I approach the hospital's automatic doors, watching the staff pass by me in a rush. People are waiting to be checked in or just waiting.
It's busy today, but standing here and observing wasn't my purpose. I walk over to the receptionist, a middle-aged African woman with short curly hair, a lovely dark complexion, and wearing Snoopy scrubs. She is sitting behind the counter typing on her computer. When she looks up and plasters a cheerful smile, although behind that expression - working in a hospital can make anyone feel cranky, and this woman seems she has not slept since her shift.
Better not
"Hi, are you here for an appointment?" She asks with a forceful smile.
"Um. No, I'm here to ask if Dr. Keith P. Swanson is available?"
The receptionist, whose name on her ID badge says Anita Cook, looks at me as if I made up the name. "He's not here."
"Oh, do you know when his shift starts?"
"Dr. Swanson hasn't worked here for 26 years. He retired right after a scandal with a patient of his."
Scandal?
I wondered what he did to his patient that made a doctor like him leave.
Intrigued, I lean forward, not wanting anyone to listen in. "What did he do?"
"I'm sorry," she said, looking at her computer screen. She quickly shifted with her eyes towards me and then back on the net. "It's taboo to talk about Dr. Swanson."
Fuck!
I tap my mail on the counter, thinking of a different approach.
"Then how about helping me with something else." The nurse looks up at me. "Can you look up a list of names of newborns?"
"Are you here to see the mother who recently gave birth?" She asks.
I shake my head. "No, this newborn was born on April 21, 1995."
Without saying anything, Anita starts to type the date on her computer. "There are twelve newborns born in that year," Anita states. "May I know the name of the child?"
"Theresa Young."
Her eyes are glued to the screen as she glances back at me. "No, sorry. I don't see the name."
"Are you sure?" I furrow. "Can you check again?"
"I'm sorry," she moves the monitor to have me look. "See, there is no name on the record."
How can that be?
Does that mean I don't even exist?
I was about to pull the birth certificate from my phone before it got me thinking if the document was authentic.
"Dr. Swanson was the attending doctor for a patient named Majorie Berger," I tell her.
"What's your relationship with this patient?" She is on high alert towards me as I'm asking about a patient from 1995.
"She's...my mother, and the child she gave birth on that date was my sister."
The computer keyboard clicks as she types the name and then shakes her head. "Sorry. No Majorie Berger is in the system. Your mother probably gave birth in a different hospital."
"What the hell?" I whisper and clench my fist. "Her name gots to be there. My mother was young and gave up the baby for adoption, and I'm looking for that baby."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I wish I could help you, but my hands are tied," she said pityingly. "A lot of young mothers tend to get scared and confused. Your mother probably didn't want to give birth in a hospital full of strangers who would judge her because of her age. They give up the child if they don't know what to do."
"Yeah, tell me about it," I almost killed mine. I scratch the back of my neck, frustrated. The nurse couldn't help me, but my birth mother had a fake certificate of being born here at this hospital. "Since Dr. Swanson is not working here anymore, is there a way I can get his address?"
"Why?" The receptionist lifts a brow.
"It's an emergency," I claim.
"I'm sorry, sweetie. You need to talk to your mother about it and have her tell you the truth; otherwise, you wasted your time here." The woman clicks her computer keyboard, not wanting to help with my request.
I would have to ask Kendall; she sent me the address in seconds, but this is personal.
I need that address.
"Please, he is...my uncle," I blurt out, not thinking. "My mother is sick, and she told me I have an uncle who works here. She and my uncle had a huge fight, and now that my mother was dying slowly, she wanted to make amends with him. Please, my mom doesn't have much time left. This is my only hope to find him. Please." I pleaded and brought the fake tears in my eyes to put on a dramatic show, hoping it would persuade the receptionist.
I took an acting class at the agency. Special agents like me and anyone in the Daggers must take the course as it's required during assignments. Acting isn't my strongest suit, but I pull it off when acting in character. It's like I have another persona besides pretending to be a man. Ramona, an acting coach and an agent of Dagger, was a strict teacher, but she had told me I was one of her best students. I get into character instantly without who I pretend to be. It's an instinct.
"Oh, dear," Anita grabs a tissue box and hands it to me. I pulled two sheets and blew my nose to make it more realistic. "I'm so sorry to hear about your mother."
I allowed more of my acting and crocodile tears. "She regrets not talking to her older brother for so long after the argument." I wipe my nose. "They fought because my mother gave up my sister when she was a baby, and my uncle got angry with her."
Anita listens to my "family" problems as I continue to sob. "My uncle was my mother's guardian after their parents died, and he took care of her. But they were estranged once she got pregnant at seventeen. After she gave up my sister, my mother ran away from home and married my dad, and now she is sick and close to dying. And all she wants is to see her brother one last time."
I heard whispers and murmurs behind me, and the nurse, who was around the same age as Anita, was affected by my crocodile tears and heartbreaking story.
"Anita, help the poor girl," she says to Anita. "This is Dr. Swanson's niece."
"So, please be so kind as to give me the address?" I batter my eyelashes, stay into character, and grab her hand with eyes behind me, staring at my back. "I need him to see his sister one last time and find my sister's whereabouts. Please."
Anita let out a sigh as she surrendered to my request. "Okay, okay. Give me a minute." She sat back on her chair and moved her fingers on the keyboard." I'm only doing this because you are in dire need and seemed like a good child. I'm not even allowed to do this. And don't you dare say anything to our supervisor, Kelly?"
"My lips are sealed," Kelly, the nurse, gestured an imaginary zipper to her mouth and winked at me.
"Thank you." I smile.
I inwardly danced and successfully obtained what I needed. The printer's sound had finished, and Anita reached over and handed me my "uncle's" information.
"Here you go, honey," she hands me a sheet of paper.
It's a piece of employee information. There's even a mugshot picture of him. I pull up with a grin and look at the receptionist. "Thank you so much."
"You drive safe now," Anita tells me as I wave goodbye to her and Kelly.
I head out, and with the light source, I pin down the address on my phone before heading to my bike.
Dr. Swanson's house was only an hour away from the hospital. I park in front of the residence and study the home. The house sits in a friendly and quiet neighborhood. Online home selling sells for around 2 million: five bedrooms and six baths. It's a 7,700-square-foot home with two attached garage spaces. I scroll on the house features, and they're pretty fancy.
Pulling out the flashlight and the piece of paper the nurse gave me, I stared and studied the doctor's photo. His age is stated on the sheet as being in his 60s. He just turned 60 two months ago.
I look back at the house. It's a custom-built luxury home with a Monterey-style Rossmoor estate with charming character, artisan craftsmanship, and architecture that offers resort-like features.
But with a doctor's salary, he could only purchase a home like this if he must be perfect.
I shut up the engine and removed my helmet, letting it sit on my bike. It's night, and the neighborhood is too quiet as I walk up the front with a French door. A push in the doorbell made a loud ding. Looking through the window, the lights are on, so he should be home.
The door opens, and I almost stumble at the presence of a little boy wearing green pajamas with those characters from that Minecraft game.
"Hi," I stick my hands behind my back. "Are your parents home?"
"Who are you?" He asks quietly, barely enough for me to hear, but I know he's being cautious to a stranger like me hiding behind the door.
"Well, I'm a friend. My name is Terry. What's your name?" I drop down to his height to see eye to eye. The little boy looks around six.
"Felix." He answers.
I smile. "Nice to meet you, Felix. I'm looking for your parents or guardian. Who lives here with you?"
"Me."
I chuckle at his cuteness. "And who else?"
"My grandpa."
Just as he mentions, a background voice calls out to him.
"Felix?" I hear the sound of a wooden cane hitting the floor. "Who's at the door?"
The man who appears looks about the same in the image. He came up to the boy. "May I ask who you are?" He asks politely.
"Grandpa, she said her name is Terry." Answer by the little boy. "I think she's looking for Mommy and Daddy."
"I'm here for your grandpa," I say to Felix. "This is about a patient who goes by Majorie Berger."
I watch as his eyes grow wide, and his expression seems uncomfortable due to the fact his face grew pale once I mentioned the name of my birth mother.
"Who are you?" Dr. Swanson asked as he pulled his grandson behind him. He was protecting the child from me.
I held my hands up calmly. "Look, I'm not here to..." looking at the boy, watching my words, "hurt you and your family. I need answers."
He stares at me, deciding to ignore my request or call the police.
"Look," opening my jacket and spun around. "No weapons. I want answers."
"Come inside," he states and moves away from the door. "Come in quickly."
I step in and shut the door behind me. I observed the interior of the house. But to get to the prominent place, you must walk through an entryway to a relaxing paved interior courtyard with a stone fireplace surrounded by more French doors, which opens into a grand living room. We entered the room with soaring ceilings appointed with old-world woodwork, arched thresholds, curved moldings, and another stone fireplace that reaches twenty-three feet high.
"Felix, brush your teeth and go to bed." The doctor tells his grandson.
"But I'm not sleepy," the child whines. "Plus, I want to show Terry the new toy you got me. Grandpa got me this new Nerf gun for my birthday two months ago. He and I have the same birthday."
The doctor patted the boy's head and smiled with affection.
"Miss Terry and I have things to talk about. Grown-up things. And tomorrow your parents are picking you up. So, you have to sleep early." When the boy pouted, the older man chuckled like I did from this adorableness. "Come on, now. Felix. Bedtime."
"O...Kay..." Felix's shoulders slump as he walks upstairs. As I watched him over the second floor, he disappeared into the room's entry.
"His parents are on their third honeymoon, celebrating their twelfth anniversary," Dr. Swanson explains as he walks to the kitchen. He opened his stainless refrigerator, pulled out a cold water bottle, and handed it to me. At the same time, he pulls himself into a glass of hundred-thousands wine.
"So, Miss Terry, Marjorie?" He asked and took a sip afterward.
I grip the cold bottle, feeling the coldness through the palm of my hand. "She's my mother."
Dr. Swanson stopped taking another sip and returned the surprised expression on his face. The silence from him had me wondering why he would look at me like that as if I wasn't supposed to be alive.
"What do you know of my birth mother?" I asked. My question made him take another sip from his wine but dunk it empty. "What's your relationship with Majorie Berger?"
He poured a second glass and jug a shot as it went down his throat.
I slam my hands on the island counter angrily. "Answer me!"
The older man sighs, almost pouring another glass of wine, but stops. "Majorie...she's my sister."
That's some fucking news. It's mind-blowing to find out this man is my great uncle.
"Your mother, my sister - Majorie was always a troubled child." He starts the story. "My mom worked a lot to put food on our plates and clothe us. My dad died in an accident, which made my mom depressed until she met Majorie's father. My stepdad is a good guy. He always made my mom happy, but because he works a lot, their marriage became estranged to the point of arguing."
Dr. Swanson slowly fills his cup again. "After Majorie was born, my stepfather left. I was thirteen." He was about to take a drink but paused and put it down. "I had protected and loved my sister, but Majorie wants to be independent as she grows. Once she hits puberty, she changes from a sweet girl to some party drunk. I couldn't stop her, and even my mother couldn't help. We had spoiled her to the point where she did what she wanted. Then, at seventeen, everything hit a breakpoint when I worked late at Los Alamitos. She came to me crying and nine months pregnant."
He walks away, heading towards the living room as I follow him. Dr. Swanson went over and sat down near the fireplace. "You were a healthy baby and average weight. When I held you, I could feel the emotion running down me. But your mother...she didn't want you. You were crying for her, but she looked the other way as if you were nothing. There was no love in your mother's eyes."
"So, she had put at the orphanage," I say sternly. I can feel my heart heavy and full of anger once I learn how much of a bitch my birth mother is.
"That was me," he sighs and taps his finger on the tip of his cane while looking at the fireplace. "Majorie told me to get rid of you. I didn't have the heart."
I took a step forward, and my hands curled into a fist. "Why did you take me in? Why didn't you raise me?"
"I tried to," he hit his cane. "Your mother was living with me at the time after our mother passed away. She was against it, but I made a choice. My wife and I always wanted a child. Having you was a blessing. But it was a mistake because after coming home from the hospital, Majorie would go to your nursery and..." the old man rubbed his face after he paused.
"Tried to do what?" I pressure.
He turns his head as our eyes lock. "She wanted to kill you."
The words sent tremors through my mind as they echoed over and over. I know I have a shitty mom, but her wanting to kill me was over the top.
I almost stumbled back, but luckily, the couch was behind me as I sat down. I drop my head to my knees. I cover my eyes from tearing up. I didn't want Dr. Swanson to see this weak side of me.
"Answer me this," I inhale sharply and look up, wiping my teary eyes. "Do you know who my father is?" Unrest my elbow on my thighs and cross my fingers together.
"After my stepfather left, Majorie's behavior started to waver to wanting a fatherly love." Dr. Swanson states and lets out a sigh. "Your mother was popular at school and dated half of the boys in her class, but the one thing she wanted was a father in her life, which she never grew up with. When she attended the University in New York, she fell in love with a man, her professor, and you can guess where that relationship goes."
"He was married?"
"He was, but my sister never knew that. He never told Majorie and kept his affairs from his wife."
"Did my father know about her pregnancy?" I ask.
"No," the old man shakes his head. "When Majorie came home, she kept things to herself and always stayed in her room. My wife was about to have her kicked out if she didn't get her life together. Then, after nine months, Majorie came to me crying and begging for my help. Then, when I ask who the father is, she answers - she's nobody to him."
I brush my hair back and exhale sharply.
"I didn't want to ask the name of the man responsible for impregnating my sister, but I had your blood test, and I know the reason why my sister kept it a secret from me."
"That I'm a product of incest," I watched the doctor's eyes grow wide. I lick my lips. "I know before coming to you."
"Then you know who your father is?"
"I didn't bother looking up his name because I fear that part has been altered like my birthday," I claim.
The old doc reaches to the side of his chair and pulls up a yellow-orange Manila folder. "Here."
I reach over and grab the packet. He gestures to me to open it. I dig my hand inside and grab whatever my hand can hold. I pull out a handful of family pictures that date back to the old days when touch screen phones weren't invented yet, but something off. Pen markings are used in each photo to draw a large X harshly over a man's face.
I look up at the old man. "What is this?"
"Sometimes, after your birth, your mother would get hysterical. Instead of trying to kill you, she sometimes goes through a family photos album with a picture of her father and scratches his face off with a pen."
"Is it because he left you, your mother, and her." I clarified.
He shakes his head. "No, that's because he's the man your mother fell in love with. That's your father, Terry."