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\u201cBabies have scratches,\u201d I argued, trying to rationalize the insanity. \u201cHe probably scratched himself in the womb.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Daniel said sharply. \u201cI saw that baby two months ago. At the Pierce County morgue.\u201d<\/p>\n
My stomach flipped over. \u201cThat\u2019s impossible. You\u2019re tired. You\u2019ve been working too much.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was there to assist with the security review of their intake systems,\u201d he continued, ignoring me. \u201cThey brought in an unidentified newborn male. Abandoned in a dumpster behind a warehouse. The infant didn\u2019t survive exposure. I saw the body, Emily. I saw the face. I saw the scar.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked back at the closed door of Room 304.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat baby inside isn\u2019t Noah. It\u2019s a ghost. Or\u2026\u201d He swallowed hard, his Adam\u2019s apple bobbing. \u201cOr someone has taken a baby that looks exactly like the dead one. Identical. Which means\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhich means there are two of them,\u201d I finished, the horror finally sinking in.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think someone switched babies,\u201d he whispered. \u201cOr worse. Someone is moving babies through the system. And if I\u2019m right, your sister is holding evidence, not a son.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at the heavy wooden door. Inside, my sister was cooing at a child she thought was hers. Outside, the sirens began to wail in the distance, getting louder with every second.<\/p>\n