Chapter 2 - The St. Jude’s Vigil
The sterile fluorescent lights of the emergency ward at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital buzzed with a low, monotonous drone. It was 3:45 AM. The waiting room was empty except for a nurse asleep behind the intake desk and the rhythmic dripping of a leaky faucet down the corridor.
I pushed open the door to Room 4B.
Maya lay propped up on a motorized hospital bed. Her face was a landscape of trauma—her nose splinted and swathed in thick white gauze, both eyes bruised a deep, swollen purple, and her lower lip split and stitched with three neat black sutures. Her forearm crutches leaned uselessly against the corner wall, reminding me of how vulnerable she truly was without them.
When I entered, her good eye fluttered open. A weak, painful sigh escaped her lips.
“Claire...?” she whispered, her voice raspy and dry.
I hurried to the bedside, dropping my folio on the chair, and gently took her small, trembling hand in mine. Her skin was ice cold.
“I’m here, Mey,” I whispered, pressing a tender kiss to her knuckles. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”
A tear spilled over her swollen eyelid, tracking down her bruised cheek. “He... he was so mad, Claire. I dropped my coffee mug on the kitchen floor. It shattered. I couldn't move fast enough to get out of his way. He just... he grabbed me by the jacket and shoved me straight into the fridge. He didn't even care that I was holding my crutches.”
Hearing her say it aloud made the blood roar in my ears. I squeezed her hand tighter, fighting the overwhelming urge to turn around, go back to that house, and finish what Daniel had started.
“He won't ever touch you again,” I vowed, my voice thick with emotion. “I mean it, Maya. This nightmare is over.”
“Mom told the doctors I fell,” Maya whispered, bitterness lacing her broken voice. “She told the intake nurse that my cerebral palsy made me lose my footing. She made me promise to back her up.”
“She won't have to lie anymore,” I said, leaning in close. “Because I’m taking over your case officially. Not just as your sister, but as a senior state investigator. I’ve already secured the crime scene photos, documented the physical evidence, and filed an emergency protective custody request with the county magistrate.”
Maya’s eyes widened with a mixture of fear and profound relief. “Can you really do that? The sheriff’s department... they always protect Daniel. They go fishing together every month.”
“The county sheriff answers to local politics,” I replied with a hard, unyielding smile. “My office answers to the State Attorney General and federal oversight. Local good-old-boy networks don't hold up against federal Medicaid fraud investigations and felony elder and vulnerable adult abuse charges.”
Before Maya could answer, the door to Room 4B swung open.
Dr. Marcus Vance, the attending emergency physician on duty, walked in holding a thick manila medical folder. He looked tired, his white lab coat rumpled from a long night of trauma cases. He glanced at me, then at Maya.
“Are you family?” Dr. Vance asked, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.
“I’m her sister, Claire Ríos. I’m also a senior state investigator with the AG’s office,” I said, flashing my badge again. “I need a complete, unredacted medical report of my sister’s injuries, including photographic evidence and your clinical assessment of trauma causation.”
Dr. Vance paused, looking down at my badge, then at Maya’s broken nose and facial fractures. A grim expression settled over his features.
“Frankly, Investigator Ríos, I’m glad you’re here,” Dr. Vance said, pulling a chair closer to the bed. “The intake nurse noted that the mother tried to claim these injuries were the result of a simple fall. As a physician who has treated hundreds of trauma victims, I can tell you unequivocally: the fracture patterns on Miss Ríos’s nasal bone, combined with the contusions on her forearms and ribs, are entirely inconsistent with a accidental fall. She was struck with significant, directed blunt force trauma. Furthermore, this isn't an isolated incident. I pulled her medical chart from our system—she’s been treated here three times in the past eighteen months for ‘unexplained household falls.’”
My breath caught in my throat. Three times.
May you like
“My mother and Daniel covered it up,” Maya whispered, closing her eyes in shame. “They told me if I told the truth, they’d put me in a state institution where nobody would ever visit me.”
“They won't be putting you anywhere except behind bars,” I said, standing up. I looked at Dr. Vance. “Doctor, I need you to certify that medical assessment in writing immediately. I’m issuing an emergency state protective removal order. Maya is coming home with me to Austin tonight.”
