Chapter 3 - The Woman Behind the Red Door
Midnight came with the sound of church bells.
Alexander heard them as he climbed the wooded slope behind Blackthorn Rehabilitation Center.
Twelve distant strikes.
Twelve reminders that he had failed to reach Isabelle before the transfer deadline.
But he refused to believe that meant she was gone.
Not yet.
The medical complex rose behind a high stone wall, its windows dark except for a narrow strip of light near the eastern wing.
Alexander approached the third service gate.
The lock was old.
Mechanical.
Exactly as Adrian had said.
He inserted the key.
It turned.
For one strange moment, Alexander felt his father's presence more clearly than he had since the funeral.
Edward had left him a way inside.
Perhaps because he'd known Alexander would eventually need one.
The gate opened onto a gravel pathway.
Alexander moved through the darkness until he reached a loading entrance.
A delivery truck stood beside the building.
Its rear doors were open.
Two men in dark uniforms were loading medical equipment into crates.
Alexander crouched behind a row of metal containers.
He listened.
“Where's the woman?”
“Downstairs.”
“I thought the order said midnight.”
“It did.”
“Then why is she still here?”
A third man emerged from the building.
“Because the boy got away from his escort.”
Alexander's heart lurched.
Henry.
“Has he been found?” one of the men asked.
“Not yet.”
“Then what are we supposed to do with her?”
“Move her when Harrow gives the signal.”
Alexander slowly exhaled.
Isabelle was still inside.
And Henry had escaped.
He waited until the men turned toward the truck.
Then he slipped through the loading entrance.
The corridor smelled of disinfectant and damp concrete.
He passed a supply room.
A laundry station.
A locked pharmacy.
At the far end, an elevator displayed a red light beside the letter B.
Basement.
Alexander pressed the button.
Nothing.
He tried again.
A voice spoke behind him.
“You need a staff badge.”
He turned.
A nurse stood several feet away.
She was in her early fifties, with tired eyes and gray hair pulled beneath a surgical cap.
Alexander immediately recognized her expression.
She knew who he was.
He raised his hands slightly.
“I'm not here to hurt anyone.”
The nurse looked toward the hallway.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“Isabelle Hart is in this building.”
Her face changed.
Alexander stepped closer.
“Please.”
The nurse's eyes filled with tears.
“They said you'd never come.”
“Who?”
“All of them.”
“What happened to her?”
The nurse glanced toward a security camera.
“Not here.”
She led him into a storage room and closed the door.
“My name is Dr. Sarah Bennett.”
Alexander stared.
“A doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you dressed as a nurse?”
“Because they revoked my medical privileges this morning.”
“Why?”
“I refused to sign her final transfer.”
Alexander felt something tighten in his throat.
“Is she alive?”
Sarah looked at him.
“Yes.”
The relief nearly brought him to his knees.
“Where?”
“Sublevel two.”
“Take me to her.”
The doctor shook her head.
“You need to understand what you're walking into.”
“I don't need anything except my family.”
Sarah studied him.
For a moment, she seemed to be deciding whether to trust the desperate man in front of her.
Then she spoke.
“Isabelle has been kept under involuntary medical confinement for eleven years.”
Alexander leaned against a shelf.
“She was initially admitted with severe injuries after the incident at Blackthorn Bridge.”
“What injuries?”
“A fractured pelvis. Two broken ribs. A concussion. A significant spinal injury.”
Alexander closed his eyes.
“She was in the river?”
“No.”
He opened them.
Sarah lowered her voice.
“She never went into the river.”
Alexander stared.
“Then what happened?”
“Her car was intercepted before it reached the bridge.”
“By whom?”
“I don't know everyone involved.”
“Tell me what you know.”
Sarah hesitated.
“Her medical file records a collision.”
“Was there one?”
“Yes.”
“Who caused it?”
“We were told she had attempted to escape an authorized security escort.”
Alexander's hands curled into fists.
“Authorized by whom?”
Sarah didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
He looked toward the elevator.
“Open it.”
“Your Highness—”
“Please.”
Sarah reached into her pocket.
She produced a badge.
“I can get you downstairs.”
They entered the elevator.
As it descended, Sarah continued.
“Isabelle was heavily sedated during her initial recovery.”
“Why?”
“Officially, because she was combative.”
“Was she?”
“She kept asking for you.”
Alexander stared at the floor.
Sarah's voice softened.
“Eventually, she stopped asking.”
Something inside him broke.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
It simply gave way.
For eleven years, Isabelle had believed he knew where she was.
For eleven years, someone had told her he didn't want her.
He had been standing at memorial ceremonies while she was lying beneath a building that bore the same name as the place where she had supposedly died.
The elevator opened.
A sterile corridor stretched ahead.
Only three doors were visible.
Two were gray.
The last was red.
Alexander stopped.
Henry's voice returned to him.
Daddy, I found the red door.
Sarah followed his gaze.
“That's the secure treatment wing.”
Alexander walked toward it.
The doctor grabbed his arm.
“Wait.”
He turned.
“There's something you should know.”
“What?”
“She may not recognize you immediately.”
“Why?”
“Long-term medication. Trauma. Isolation.”
He nodded.
“Anything else?”
Sarah looked frightened.
“The staff have been telling her that you authorized every treatment.”
Alexander's face hardened.
“Open the door.”
Sarah scanned her badge.
The lock clicked.
Inside was a short hallway.
A small observation booth stood on the left.
At the end was a room with a glass window.
Alexander stepped forward.
And saw her.
Isabelle Hart sat in a chair beside a narrow hospital bed.
Her dark hair fell over the shoulders of a faded blue cardigan.
One hand rested in her lap.
The other held a small piece of white cloth.
She was humming softly.
Alexander stopped breathing.
Eleven years collapsed into a single moment.
He remembered the girl who stole peaches from the palace kitchen.
The girl who laughed when he took off his royal shoes to dance with her in the rain.
The girl who said she didn't want a prince.
She wanted Alexander.
Now she sat beneath fluorescent lights, staring at a wall.
“Isabelle?”
She didn't move.
Alexander approached the door.
“Isabelle.”
Her humming stopped.
Slowly, she turned.
Their eyes met.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then she stood so abruptly that the chair fell backward.
“No.”
Her voice was barely audible.
Alexander opened the door.
“It's me.”
She staggered backward.
“No.”
“Isabelle, please.”
“You're not real.”
He stopped.
Sarah stood behind him, crying silently.
Alexander took one careful step.
“It's Alexander.”
Isabelle shook her head.
“No.”
She pressed both hands against her temples.
“They do this when I don't cooperate.”
His stomach twisted.
“Do what?”
“They bring people who look like you.”
Alexander went completely still.
“What?”
“They make them say things.”
She stared at his face.
“Then they tell me I'm confused.”
Alexander couldn't speak.
Isabelle looked toward Sarah.
“Please don't let him touch me.”
Sarah approached slowly.
“Isabelle, listen to me.”
“No.”
“This is really him.”
Isabelle began trembling.
“The last one said that too.”
Alexander felt tears burn behind his eyes.
He forced himself not to move closer.
Instead, he reached into his pocket.
He withdrew the tiny silver rose locket Eleanor had given him.
The one with the broken chain repaired in copper wire.
He held it out.
“Do you remember this?”
Isabelle stared.
Her lips parted.
Alexander spoke softly.
“I gave it to you in the south garden.”
Her eyes widened.
“The night before the summer ball.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“I broke the chain climbing over the wall.”
She nodded almost imperceptibly.
“And I repaired it badly.”
A strange sound escaped her.
Half laughter.
Half sob.
“With copper wire,” she whispered.
Alexander nodded.
“I didn't know how to solder silver.”
Isabelle took one uncertain step.
“You said it would last forever.”
“I thought it would.”
She looked at the locket.
Then at his face.
“Alexander?”
He swallowed.
“Yes.”
She moved toward him.
Slowly.
As though any sudden movement might make him vanish.
She lifted her trembling fingers and touched his cheek.
He closed his eyes.
Her hand was warm.
Real.
Eleven years of grief dissolved beneath that single touch.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
Alexander opened his eyes.
“I'm here.”
She made a broken sound and collapsed into his arms.
He caught her.
For a long moment, they simply held each other.
Alexander buried his face in her hair.
He wanted to apologize.
He wanted to ask a thousand questions.
He wanted to make eleven years disappear.
But all he could manage was her name.
“Isabelle.”
Again.
And again.
She clung to his coat.
“I thought you hated me.”
He pulled back enough to see her face.
“Never.”
“They said you signed the papers.”
“I didn't.”
“They said you knew about Henry.”
Alexander's throat tightened.
“I learned about him tonight.”
Isabelle stared.
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
Her face crumpled.
“Oh, Alexander.”
He held her again.
“I saw him.”
She pulled away.
“Where?”
“At the palace.”
“Is he safe?”
“He escaped the men who took him.”
Her expression changed instantly.
Fear replaced disbelief.
“Then we have to find him.”
“We will.”
“No, you don't understand.”
She gripped his arms.
“Henry knows where they keep the original records.”
Alexander frowned.
“What records?”
“The ones that prove what happened the night I disappeared.”
Sarah stepped forward.
“Isabelle, perhaps you should sit down.”
“No.”
Isabelle shook her head.
“He found something three days ago.”
Alexander looked at her.
“What?”
She glanced toward the observation window.
“Your father's letter.”
Alexander went still.
“My father wrote to you?”
Isabelle nodded.
“He tried to get us out.”
“What happened?”
“They found out.”
She took a shaky breath.
“And two days later, they announced he had died.”
Alexander stared at her.
His father had died of a sudden heart attack.
At least that was what he had always been told.
“Are you saying they killed him?”
Isabelle's eyes filled with tears.
“I don't know.”
A faint metallic sound echoed from the hallway.
Sarah turned.
The elevator.
Someone was coming down.
Alexander moved toward the door.
“How many guards?”
Sarah checked the small security monitor.
Her face drained of color.
“Six.”
“Can we get out another way?”
“There's a maintenance staircase.”
“Where?”
“Through the old therapy wing.”
Alexander reached for Isabelle's hand.
“Can you walk?”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
But when she took a step, her left leg buckled.
He caught her.
Without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms.
Isabelle gasped.
“Alexander, put me down.”
“Not happening.”
“You'll hurt your back.”
He almost smiled.
“Eleven years, Isabelle.”
She looked at him.
“I've got some carrying to make up for.”
Sarah opened the rear door.
They entered a dim corridor.
At the far end stood another security gate.
Then a voice came from the intercom.
“Prince Alexander.”
He stopped.
The voice belonged to Edmund Harrow.
“You have reached a restricted medical area.”
Alexander looked at the nearest camera.
“I'm taking her home.”
“I'm afraid that isn't possible.”
“Try stopping me.”
Harrow sighed.
“Alexander, you should understand something.”
The corridor lights turned red.
Metal shutters began descending over the emergency exits.
Sarah rushed toward the nearest door.
It slammed shut.
The intercom clicked again.
“The woman you're carrying was never the greatest threat to the crown.”
Alexander tightened his hold on Isabelle.
“What are you talking about?”
Harrow's voice became almost gentle.
“It was always the child.”
Isabelle went rigid.
Alexander stared at the camera.
“Where is Henry?”
A small screen beside the security door flickered on.
Henry appeared.
He sat alone in a brightly lit room.
His wrists were tied loosely to the arms of a chair.
He looked frightened but unharmed.
Isabelle screamed his name.
Henry lifted his head.
“Mommy?”
Alexander stepped toward the screen.
“Henry!”
The boy's eyes widened.
“Daddy?”
Harrow spoke again.
“One choice, Your Highness.”
The screen changed.
A document appeared.
VOLUNTARY ABDICATION AND PERMANENT WAIVER OF SUCCESSION RIGHTS.
At the bottom was an empty signature line.
Harrow waited.
“Sign it, and your family walks out.”
Alexander stared.
“And if I don't?”
The screen returned to Henry.
A guard approached the boy.
May you like
Then Harrow spoke the words that would change the course of Alexander's reign.
“Then tomorrow morning, the world will be told that you murdered the woman you claim to love.”
