Page 143 of The Bone Code
“Verner and Patrice Chalmers died in 1992. Both death certificates bear the same date, and both categorize manner of death as undetermined. An obit in theGlobeprovides no detail concerning the circumstances of their passing.”
“That’s not uncommon.”
“No.” I heard an unvoicedbut. Didn’t ask.
“You found her, Ryan. I’m sure of it. Melanie Judith Chalmers must be our Melanie Chalmers. Mélanie Chalamet.”
“One bitsy detail I haven’t mentioned. Melanie’s birth certificate provides her mother’s maiden name. Are you ready for it?”
“I’m warning you, bucko.”
“Patrice Sorg Chalmers.”
“Holy hell! Everything fits.”
“Like an Armani suit. Your food’s getting cold.”
I ate some more linguine, my mind pinwheeling. I returned to Ryan’s opening comment.
“You said something surprised you.”
“In 2000, the screen fades to black.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“Melanie Chalmers has absolutely no footprint after 2000.”
“Nothing?”
“Zero. Zip. Nada.Rien. There was no social media back then. Nevertheless, though meager, her early life left a trail. Her birth certificate, her parents’ death certificates, record of her high schoolgraduation, the yearbook, the files at American University and Tufts. Once Melanie moved north, it’s as if she ceased to exist.”
“She did change her name and go underground,” I said.
“In today’s cyber age, it’s almost impossible to disappear completely.”
“Melanie’s file disappeared from the InovoVax system.”
“That it did,” Ryan agreed.
I walked toward a building with the lettersHGPabove the entrance. It was dark. A sense of dread overcame me. As I drew close, doors slowly opened. I tried to turn away, but an unseen force pulled me forward. I tumbled over the threshold and plummeted into a tunnel dark as a crypt. I screamed. No sound left my throat.
I lay encased in a shiny white tube, pinpoints of light twinkling around me. I couldn’t move my head. I reached up. My hands were bound at my sides.
“Don’t move,” a tinny voice commanded.
“Why?”
“You’ll ruin everything.”
“I want out.”
“You know too much.”
I struggled to free myself.
The tube’s lid flew open.
I was on a shore, squinting and blinking into bright sunlight. Waves crashed against a rocky cliff to my left, receded with a sinuous hissing into the sea to my right. Spotting an irregularity far up the beach, I began running toward it. With each step, the sand closed around my boots. Black boots. Army boots. I leaned into my stride and pumped my arms. My feet dug deeper, but I made no progress.
