the house, Rachel's phone began ringing.
It was the prison.
Robert Parker had requested to speak with her.
For the first time since sentencing.
May you like
Rachel stared at the number.
Then answered.
