The Genius Doctor's Perfect Fake Death

The morning sun cut through the thick Manhattan fog, casting long, bright beams of light across the polished marble floors of the St. Jude Medical Center lobby. Alivia walked briskly down the main corridor. She wore a crisp, perfectly pressed white lab coat over her navy scrubs. In her hands, she held Theodore Duncan’s latest blood work reports. Her eyes were glued to the numbers, her mind calculating the exact dosage of anesthetics needed for the upcoming surgery. At the exact same time, walking toward her from the opposite end of the intersecting hallway, was a middle-aged nanny holding the hand of a small boy. Julian. Julian was wearing a small gray sweater. His face was pale, and his gray-blue eyes darted nervously around the busy hospital. The nightmares from the previous night had left him highly agitated. He was scheduled for his weekly trauma therapy session in the pediatric wing. Suddenly, the heavy black walkie-talkie clipped to the nanny’s belt blared to life with an urgent, static-filled dispatch from the estate’s security detail. Startled by the sudden noise, she instinctively let go of Julian’s hand for exactly one second to press the communication button and lower the volume. In that exact, fatal second of distraction, a hospital janitor pushed a massive, squeaky metal laundry cart out from a blind corner. The harsh, grating screech of the wheels against the linoleum echoed like gunfire in the corridor. The sudden, chaotic noise violently triggered Julian’s deeply ingrained trauma. Panic flashed in the boy’s eyes. He bolted. He ran blindly around the corner, his small sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. Alivia was turning the corner, her eyes still locked on the medical file. Thud. Julian crashed headfirst into Alivia’s legs. The impact was hard enough to knock the breath out of the small boy. He bounced off her knees and fell hard onto his bottom. Alivia gasped. The folders slipped from her hands, papers scattering across the floor. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Alivia said immediately. She dropped to her knees, reaching out to check if the child was hurt. Her hands gently grasped his small shoulders. Julian looked up. Alivia’s heart stopped beating. The blood in her veins turned to ice. She stared into a pair of large, striking gray-blue eyes. They were the exact same shade, the exact same shape, as Collis Duncan’s. But it wasn’t just the eyes. It was the slope of his nose, the curve of his jaw. It was a miniature, innocent version of the monster who haunted her nightmares. But beneath the terror of recognizing Collis in the boy’s face, something else hit her. A violent, inexplicable pull in her chest. A deep, agonizing ache that felt like her soul was trying to rip itself out of her body to reach him. Her hands froze on his shoulders. Her fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. She couldn’t breathe. “Julian! Oh, thank heavens!” The nanny came rushing around the corner, her face flushed with panic. She dropped to her knees next to Alivia and reached for the boy. “I am so sorry, Doctor,” the nanny babbled, trying to pull Julian up. “The young master gets so frightened by loud noises. Come on, Julian, let’s go.” The young master. The words hit Alivia like a physical blow to the stomach. Collis’s son. The realization was a rusty knife twisting violently in her gut. Five years ago, she had given birth in a filthy medical tent, surrounded by blood and fire. Her baby had burned to ashes. And Collis? Collis had moved on. He had found another woman. He had built a family. He had a beautiful, living son, while hers was nothing but dust in the Syrian desert. The betrayal, the profound injustice of it all, shattered the icy wall she had built around her heart. Tears instantly flooded her eyes, blurring her vision. She tried to pull her hands back. She needed to stand up. She needed to run to a bathroom and vomit. But Julian didn’t move. Instead of letting the nanny pull him away, Julian reached out with his small, pale hand. His tiny fingers clamped down hard on the crisp white fabric of Alivia’s lab coat. He gripped it with terrifying strength. “Julian, let go,” the nanny pleaded, pulling his arm. “You’re bothering the doctor.” Julian ignored her. He stared directly into Alivia’s tear-filled eyes. His own eyes were wide, filled with a desperate, silent pleading. Alivia looked down at the small hand clutching her coat. A sob caught in her throat. “It’s… it’s okay,” Alivia choked out, her voice raw and shaking. She looked at the boy, a tear slipping down her cheek and landing on the back of his hand. “Please, sweetheart. You have to let go.” Julian stared at the tear on his hand. He reached his free hand into the pocket of his sweater. He pulled out a small, laminated white card. It was a flashcard, the kind used by speech therapists for non-verbal children. He held the card up, pushing it right into Alivia’s line of sight. Drawn on the card in messy, uneven black crayon was a crude stick-figure of a woman with long dark hair. Beneath the drawing, written in shaky, oversized childish letters, was a single word he had clearly practiced a hundred times. MAMA. Julian pointed a trembling finger at the drawing, and then immediately pointed straight at Alivia’s face. The world stopped spinning. The ambient noise of the hospital vanished. Alivia stared at the letters. The words burned into her retinas. It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck her directly in the chest. Her breath left her in a sharp, painful gasp. She was completely paralyzed. “Julian. Come here.” The voice was low, cold, and echoed with absolute authority down the hallway. Alivia’s blood ran cold. She slowly turned her head. Standing twenty feet away, dressed in a sharp black suit, was Collis. His dark eyes were fixed on them, his expression unreadable, but the air around him was lethal. Julian flinched at the sound of his father’s voice. His small fingers slowly, reluctantly uncurled from Alivia’s coat. Alivia scrambled backward. She practically threw herself onto her feet, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand in a frantic, desperate motion. She turned to face the man who had destroyed her life, her heart bleeding from a wound she didn’t even fully understand.