The Dead Wife's Spectacular Secret Return

Clinton turned around. His eyes were bloodshot. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

"I will not betray Gerald," Clinton said. His voice was a low growl. "That is my bottom line. I won't help you take her."

Helen smiled a sad, broken smile. She took two steps back.

"I don't expect you to betray him," she said. "I just want the right to look at my sick child."

She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She slapped it hard against Clinton's chest.

Clinton caught the paper before it fell. It was Cassidy's latest medical chart.

Helen pointed a shaking finger at the numbers. "Look at her depression index. Look at her immune system. Is this what you call protecting her?"

Clinton stared at the red numbers on the page. His thumb rubbed over the edge of the paper. He couldn't argue with medical facts. The kid was fading away.

Helen took a deep breath, forcing her emotions down. She switched to a cold, clinical tone.

"A compromise," Helen said. "I don't take her. I don't tell her who I am. I just sit with her as a doctor. Until Gerald gets back, I do nothing else."

Clinton stared at the wall. The only sound in the room was the low hum of the air vent. The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Clinton let out a long, exhausted sigh. His shoulders slumped.

"She does need you," he muttered. "Even if it's just a hug."

He reached into his tactical vest and pulled out a small, square metal device. He handed it to Helen.

"Signal jammer," Clinton said. "I am going to manually force a system diagnostic update at exactly 10:00 PM. The reboot process will give you exactly three minutes of a blind spot. Use this jammer to scramble the server's error logs so the system doesn't record the anomaly. You get one shot."

Helen took the cold metal box. Her fingers brushed his. Her eyes filled with tears again. She gripped the jammer tightly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Clinton's face hardened. He pointed a thick finger at her face. "If Gerald suspects anything, I will arrest you myself. I will not go down for this."

"I will take all the blame," Helen said firmly.

Clinton pulled the heavy metal door open. The bright white light of the hallway flooded the dim closet.

As Helen stepped out, she almost collided with a figure in a gray maid's uniform. Martha stood there, her hands twisting her apron in terror. Clinton instantly reached for his radio, but Martha shook her head frantically, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I won't say a word," Martha whispered, her voice breaking as she looked at Helen. "I swear it on my life, Madam. She needs you. I'll make sure the night shift nurses stay at the desk."

Helen's eyes softened. The fierce exterior cracked just enough to show her gratitude. She reached out and briefly squeezed Martha's trembling hand. "Thank you, Martha."

At 9:58 PM, Helen stood in the dark stairwell. She wore standard blue scrubs and a blue surgical mask.

She stared at the face of her watch. The second hand ticked closer to the twelve.

10:00 PM.

Down the hall, the small red lights on the security cameras blinked off.

Helen moved like a ghost. She swiped a temporary keycard Clinton had given her. The heavy door to Cassidy's room clicked open.

The room was dark, lit only by a small floor lamp. Cassidy was curled into a tight ball in the center of the massive bed. Her eyebrows were pinched together in a nightmare.

Helen took off her outer scrub jacket, leaving only the sterile layer underneath. She walked to the edge of the bed and sat down slowly. The mattress barely dipped.

She reached out. Her hand was shaking. She gently smoothed her thumb over Cassidy's forehead, wiping away the cold sweat.

Cassidy shifted in her sleep. She breathed in the faint scent of chamomile. Her tight muscles relaxed. She rolled toward the warmth of Helen's body.

Helen's heart melted. She lay down on her side next to her daughter. She wrapped her arm over the blanket, pulling the small body against her chest.

"Mommy," Cassidy mumbled in her sleep. Her small fingers grabbed the fabric of Helen's shirt and held on tight.

The word shattered Helen. Tears poured down her face, soaking into the pillow. She bit her lip to keep from sobbing out loud. She pressed her lips to the top of Cassidy's head.

The watch on Helen's wrist vibrated. Three minutes were up.

Helen closed her eyes. The physical pain of letting go felt like someone tearing her ribs apart. She gently pried Cassidy's fingers off her shirt.

She tucked the blanket tightly around the girl's shoulders. She stood up, grabbed her jacket, and walked to the door.

She slipped out into the hallway just as the red lights on the cameras blinked back on. The door clicked shut.

Helen leaned against the wall, gasping for air. Her heart was racing, but her eyes were fierce. She was never leaving her daughter again.

Down the hall, inside the security control room, Clinton watched the camera feeds come back online. He pulled out his encrypted phone.

He typed three words and hit send.

The Ghost Returns.