Your mother brought you through the rear entrance approximately forty minutes ago.”
Images came back in fragments.
A coffin.
A dark van.
Hands lifting me.
Someone whispering.
Dr.
Benson continued.
“You were heavily sedated.
There are indications of another medication that suppressed your responsiveness and slowed your breathing.
It would have been dangerous even without anything else happening.”
“Could it make me look dead?”
“Not reliably.”
She exchanged a look with my mother.
“That’s the important part.”
I understood.
“They knew I wasn’t dead.”
Dr.
Benson nodded slowly.
“Whoever certified your death either did not examine you properly…”
She paused.
“…or did not intend to.”
My skin prickled.
“Who signed it?”
My mother answered.
“Dr.
Ellis Crane.”
I knew him.
Everyone in Ashport knew him.
He had delivered Sabine.
He had treated my mother’s blood pressure for years.
He played golf with Preston twice a month.
I tried to sit up.
