“—I know what you carry inside, Nora. I know you want to know. —he wrote—. Blood calls to blood.”

The phrases are ambiguous, almost poetic. But there are details that only someone with access to her current life could know: mentions of the hospital, specific patients, the bar where she has her drinks. Her father is locked up, but someone seems to be feeding him information. Who? How?

She visits Aaron Nierling in prison. For the first time in twenty-six years. The tension in the room is suffocating. The man in front of her is no longer the monster from her childhood. He is an old man with a soft voice… and empty eyes.

—Nora. I always knew you would come.

—Who’s helping you? Who is doing this to me?

—I do nothing, daughter. But others do. Because they want you to know the truth. About yourself. About me. About what you inherited.

Nora stands up, furious. He smiles.

—You look so much like your mother when you’re angry…

The phrase hits her like a knife. He never spoke of her mother. Never mentioned her. But that woman, always silent, knew more than she said.