Chapter 3

INTRODUCTION The Silent Ward They say hospitals are places of healing. But in the dead hours of the night-when the fluorescent lights flicker and the halls echo with nothing but the wheeze of machines-they become something else entirely. Groote Schuur Hospital stood like a sentinel on the hill, its white walls soaked in a century of suffering, silence, and secrets. Patients came and went. Some were healed. Some weren't. But a few-just a few-disappeared. Ward 17B doesn't appear on any maps. No signs point to it. No records mention its name. The door was sealed shut in 1984, after something happened inside that no one was willing to explain. Until now. Detective Siya Ndlovu never wanted to come back. Not to this place. Not to this city. Not to the memories she buried the day her twin sister Asanda vanished from Groote Schuur without a trace. But when bodies begin piling up with no cause of death-just eyes wide open and mouths stretched in silent screams-Siya is drawn into a case that feels too close to home. As the investigation deepens, she uncovers whispers of a government project buried beneath hospital floors, of experiments that cracked the human mind and opened something that should've stayed shut. They called it Project Threnody.

My life was perfect. I was Sarah, a loving mom, taking my sweet six-year-old Lily to Kids' Kraft Korner, all smiles and glitter castles. In an instant, my world shattered. A bloodcurdling scream. I raced back inside to find Lily' s lifeless body, her head gone, crafting shears beside her. My heart died. The real nightmare began. My best friend, Jessica, shrieked, pointing at me. Detective Harding arrested me. My own husband, David, abandoned me, highlighting my past postpartum depression. The media branded me a monster; "Suburban Mother Snaps, Murders Daughter" screamed headlines, bolstered by manipulated footage and a janitor's twisted testimony. Under relentless accusations, I plunged into a torturous haze. Dr. Peterson, a psychologist David suggested, hypnotized me. Horrifying images flooded my mind: me, holding the shears, filled with rage, striking Lily. I confessed, truly believing the implanted memory, convinced I was a child killer. The "recalled" physical evidence-Lily' s head, found exactly where I "remembered" it-seemed to seal my monstrous fate. I was lost in self-loathing. Still, even through the despair, a tiny flicker of inner doubt persisted. Could I really have done this? Then, as I was dragged to court, I saw Jessica in the crowd. She wasn't yelling. She was smiling. A small, smug, triumphant smile. It wasn't my madness. That hateful smile ignited something raw. "You did this, Jessica! You set me up!" I screamed, tearing at my restraints. "She's having an affair with my husband! David is the father of her son!" My desperate accusation, fueled by rage, finally started to unravel the terrifying conspiracy, pulling me from the abyss of my false memory.

Returning to my Chicago office after maternity leave, I craved the familiar rhythm of marketing and the comfort of normalcy. But on my very first day back, a strange woman from accounting, Brenda, confronted me with a bizarre, unsettling demand. Convinced my breast milk was the miraculous cure for her 19-year-old developmentally disabled son, Kevin, she insisted I provide it, "directly and on demand." My polite refusal ignited a terrifying, obsessive campaign of harassment. Brenda's actions escalated from chilling threats to physical confrontations, culminating in a horrifying ambush in the company lactation room. She deliberately tore my clothes, began filming, and shamelessly urged her large son to assault me for my milk. Even after this grotesque attack, HR downplayed it as a mere "workplace dispute," paralyzed by Brenda's expert manipulation of Kevin's disability and her theatrical victimhood. Police, overwhelmed by her counter-accusations and her son' s condition, offered no arrests, only warnings. I was left reeling, violated, and utterly betrayed by a system designed to protect employees. Brenda's smug victory, coupled with subtle, continued threats, pushed me to the brink. How could I be safe when my workplace allowed such depravity, bending to one woman' s deranged obsession? With official help impossible and my personal safety compromised, I realized I had to fight back on my own terms. My retired Marine Sergeant father and powerful football-player nephew became my unexpected allies. Brenda had declared war; I decided it was time to find my own weapons.

My son Leo, valedictorian, MIT-bound. On his graduation day, my heart swelled with pride as I ironed his gown. He was my entire world, the only light left in it. Then, my ex-wife Victoria called, her voice flat: "Problem at the old industrial freezer. Go now." Dread seized me. I ran. The massive door creaked open to darkness and a metallic scent. My phone's light revealed the horror: Leo, grotesque, hundreds of construction spikes pinning him. "Dad?" he whispered. Then he was gone. Trapped with his body, I called Victoria. She scoffed, dismissing his death as a "prank." My own father only wanted money. At the hospital, Victoria' s security blocked Leo' s ambulance while she discussed a new family with Chad. He then tricked me into a "miracle procedure" to save Leo – actually, to dissolve his body and destroy evidence. I burst into the OR: hazmat suits, acrid chemicals, Leo' s desecrated remains. They were dissolving my son. My grief transformed into pure, black rage. Victoria then called this unspeakable horror a "prank that got carried away." The profound betrayal and boundless cruelty were incomprehensible. Something inside me snapped. As Victoria's men dragged me away to a forced psychiatric committal, her mocking words echoed. I looked at her, at Chad, at the vile scene. My voice, flat and emotionless, was a vow: "You will pay. Both of you. You will pay for this." This was no longer just sorrow; it was a chilling promise.

The oppressive silence of my home was a constant reminder of my twelve lost children. My husband, Michael, the man I loved, transformed into a monster, ripping each newborn from my arms with cold, absurd justifications. Every desperate plea for help I made-to family, friends, even strangers-was met with the same chilling betrayal. Michael merely showed them a mysterious photograph, and instantly, their sympathy vanished, replaced by a cruel consensus that I was the one who was mad, leaving me utterly abandoned in a ceaseless loop of pregnancy and loss. What dark secret did this single image hold that could turn every loving face against me, convincing them my babies' deaths were a delusion and not a horrifying reality? I was trapped, heartbroken, and consumed by the desperate need to understand why everyone believed his monstrous lies over my truth. Just as I plummeted into a final, desperate act to escape this unending torment, the 'nightmare' shattered, awakening me not to death, but to a shocking truth: my decade of anguish was a high-tech medical simulation, and the reality that awaited was stranger, and more hopeful, than anything I could have imagined.

I sacrificed everything for him. I moved from my privileged New England life to a forgotten Appalachian town, funding my fiancé Ethan Vance's dream of rebuilding his family's home. For four years, I poured my heart into Havenwood, oblivious to the darkness brewing. Then, with our baby growing inside me, I overheard his chilling plan: a dark ritual, the "Founders' Pact," to transfer another woman's grotesque sickness to me, securing his power through my sacrifice. At the town festival, he revealed his true monstrosity, kicking me until I miscarried, then forcing a vile, disease-ridden draught down my throat. My beauty faded, replaced by festering sores, and I was cast out, "The Witch," forced into isolation, realizing how every manipulation and every abuse-from servitude to branding-had been expertly designed. Lost and dying, my grandmother's locket, my last link to my old life, burned intensely in my hand. As Ethan celebrated his ultimate triumph, the locket sent me back: to my opulent engagement party, the pivotal day he vanished four years ago. Now, fully aware of his vile scheme and backed by my powerful family, I will meticulously dismantle his life, brick by agonizing brick.