Chapter 140
~ Franklin ~
The evening traffic in Manhattan had been brutal, turning what should have been a quick drive into a frustrating crawl. By the ti I finally pulled into the hospital parking lot, the sun had already dipped low, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples. Work had kept longer than planned—endless etings, urgent calls, and decisions that couldn’t wait. I stopped at a small diner on the way and picked up a takeaway dinner for Octavia, even though Olga had scolded the day before about relying on restaurant food. She had offered to cook sothing nourishing for her, but it was too late to call her now. I didn’t want to bother her.
Shopping bags with comfortable clothes for Octavia swung from my hand as I made my way to her floor. The mont I stepped off the elevator, sothing felt wrong. Patricia was pacing the hallway like a caged animal, her face pale and frantic, hands twisting together anxiously.
"Mrs. Herman, what’s wrong?" I asked, my stomach already tightening.
"Franklin, do you know where Octavia is?" she asked, her voice trembling.
I frowned, glancing past her toward the closed door of Octavia’s ward. "Isn’t she in her room?"
"No," Patricia shook her head rapidly. "I dozed off for a little while, and when I woke up, she was gone. I thought maybe she was in the bathroom, but she wasn’t there either. She’s not here, Franklin. I’ve looked everywhere on this floor."
I dropped the takeaway bags on a nearby chair, my heart beginning to pound. "Have you checked this entire floor for her?"
"Yes, that was the first thing I did after I couldn’t find her in the room or bathroom," she replied, tears already gathering in her eyes.
"Okay, have you asked the nurses? Checked around the hospital premises?" I asked, forcing myself to stay calm even as dread coiled in my gut.
"No," Patricia shook her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I was too panicked. I didn’t know what to do."
"Co on, let’s go talk to them," I said, already walking briskly toward the nurses’ station with Patricia hurrying behind .
The two nurses on duty looked up as we approached. "Good evening, Mr. Flemington," they greeted politely.
I ignored the pleasantries. "Nurses, have you seen my wife Octavia today?"
They exchanged a quick, uneasy glance before answering in unison. "Yes, we did."
"When?" I asked sharply.
"Just this evening, she was leaving" the first nurse replied.
"So you saw her and... what? You let her leave?" My frown deepened as Patricia continued pacing beside .
"Mr. Flemington, we don’t understand," the second nurse said carefully.
"When you saw her, did you stop her or question her?" I pressed.
"We asked where she was going," the first nurse explained. "She said she was heading to the hospital park to stretch her legs. She told us you advised her to do so because she’d been stuck in the ward too long."
"What?" I felt my blood run cold. "I never advised her to do anything like that."
Patricia stopped pacing, her face crumpling. "She told you she was going to the hospital park?"
"Yes, Mrs. Herman," both nurses nodded.
"Let’s go," I said to Patricia, already turning away. The nurses exchanged another confused look behind us.
We hurried out of the lobby and straight to the small hospital park. The evening air was cool, the pathway lights casting long shadows across the benches and trees. We searched every corner—calling her na, checking behind shrubs, looking near the fountain. Octavia was nowhere to be found.
My anger and fear mixed into a tight knot in my chest as we headed back to the nurses’ station.
"My wife is missing!" I raised my voice, unable to contain it any longer. "How could you just let her walk out? Don’t you know she has amnesia? She’s confused and vulnerable, and now she’s gone!"
"But she told us that—" the first nurse started.
"So you believed soone with amnesia?" I snapped. "You were supposed to alert us imdiately if she tried to leave! Now my wife is missing because of your negligence!"
Patricia’s voice broke as tears stread down her face. "My daughter is out there sowhere—lost, confused, maybe hurt—and it’s your fault!"
"We are so sorry, Mr. Flemington, Mrs. Herman," both nurses said, looking genuinely remorseful as they stared at the floor.
"Don’t apologize," I said sharply. "Go search the entire hospital right now. Check every floor, every corner. She might be wandering around disoriented because of her amnesia."
They nodded quickly and hurried off to begin the search.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Clinton. If Octavia had wandered off in confusion, there was a chance she might have tried to find him. But when he answered and confird she wasn’t with him, the panic I had been holding back surged forward. I then called the dical Director to officially report Octavia as missing.
A short while later, Patricia and I sat in the director’s office. After explaining the situation, he imdiately requested the CCTV footage. We moved to the security office, where a guard pulled up the relevant recordings.
"That’s her, Franklin," Patricia said, pointing at the screen with a trembling finger.
We watched Octavia leave the lobby and head toward the hospital park. My frown deepened as I leaned closer. She wasn’t alone. A man walked beside her, his face deliberately angled away from the cara. He knew exactly where the blind spots were. Then I saw it—Octavia suddenly stumbling, her body going limp as the man caught her in his arms. He had clearly injected her with sothing. A mont later, he carried her away, disappearing into the shadows beyond the cara’s reach.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath, my hands clenching into fists.
"So Octavia was kidnapped," Patricia whispered, her voice breaking as fresh panic set in. "She was carried away by an unknown man... but why?"
I reached out and patted her back, guiding her gently out of the security office. "I don’t know yet."
"Shouldn’t we call the police to help find her?" she asked, her hands shaking.
"That’s what I wanted to do," I admitted, "but the person holding her might not react well if we involve the authorities." Clinton’s earlier warning on the phone still echoed in my mind—the cold threat that had been delivered at gunpoint.
"And so what?" Patricia’s voice rose with desperation. "My daughter is missing and we’re just supposed to sit here and do nothing?"
"Mrs. Herman, please—" I started.
"If you won’t call them, then I will!" she cried, fumbling for her phone with trembling fingers.
"You can’t do that," I said firmly, gently taking the phone from her hand before she could dial.
"Give back my phone, Franklin!" she yelled, the sharp edge in her voice making flinch.
"You’ll get it back only if you calm down and listen to ," I told her.
"Ti is running out—I can’t calm down!" she sobbed.
"Look, as much as I want to call the police, we can’t right now. We don’t know who we’re dealing with. Maybe when the ti is right we can involve them, but not yet," I explained carefully.
"So what do you want to do? Because I can’t just stand here while my daughter is out there—lost, confused, or worse—and you’re telling we shouldn’t call for help!" Her voice cracked with raw fear and anger.
"Mrs. Herman, please calm down," I said softly. "I’m scared and worried too. She’s my wife and I love her more than anything. I don’t want to imagine the worst either. Just trust —I will handle this. I will find where Octavia is."
"What about her father?" she asked, wiping her tears. "He’s still in Tennessee on a business trip. He doesn’t even know she’s missing."
"Let him know once he returns to New York," I suggested. "For now, try to rest. I’ll keep searching."
I advised her to go ho, but she refused, insisting on staying in Octavia’s ward in case she sohow found her way back. I doubted it, but I didn’t argue. I understood her need to be close.
As I got into my car, my mind raced with what to do next. Before I could decide, my phone rang. The caller ID showed an unknown number. I answered cautiously.
"Hello?"
"Franklin Flemington?" The voice on the other end was heavily distorted—deep, computerized, clearly disguised.
"Yes? Who is this?"
"It doesn’t matter who I am. We have your wife, Octavia."
My chest tightened instantly, fear and rage surging through in equal asure. "And if you ever want to see her again, you will do exactly as we say."
I gripped the phone so tightly my knuckles turned white. "Please don’t hurt her," I managed, my voice cracking. "Tell what you need to do."
"Good. At exactly 12:00 noon tomorrow, you will receive another call with specific instructions. Do not call the police. If you do, you won’t see your wife alive—only her body."
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. "Okay... I won’t call the police. You have my word."
"Good," the distorted voice said, and the line went dead.
I stared at the phone in my hand for a long mont, then took a deep, shaky breath. Without wasting another second, I dialed Clinton’s number. He picked up imdiately.
"Flemington."
"Hey...we have a problem," I said, my voice tight. "We need to talk."
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