Chapter 4 - The Poisoner's Trap
The gravel crunched outside under the tires of a luxury sedan. It was exactly seven-thirty.
I moved with mechanical precision. I unplugged the heart monitor and the pulse oximeter, cutting the power cords with a pair of surgical shears from my medical tray so it looked like an equipment failure rather than deliberate tampering.
Raymond pulled the blankets up to his chin, letting his arms go limp, slumping his head sideways onto the pillow, perfectly resuming the posture of a man drawing his final breaths. His breathing slowed down to a convincing, shallow rhythm. But his right hand remained hidden under the thick duvet—clenched into a massive, lethal fist.
Footsteps echoed sharply down the hallway.
The bedroom door clicked open. Dr. Samuel Wallace walked in, smelling of expensive tobacco and expensive aftershave, accompanied by Christopher. Two armed guards remained stationed outside in the hall, their silhouettes visible through the cracked doorway.
Christopher looked annoyed, checking the gold watch on his wrist. "Do it quickly, Wallace. The board meeting for Winslow Logistics starts at ten. I want to arrive with the death certificate signed and ready for probate."
"Patience, Christopher," Wallace said with a chilling, detached professionalism. He placed his black medical bag on the bedside table and unlocked it with a tiny key. "A premature cardiac arrest needs to look completely organic. The coroner will find traces of potassium imbalance, completely consistent with end-stage renal failure. No one will question it."
Wallace withdrew a large glass syringe filled with five milliliters of a clear, viscous compound.
I stood in front of the IV pole, my heart hammering against my ribs, keeping Theo securely behind me in his portable bassinet.
"Dr. Wallace," I said, my voice deliberately wavering to sell the illusion of a frightened, helpless girl. "His... his monitors malfunctioned twenty minutes ago. I think he's having chest convulsions. Should we call an ambulance?"
Wallace scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. "Step aside, Nora. The man is dying. It’s the natural terminal stage. Your job is finished here. Grab your child, go down to the kitchen, and wait for Christopher’s assistant to give you your final check."
"Wait," Christopher interrupted, his eyes narrowing as he stepped toward the desk. He stopped. His gaze fell upon the carpet near Elena’s portrait. "Why is there fresh, wet mud on the hall floor?"
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. I had tried to wipe my shoes, but in my rush from the greenhouse, I had left faint, damp traces near the door.
Christopher turned slowly toward me, his face twisting into a dangerous snarl. He stepped forward and grabbed my arm, squeezing with bruising force. "Where were you this morning, Nora?"
"I... I went down to the kitchen to warm up Theo’s milk," I stammered, pulling back.
"The kitchen is in the south wing," Christopher growled, his eyes flashing with sudden paranoia. He reached into his coat pocket and drew a silver snub-nosed revolver. "You’ve been sneaking around this house."
"Christopher, don't make a mess," Wallace muttered, stepping closer to the bed and raising the syringe toward Raymond’s IV line. "Let's finish the old man first, then deal with her."
Wallace bent over the bed, his thumb resting on the syringe plunger, aiming the needle straight for the IV port.
"Goodbye, Raymond," Wallace whispered with a smug, arrogant grin. "Your kingdom belongs to us now."
In the fraction of a second that followed, the room exploded.
Raymond Winslow’s left hand shot out like a striking viper, wrapping entirely around Dr. Wallace’s throat.
The syringe flew out of the doctor’s fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. Wallace let out a strangled, suffocating wheeze as Raymond sat upright in bed—his eyes wide, blazing with cold fury, looking not like a corpse, but like an archangel of vengeance risen from the grave.
"You should have checked my pulse yourself, Samuel," Raymond roared.
With a sickening crack, Raymond drove Wallace face-first into the heavy wooden bedpost. The corrupt doctor collapsed onto the floor in a heap of blood and shattered teeth, completely unconscious.
Christopher stumbled backward in blind, unadulterated horror, raising the revolver with shaking hands. "Y-you... you were dead! Wallace said your nervous system was fried!"
"You always were too impatient, Christopher," Raymond said coldly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Though his body was still fighting the lingering effects of the paralytic, his presence filled the entire room with overwhelming menace.
Christopher aimed the gun directly at Raymond’s chest. "It doesn't matter! I'll put a bullet through your skull right now and tell the police you went delirious and attacked us!"
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Christopher pulled back the hammer.
"No!" I screamed, grabbing the heavy brass table lamp off the nightstand and hurling it with all the strength in my body straight at Christopher's face.
