Chapter 6 - THE PATIENT WHO COULD NOT SPEAK
“HOW CAN A WOMAN BE IN A COMA FOR SEVEN YEARS WITHOUT ANYONE IN HER FAMILY KNOWING?”
Camille's voice trembled as Victor placed the medical facility's address on the café table.
Victor did not pretend to have an explanation.
“That is precisely what we need to investigate.”
By the following afternoon, Léa, Camille, and Victor were traveling south toward Lyon.
Raphaël had offered his private jet.
Léa refused.
She wanted no favors that could later be mistaken for forgiveness.
They took the train.
During the journey, Camille sat beside the window, scrolling through photographs of her childhood. Marianne appeared in several of them, standing discreetly behind Catherine at family celebrations.
“She was always there,” Camille said.
Léa looked up from her mother's letter.
“Who?”
“Marianne. Birthdays, Christmas parties, vacations. She practically helped raise me.”
“Was she kind to you?”
Camille nodded.
“Very. She used to sneak books into my room when my mother punished me for reading instead of attending social events.”
Léa smiled faintly.
“My mother used to hide books beneath my pillow when we couldn't afford birthday presents.”
For a moment, the sisters shared something simple.
A memory of kindness.
Then Camille's expression grew sad.
“I wish I'd known about you.”
Léa looked at her.
“Would it have changed anything?”
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure?”
Camille considered the question.
“Because I spent most of my childhood feeling like something was missing from our family. Everyone smiled for photographs, but nobody talked about anything that mattered.”
Léa studied her half sister.
She had expected to hate Camille.
Instead, she was beginning to understand that wealth could hide different kinds of loneliness.
“You had a father,” Léa said quietly.
Camille looked down.
“I had a father who was physically present. That isn't always the same thing.”
Neither spoke for a while.
Outside, the countryside slipped past in green and gold.
When they reached the medical facility, Victor met with the director, Dr. Sophie Renard.
She was a composed woman in her early fifties, with dark hair and a careful manner.
“I understand you're investigating a historical matter,” she said.
Victor nodded.
“We believe your patient may have information concerning a death in Paris.”
Dr. Renard's expression tightened.
“Our patient is medically vulnerable. I cannot release confidential records without proper authorization.”
“We understand,” Victor replied. “We're not asking you to violate her privacy.”
Léa stepped forward.
“Doctor, my mother died seven years ago. We believe this woman was with her shortly before she died. I'm not asking you to hurt your patient. I only want to know whether she might ever be able to tell us what happened.”
Dr. Renard looked at her for a long moment.
Then she sighed.
“There's something you should understand. Marianne Voss is not in a continuous coma.”
Victor straightened.
“What?”
“She suffered a severe brain injury in November 2019. For years, her responsiveness was extremely limited. But she has gradually improved.”
Camille covered her mouth.
“She's awake?”
“At times. Her ability to communicate is inconsistent, and she has significant physical limitations.”
Léa felt hope rise painfully in her chest.
“Can she speak?”
“Occasionally. Short phrases. But she becomes distressed when certain memories are discussed.”
Victor asked whether the police could arrange a formal interview.
Dr. Renard nodded.
“With the proper safeguards and her consent, yes.”
They spent the afternoon contacting the appropriate authorities.
By evening, a police investigator had arrived, and Dr. Renard agreed to ask Marianne whether she wished to meet the visitors.
To everyone's surprise, Marianne indicated that she did.
Léa entered the room first.
The woman lying in the bed was thin, with silver strands running through her dark hair. Her face had aged considerably since the photographs were taken.
But Léa recognized her.
“Aunt Marie?”
Marianne's eyes moved toward her.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then tears appeared.
“Léa?”
The sound was faint.
Léa approached the bed.
“Yes. It's me.”
Marianne began trembling.
“No,” she whispered.
Léa stopped.
“What's wrong?”
Marianne struggled to move her hand.
“Too late.”
Dr. Renard gently encouraged her to rest.
But Marianne shook her head.
She looked directly at Léa.
“Elise.”
Léa felt her throat tighten.
“My mother?”
Marianne's breathing quickened.
“Sorry.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“So sorry.”
Léa knelt beside the bed.
“Please. I need to know what happened to her.”
Marianne closed her eyes.
For a moment, Léa feared she had exhausted herself.
Then Marianne whispered:
“Stairs.”
Léa gripped the edge of the bed.
“Were you there?”
A tiny nod.
“Did you see her fall?”
Marianne's face twisted with distress.
“No fall.”
Victor, standing near the door, became completely still.
Léa could barely breathe.
“What do you mean?”
Marianne opened her eyes.
Her voice was almost inaudible.
“Pushed.”
Léa's heart seemed to stop.
“Who pushed her?”
Marianne's lips moved.
No sound emerged.
Dr. Renard stepped forward.
“That's enough for now.”
But Marianne suddenly seized Léa's hand with surprising strength.
“Baby,” she gasped.
Léa leaned closer.
“Juliette?”
Marianne nodded frantically.
“Alive.”
“Where?”
Marianne struggled to form the words.
“Not... Juliette... now.”
Léa stared at her.
“What is her name?”
Marianne's fingers tightened.
May you like
Then she whispered a name that made Camille stagger backward.
“CAMILLE.”
