Chapter 1 - Three DaysThe wheelbarrow squealed across the emergency room floor, and the receptionist looked up just as a six-year-old girl whispered, “Please don't let my babies die.”

Nobody moved for half a second. Then everyone did.

The girl was small enough that the handles almost reached her shoulders. Her gray shirt was streaked with mud, her sneakers were wet, and her knuckles were rubbed raw. In the wheelbarrow, two newborns lay beneath a blue blanket and a pink one. One cried like a kitten. The other made no sound at all.

“I'm Andrea,” said the nurse in burgundy scrubs, dropping to one knee. “Can I help them?”

The girl tightened her grip. “Both of them?”

“Both. I promise I'll take care of both.”

A second nurse, Denise, pulled on gloves. “Call neonatal. Now.”

Andrea met the child's eyes. “Sweetheart, where's your mommy?”

The answer arrived in a voice so tired it barely reached the desk. “She's been sleeping for three days.”

The receptionist's hand froze over the phone.

“What do you mean, sleeping?” Andrea asked.

“I shook her. I put water on her face. I told her Rosie was hungry.” The girl's lower lip quivered. “She wouldn't wake up.”

Denise lifted the baby in pink, supporting her tiny head. “Weak breathing. Treatment room two.” Andrea scooped up the boy in blue and followed. The girl took a step after them, but her knees buckled.

Andrea turned. “I've got her.”

“Don't leave them,” the girl begged. “Mama said I'm the big sister.”

“We won't,” Andrea said. “What's your name?”

“Ellie.”

“Ellie what?”

“Ellie Parker.”

She reached under her collar and pulled out a little brass key on a string. There was a smear of red paint on its teeth.

“Does this open your house, honey?”

Ellie shook her head. “Not the front door. The little door Mama said never to show anybody.”

“Where's your house?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Nothing came. Her eyes rolled back, and Andrea caught her before her head struck the floor.

The key stayed clenched in Ellie's fist. When Andrea gently loosened her fingers, she saw tiny letters scratched into the brass: B-17.

Across the room, the receptionist finally connected with emergency dispatch. “We have two newborns and a six-year-old, mother unresponsive at an unknown address.”

Ellie stirred just enough to say four words that changed the room.

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“Don't call the landlord.”