The Dead Wife's Spectacular Secret Return

The heavy tires of the black Lincoln Navigator crushed the dry autumn leaves against the pavement. The SUV came to a harsh stop outside the main entrance of St. Jude Medical Center. A valet in a red uniform rushed forward and pulled the door handle. It did not budge. The internal lock held firm. Inside the quiet cabin, Catherine Clarke stared at the frosted glass of the hospital doors. Her lungs felt tight, as if someone had wrapped a leather belt around her chest and pulled it to the last notch. She pressed her thumb hard against the knuckle of her index finger, digging the nail in until a sharp pain grounded her. She shoved the heavy door open. The biting Boston wind hit her face, smelling of exhaust fumes and damp earth. It was the smell of the city she had run away from. Catherine stepped onto the beige tiles of the emergency drop-off zone. Her black heels clicked sharply against the ground. A blaring siren drowned out the sound of her footsteps. Two paramedics sprinted past her, pushing a blood-soaked stretcher. The wheels hit a puddle of muddy water, sending a spray of dirty liquid straight toward her beige trench coat. Catherine shifted her weight and took a precise step back. The mud missed her by an inch. Her eyes locked onto the patient on the stretcher. Bright red blood pulsed from a wound on the man's neck, shooting upward in a steady, terrifying rhythm. The ER doctor on duty rushed to the stretcher. He grabbed a wad of gauze and slammed it against the neck, but the arterial pressure was immense. The gauze was instantly soaked, slipping on the slick blood as he struggled to locate the exact point of the rupture in the chaotic pulsing. Another spray of red hit the screen of the defibrillator nearby. Catherine pulled her arms out of her trench coat and tossed it backward. The valet caught it. She crossed the yellow emergency line. "Ma'am, you can't be back here!" a charge nurse yelled, stepping in front of her with her arms out. Catherine did not stop. She locked eyes with the nurse. Her stare was dead and freezing cold. The nurse froze, her arms dropping slightly. Catherine stepped around her and reached the operating table. She snatched the hemostat right out of the ER doctor's trembling hand. She did not hesitate. She pushed her bare fingers into the torn, slippery flesh of the neck wound. She found the pulsing artery by touch, clamped the hemostat down hard, and locked it. The bleeding stopped instantly. The ER doctor stared at her, his mouth hanging open. "Who the hell are you?" he stammered. "You are losing the angle because the pressure is blinding the field," Catherine said. Her voice was flat and carried a distinct, clipped French accent. "Clamp the proximal end first before he bleeds out." Eleanor Thorne, an administrative assistant, pushed through the crowd of stunned nurses. She was hugging a tablet to her chest and breathing hard. She saw Catherine standing over the bloodied table. Catherine handed the hemostat back to the doctor. She took a sterile towel from a tray and slowly wiped the thick blood from her fingers. "Everyone," Eleanor said, her voice squeaking. "This is Dr. Clarke. The new Dean of Medicine. From Europe." The air in the trauma bay vanished. The medical staff stood completely still. Catherine tossed the bloody towel into a red biohazard bin. She looked at the silent room. "I want the head of the ER in my office in ten minutes," Catherine said. She turned and walked toward the private elevators. Eleanor jogged to keep up with her, quickly retrieving the beige trench coat from the valet and draping it securely over her own arm as she followed. The elevator doors slid shut, cutting off the noise of the emergency room. The elevator chimed and opened on the top floor. Catherine stepped out. She looked at the oil paintings of past deans lining the walls. Her eyes stopped for a fraction of a second on a blank space near the end, then moved on. Eleanor pushed open the heavy mahogany double doors. "This is your office, Dr. Clarke. You have a great view of the Boston skyline." Catherine walked straight to the massive floor-to-ceiling window. She looked down at the city. Her jaw was locked so tight her teeth ached. Eleanor stood by the desk and read from her tablet. "Here is your schedule. Also, I should mention the VIP wing. We have a very special patient staying with us. The security is extremely tight." Catherine's finger stopped moving on the edge of the desk. The sharp edge of the wood dug into her skin, leaving a white line. "What is the patient's last name?" Catherine asked. She kept her voice perfectly level. Eleanor lowered her voice to a whisper. "Sinclair. The Sinclair family. Their security team treats this hospital like a military base." Catherine's heart slammed against her ribs. It beat so fast it made her dizzy. She closed the file folder on her desk. "Cancel all my non-essential meetings for the morning." Eleanor looked confused. "But the board members are waiting to meet you." Catherine raised a hand, stopping her. "I need to review the financial reports. Now. Please leave." Eleanor nodded quickly and hurried out of the room. Catherine waited. She heard the heavy wooden door shut. She heard the metal lock click into place. The mask shattered. Catherine slumped against the edge of the desk. She gasped for air, her chest heaving. Her legs felt like water. She stumbled around the desk and pulled open the bottom drawer. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely grip the handle. She reached into a hidden compartment at the very back. Her fingers found the cold metal of an old silver pocket watch. She pulled it out and pressed the latch. The cover popped open. Inside was a faded, yellowed photograph of a newborn baby. Catherine traced the baby's cheek with her trembling thumb. A hot tear fell from her eye and hit the glass of the watch face. It blurred the baby's smile. On the desk, the red light of the internal VIP security phone began to flash. A loud, piercing ring shattered the silence of the office. Catherine jumped, snapping the watch shut.