Chapter 3 - The Meeting of the Lost
The pediatric waiting room at Detroit General Hospital was cold and smelled of floor cleaner and old anxiety.
Laya sat in a vinyl chair, her legs dangling far above the floor. She held a plastic cup of lukewarm water, her green eyes fixed on the double doors that led to the emergency ward. Every time a doctor in scrubs walked through, she tensed, her small hands gripping the vinyl until her knuckles turned white.
A shadow fell over her.
Laya looked up. Standing in front of her was a man taller than anyone she had ever seen. He wore a long, dark coat that looked like soft soot, and his face was very pale, but his eyes were kind. They were a strange, deep dark brown, almost black, but they looked at her with a look she had never seen from a stranger before.
It was a look of respect.
"Laya?" the man asked, his voice low and soft, like the quiet engine of a big car.
She nodded slowly. "Are you the man who lost the suitcase?"
Julian Cross slowly knelt down on the linoleum floor, completely ignoring the dust and the dampness of the hospital ground. He looked at her mismatched boots, her frayed coat, and the proud, defensive way she held herself.
"I am Julian," he said. "And the money wasn't lost, Laya. But you did something very brave by bringing it back."
"I wanted to keep it," Laya said, her voice dropping to a guilty whisper. "I thought... I thought if I took just one of those green papers, I could buy the medicine with the red writing for my mom. But my mom said if you take things that aren't yours, the bad luck stays in your pocket."
Julian felt a lump form in his throat. This child had more integrity in her little finger than the entire board of directors of his multinational conglomerate.
"Your mom is a very wise woman, Laya," Julian said gently. "And because you were honest, I have some news for you. The doctors have already given your mother the medicine. She is in a warm bed, and she is going to be okay. I paid for it."
Laya’s eyes went wide. She dropped her plastic cup, her small hands flying to her mouth. "You... you bought the medicine? The eighty-dollar one?"
"The best one they have," Julian said, a genuine smile touching his lips for the first time in three years. "And she can stay in this warm hospital until she is completely strong again. You don't have to collect any more bottles, Laya."
Laya looked at him, her eyes filling with big, heavy tears. Suddenly, she lunged forward, throwing her small arms around his neck. She was cold, she smelled of wet snow and copper scrap, but Julian held her tightly, his large hand cradling her back.
As he held the shivering child, Arthur Pendelton stepped into the waiting room, his face grim. He caught Julian’s eye and gave a small, negative shake of his head.
Julian’s heart sank. He gently pulled back from Laya. "Laya, I need to talk to my friend for a second. Will you stay here and eat some cookies that the nurse is bringing?"
Laya nodded, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Okay."
Julian stood up, his face hardening as he walked over to Arthur. "What is it?"
"We just got a message on the secure line, Julian," Arthur said in a low whisper. "The kidnappers realized the money was gone. They know the police have it. And they sent a photo to show they aren't bluffing."
Arthur turned his tablet toward Julian. On the screen was a live video stream of a small, darkened room. In the corner sat a five-year-old girl with curly brown hair, clutching a stuffed bear.
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It was Clara Cross. Julian’s daughter.
And beneath the video was a single line of text: You have twelve hours to get the money back from the police. Or she dies.
