The nurse frowned. “Mind if I ask why? Mary’s not in the best condition, nowadays.”
Sam put her ID away. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Short-term memory loss, stroke.” The nurse hesitated. “She’s still regaining speech and mobility.”
Damn! Why was it that every lead they seemed to get was compromised in some way? “I need to see her, if it’s possible. We think she might be able to help us with a case. If she begins showing any signs of stress, I’ll leave.”
“Make sure you do. I don’t want her upset.” The nurse pressed a button on her desk. Seconds later, another nurse appeared. “Lisa, take Agent Ryan to see Mary, please.”
Sam nodded her thanks to the receptionist and followed the second nurse down the corridor. The rooms were all locked. Apparently, they were taking no chances on an inmate walking free.
The second nurse stopped at a door about halfway down. “Mary, like most of the patients in this wing, tends to live in the past. They have no concept of current time or events, and if we let them wander at will, they’d become dazed and confused.”
And it was a hell of a lot easier on the staff if they weren’t free to roam, Sam thought grimly. “Thanks,” she said, as the nurse opened the door.
The woman nodded. “Just buzz when you want out.”
“Will do.”
The door closed behind her. The room wasn’t the glorified prison cell she thought it would be. Huge windows lined one wall, overlooking a garden that was a mass of flowers and trees. Several of them did at least open to let in fresh air, but the gap wasn’t large enough for anything more than a bird to get through. Certainly, Mary wouldn’t have been able to escape that way. The remaining walls were a buttercup yellow and lined with brightly colored prints. There wasn’t much furniture, but what there was added to the cheerful feel of the room.
A thin, gray-haired woman sat statue-still on the sofa, apparently mesmerized by the children’s show on the television. Sam walked over and sat beside her. There was no reaction.
“Mary?” she said softly.
The woman turned around. For a second, there was little life in her blue eyes; then she blinked and the right side of her face lit up in a smile.
“Josephine!” Her words were slightly slurred, but not beyond understanding. “As I live and breathe, fancy seeing you after all these years!”
What were the odds of getting mistaken for someone else twice in as many days? Sam dug out her ID and showed it to Mary.
Confusion ran across the old woman’s face. “You’re not Josephine?” Her gaze darted from the ID to Sam’s face.
“No. My name is Samantha. I’m a police officer.”
“You look like young Josephine did.”
And maybe she did. If she was a product of Hopeworth, then it was very likely that there were others out there who resembled her. But right now, it wasn’t a point worth arguing. “Mary, do you remember working at the Silhouettes Adoption Agency?”
A smile tugged the right corner of the woman’s mouth. “Yes. I worked there for many years. Lovely place. Lots of bonny babes to look after.”
“Do you remember a child named Rose Pierce?”
“Rose Pierce,” the old woman mumbled, face locked in a frown. “The name does seem familiar.”
Sam dug the photo out of her handbag and handed it to her.
The old woman studied it for a few minutes before a smile touched her lips. “Rosie Pierce,” she murmured, gently touching the child’s image with one gnarled finger. “Now, there was a strange one.”
“Strange how?”
“We could never settle her as a babe. She kept screaming and reaching out for something—though we never did figure out what. Not until later, that is. And, of course, no one wants to adopt a child that’s always crying.”
“She was in the hospital for many months, wasn’t she?”
“Yes. We got her from the hospital, once it had been confirmed that her parents were dead and there was no living relative to look after her.”
“Why wasn’t she sent to the same adoption agency as her sister?”
The old woman frowned again. “We didn’t know about the sister—not until later. And by then, it was far too late. The sister had been adopted and her new parents weren’t interested in a second child.”
“How did the separation affect Rose?” She’d heard tales of twins sharing emotions, thoughts, and even pain, no matter how many miles stood between them. Was it possible that Rose, even at such a young age, had that kind of connection with her sister?
“She was such a dear little thing, but so serious. As soon as she could talk, she wanted to know where her sister was. We couldn’t settle her, no matter what we tried.”
“Wasn’t she only twelve months old when she came to Silhouettes?”
“Yes, but the bond of the twin is sometimes very strong.” Mary hesitated, blue eyes sharp. It was hard to imagine this woman being anything but in full control of her memories. “But you should know that, Josephine. You’re a twin, are you not?”
“My name is Sam. I showed you my ID, remember?”
“Did you?” Confusion flitted across the good half of Mary’s face. She rubbed her forehead wearily. “Sometimes my memory is not so good.”
“You’re doing just fine, Mary.” Sam patted the old woman’s hand gently. Her skin felt like rough paper. “Tell me about Rose’s adoption by the Sanderses.”
Mary sighed. “They were such a serious couple. Not the sort our little Rosie really needed. She was too serious herself—she needed to laugh, needed someone who would bring her out of her shell.”
“Did you advise against them adopting Rose?”
“Yes.” She sighed again. “But Mrs. Sanders fell in love with her, and in the end that was the important thing. Little Rose needed lots of love.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Why? Was she traumatized by the separation from her twin?”
“In a sense, yes. But she was having serious identity problems by the time she hit three.”
Identity problems at three years old? Most kids could barely speak at that age, let alone have concerns about who or what they were. “What caused Rose to have these problems?”
“She was a shifter,” Mary said, and patted Sam’s hand. “Most shifters have identity problems when they find their alternate shape at such a young age, but in Rose’s case it was compounded by the fact that she could take any form.”
“So she was a multi-shifter?” Just like her sister.
“Yes. But also a female-to-male shifter.”
She stared at the old woman, wondering if she’d heard right. Female to male? If hybrid shifter-changers were considered extremely rare, then what were the odds of someone being born a female-to-male shifter? “That’s not possible.”
“I didn’t think so, but there it was, happening to little Rosie right in front of me.”
“But…how?”
The old woman shrugged. “There are some people in this world who claim to have been born in the wrong bodies—males trapped in female forms, and vice versa. Maybe that’s what happened to Rose—only she could do something about it.”
“Her male form—did he have a name?”
Mary considered the question for several seconds. “Michael. I think she called him Michael.”
Michael Sanders, she thought grimly. Their young cop with the old eyes. Gabriel would want this information straightaway.
Sam stood. “Thanks for all your help, Mary.”
“You’re welcome, Josephine.” She hesitated, tilting her head to one side. “How’s that brother of yours?”
“Mary, I don’t have a brother,” she said gently.
Confusion clouded the old woman’s face. “Yes, you do. Joshua. A sprightly lad with a mass of red hair.”
A chill ran down her spine. Joshua. The boy she’d dreamt about nearly every night. She licked suddenly dry lips. “Mary, I think you’re confusing me with someone else. My name is Samant
ha, not Josephine.”
“So you’ve changed it again. I can’t keep up with you two.” She sighed softly. “I wish those damn doctors had given you all names instead of numbers. Hell of a lot easier on the rest of us.”
The chill increased. Hadn’t Joe Black mentioned something about being only a number and never having a real name? She sank slowly back to the sofa. “Mary, when did you know Josephine and Joshua?”
“Years and years ago. I was in the military before I retired and became a nurse at Silhouettes, you know.”
“And Joshua and Josephine—they were twins?”
The old woman smiled, her eyes distant, lost in the years. “And the liveliest of all my charges. I guess that’s why you managed to survive at all.”
She rubbed her arms. “Survive? Then many didn’t?”
“Oh no. So many bonny babes were lost.” Mary hesitated, sniffing back a tear. “That’s why I left, you know. I couldn’t stand to see all the dead children.”
“And Hopeworth let you leave?” From what she’d learned about the place, she’d have thought no one would be let loose until they had exhausted their usefulness.
“They had no choice. The project was destroyed.” Her gaze met Sam’s, blue eyes shining with tears. “Until you walked into the room, I thought both you and Joshua were dead.”
Allars had mentioned that the Penumbra Project had been destroyed by fire. Coincidence? Somehow, she doubted it. Joe Black had sent her to Silhouettes, with the warning that she would find the first stepping-stone to her past. Silhouettes had led her to Mary. Was the old woman that stone? Or was she so lost in the past that she was confusing reality with fantasy?
“How old were Joshua and Josephine when you last saw them? Children change a lot as they grow up, Mary, so how would you recognize Josephine if she did walk in the door?”
“Children change, yes, but not the Hopeworth kiddies. They always looked the same, no matter what the age. They just filled out, gained muscle and length.” Her gaze rose. “And you all had the same color hair. There’s no mistaking that color, you know.”
General Lloyd had said much the same thing. And if Mary was right, and she was one of Hopeworth’s children, then her features, like theirs, hadn’t altered all that much in the thirty years she’d been alive. It was a somewhat chilling thought.
“What was the name of the project you worked in, Mary?”
“I…I can’t remember.” She rubbed her forehead with gnarled fingers. Tears ran silently down her weather-worn cheeks. “It hurts if I try to remember.”
Behind them, the door opened. A nurse stepped into the room. “Enough questions, Agent Ryan. Mary’s heart rate just leapt alarmingly. We can’t afford to let you stay any longer.”
Sam silently cursed, then rose. “I’ll come back another time.”
Mary caught her hand, squeezing it gently. “Please do. I don’t get very many visitors nowadays.” She hesitated and frowned, looking around the room in sudden confusion. “This isn’t my home. Why am I here?”
The nurse motioned Sam to the door, then she squatted down in front of the old woman, gently taking her hand.
“Mary, you were sick, dear. You came here to get better, remember?”
The door swung shut on the nurse’s soft words. Sam stood in the corridor and took a deep breath. It was hard to decide whether she’d found a clue to her past or simply more confusion.
What she needed was something to eat—maybe food would help her think more clearly. Then she’d better call Gabriel. She glanced at her wristcom, but at that moment, pain hit her, hammering into her brain. She gasped, felt her shoulder hit the wall, then slid to the floor, holding her head and fighting the wave of nausea and darkness washing through her body.
Footsteps came running. Hands touched her shoulders. “Agent Ryan, are you all right?”
As quickly as it had come, the pain left, leaving her with only a vague sense that something was wrong. She took several deep breaths and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry about that. The sudden movement must have set off my headache again.”
The reception nurse frowned. “If the headaches are as bad as that, you need to go see a doctor.”
“I am.” She struggled to her feet. If these damn headaches were an indication of what she had to look forward to every month, she was regretting her wish to fully develop as a woman. It was certainly a case of watch what you wish for, because it might come true.
“Maybe you’d better sit down for a while,” the nurse suggested, touching Sam’s arm in concern.
But Sam shrugged the touch away. “I’m fine, really. I just haven’t had breakfast yet, and I do have an appointment with a doctor at eleven.” She glanced at her watch. It was nine-thirty now. Time enough to get something to eat before she headed into the city.
“Maybe you’d better not drive until you do eat. Just in case that headache comes back.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll walk down to the shops first. Thanks for your help.”
The woman shrugged. “No problem.”
Sam headed out to the main street and quickly dialed Gabriel’s number. No answer. She frowned. Last time there was no answer, something had been wrong.
Something was wrong this time, too.
She studied the long line of shops in front of her and headed for Subway. Then she dialed SIU.
“Christine, put me through to Director Byrne, please.”
“One moment, please.” Christine reappeared in half that time. “Director Byrne is currently in a meeting and cannot be disturbed.”
She swore under her breath. “Could you leave a message with his secretary? Let him know Rose Pierce is State Police Officer Michael Sanders.”
“Message forwarded.”
“Thanks.”
She disconnected, then stepped into Subway and ordered herself a roll and coffee. By the time she’d finished both, it was time to head into the city.
Doctor O’Hearn’s office was situated near the Spencer Street end of Bourke Street. Located on the thirteenth floor, it overlooked the old rail yards and the newly refurbished Etihad Stadium. It was the sort of view that cost millions, though she couldn’t see why. She’d prefer a view over parkland any day.
She was ushered into the doctor’s office almost immediately. O’Hearn was studying several reports on her desk, but she glanced up as Sam settled into the well-padded visitor’s chair.
“Samantha. How are you today?” She leaned back in her chair, a smile crinkling the corners of her gray eyes.
O’Hearn was the motherly type—full-figured and kindly looking. But there was a hawklike sharpness in her eyes that suggested this was a woman who missed little.
“Fine, thanks. I finally figured out what was causing those headaches, though.”
The doctor smiled. “Yes. Your hormone levels did indicate you were about to menstruate, which must have been somewhat surprising, given what you’d been told.”
That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. “Have you any idea why this should suddenly happen now?”
O’Hearn picked up one of the files and studied it for a few seconds. “Well, we did find some interesting anomalies in your test results.”
No surprise there, given what Finley had already discovered. “Such as?”
The doctor considered her, gray eyes calculating. “What do you know about genetic coding?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
The doctor smiled again. “Then I shall attempt to explain this simply. Each race has a set genetic code—though, of course, there are variations available within each code. Humans have one base pattern, shapeshifters another, and so on. But with you, your basic genetic coding has been spliced with the partial coding of at least two other races.”
“Shapechanger would be one,” Sam said, thinking back to what Francis had said about sensing others of her kind.
O’Hearn nodded. “And also shifter. But there’s at least one other partial code we’ve not yet identified.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “If I have the coding of all these races, why am I not able to shift or change?”
“That I don’t know. Nor do I know how this has happened, save that it does not appear to be natural.”
Sam rubbed her arms. While the news was far from surprising, it was a confirmation that she didn’t really want. Hopeworth was looking more and more like a possibility.
“Would having the mixed coding explain the developmental delay?”
“To some extent, yes. Both shifters and changers do not fully mature until they hit thirty or forty human years. It is nature’s way of compensating for their extended life span.”
Which was why most of the test subjects at Hopeworth were at least in their late twenties to early thirties. Sam rubbed her forehead. “Then why was I told at fifteen that I would never develop? Surely they would have picked up the shifter/changer coding as easily as you did.”
“My tests are a little more intense than your average physician’s, and I have spent a good part of my life focusing on the health and welfare of nonhuman races.” A hint of pride crept through the doctor’s warm voice. “I’m sure the physicians who examined you were good, but I’m a damn sight better.”
And modest besides. “So you’re saying they wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the genetic abnormalities?”
“Why would they even look? You’re listed as human on your birth certificate. They’d have no reason to search beyond that.”
Especially not for an orphan, at a time when medical expenditure of any kind was being closely watched by the government. “What about these other sensations I seem to be getting? Being able to sense the presence of other races, being able to pick up my partner’s emotions and, sometimes, even thoughts.”
O’Hearn interlaced her fingers. “Most psychic abilities don’t start to fully develop until the onset of puberty.”
Sam sighed. “I was tested for psychic ability when I entered the State Police. And I came up with a big fat zero.”
“Yet you told me that in the recent tests done at the SIU, you came in neutral.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Those tests were designed by Gabriel—and designed specifically to indicate whether or not a person has psychic ability. You either have them or you do not. No one comes in as neutral.”