The Pawn’s Gambit

The clinic sat just two blocks from the university, tucked between an old brick apartment building and a line of overgrown trees that crept toward the sidewalk. The sign out front read Palmetto Memory Institute, a quiet, unassuming place specializing in Alzheimer’s research and treatment.

It was the kind of building most people walked past without a second thought.

Jessica stood outside, staring at the glass doors, the gold lettering peeling slightly from years of exposure. The air smelled of damp pavement and the lingering bite of autumn, and she realized she had been gripping the strap of her bag too tightly.

A clinic. Alzheimer’s research. That’s what the sign said. But she knew better than to trust signs.

Leanna nudged her. “Ready?”

Jessica nodded, exhaling as Olivia pulled open the door.

Inside, the air was sterile, a faint trace of antiseptic beneath the artificial coolness of air conditioning. The waiting room was almost too ordinary, magazines stacked neatly on a side table, a soft instrumental tune humming from speakers, the receptionist sitting behind a polished desk, eyes lifting as they entered.

“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked, polite but firm.

Jessica hesitated, but Olivia stepped in smoothly, adjusting her posture just enough to radiate a quiet confidence. “No, but we’re with the…” She flashed a look at Jessica. “Charleston Medical Review. We’re compiling a report on the best-rated research facilities in the region, and this clinic came highly recommended.”

The receptionist blinked. “I wasn’t aware we were under review.”

Olivia smiled, pulling a small notebook from her bag. “That’s kind of the point. We like to see things as they are, not how they are presented for publicity.”

The woman hesitated, then glanced toward the hallway leading deeper into the building. “I’d have to check with…”

“Of course,” Olivia cut in smoothly. “But we’d love to take a quick look at the facility in the meantime.”

Jessica had seen Olivia work before, but it never ceased to impress her. She had a way of presenting a lie that made people want to agree with it just to move things along.

The receptionist finally sighed, standing. “Fine. I can give you a brief tour. But if you need to speak with anyone in the research division, that’ll have to be scheduled.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Olivia said, already making a note in her book as if she were an official investigator.

They followed the receptionist down a sterile white hallway, past framed photographs of medical professionals shaking hands at symposiums, past a few closed doors marked Authorized Personnel Only.

The tour itself was underwhelming. Small patient rooms, a laboratory that looked no different from any university science department, a common area with comfortable seating and muted television screens showing nature documentaries. Nothing unusual. Nothing that felt like the kind of place where experiments were done in the shadows.

Jessica felt her muscles tighten with every empty corridor.

They were looking for ghosts, but ghosts had a habit of staying hidden.

By the time they finished the circuit back at the waiting area, Jessica was already thinking ahead. Maybe the real answer wasn’t inside the clinic at all. Maybe it was…

“Miss Sanchez?”

Jessica turned. The receptionist was holding out a small envelope. Her face betrayed nothing. “A message for you.”

Jessica hesitated before taking it. The paper felt thin between her fingers, weightless and dangerous all at once.

She tore it open. Inside was a single folded sheet of paper and a small, polished chess piece resting in the fold, a white pawn.

Jessica swallowed, unfolding the letter. The handwriting was unfamiliar, the ink sharp against the page.

As always, you’re too late.

Her fingers curled around the pawn, its smooth surface cold against her palm. She forced herself to read the rest of the letter.

Beneath the single line was something worse. A file. Her file. Patient Name: Jessica Carter.

There was more. There were dates, notes, and something about cognitive observations. The words swam, her vision tunneled. She had never been here. Not that she remembered, but someone had listed her as a patient. Someone had been watching. Studying. And whoever had left this message wanted her to know it.

Leanna shifted beside her. “What is it?”

Jessica barely heard her. The weight of the chess piece sat in her palm like an accusation. A pawn. Someone had taken Mr. Black’s place. And the game wasn’t over.