The Sinister Deception (The Field & Greystone #6)

Chapter 1

One

Walter Dunn struggled to catch his breath as heavy footsteps approached the door of his room, trepidation tightening his frail body. When the steps continued down the hall, a wave of icy relief washed over him, even as he gripped the chair arm to steady himself, more shaken than he’d care to admit.

He studied his hand on the chair, gaze drifting over the blue-black veins crossing the thin skin freckled with age spots, the knuckles gnarled along several of his fingers. He barely recognized himself. How he detested being so old and weak, though he was only nine and sixty.

Age seemed to have caught up with him suddenly.

Where had the dratted time gone? His life had passed in the blink of a blurring eye.

His Nancy was long gone, memories of her fading with each day.

Her smile, her laughter; they were disappearing.

Loneliness was now his constant companion, something he’d hoped might ease during his stay at Hollowgate Heights, but to no avail.

Now Walter was trapped in this sterile room, no longer certain he’d ever escape.

Or survive long.

The renowned sanatorium was supposed to offer modern scientific methods to regain health in a picturesque setting. It had been just that, for a time.

But now...

Now it was clear coming here had been a terrible mistake.

The treatments he’d undergone had been difficult from the start, leaving him drained and shaky. Fasting, hydropathy—using water for easing pain and other ills—had to be more natural options than the powders and pills the physician had prescribed since the cancer started to spread.

What did he have to lose, he’d asked himself before coming to the sanatorium. What if one of these clever new treatments cured him, allowing him to live the rest of his life in relative comfort?

Only last week Walter had grown hopeful, feeling as if he’d regained a small measure of strength and vitality. He had slept better, deeper, longer. Perhaps his nephew wouldn’t inherit as soon as Walter feared.

The footsteps echoed in the hall once again, returning in his direction. A whisper of dread crawled along his spine as they slowed, slowed, then halted, followed by a quiet knock before the door opened.

Panic flared.

“Good afternoon, Walter,” the aide said with a bright smile, holding a small silver tray.

Patients weren’t allowed the formality of a proper address.

After all, everyone was among friends, Dr. Thorne had insisted when Walter had first arrived.

It didn’t apply to the doctor, of course, and Walter was willing to wager it didn’t apply to the titled clientele housed in the other wing either that patients whispered about on the rare occasions they were permitted time together.

“Return later,” Walter grumbled with a dismissive wave of his hand, hoping his gripping fear didn’t spill from his gaze. “I’m just about to rest.” Yet he couldn’t tear his eyes from the tray, draped with a cloth that hid its contents.

While Walter had believed sincerely that the harsh treatments were helping, doubt had recently taken hold. Over the last three days, he was starting to wonder if their intent was perhaps darker.

To kill him, instead of heal him.

But why? And who? The aide? The doctor? His blasted nephew, by somehow approving different treatments from afar? Or that menacing patient down the hall who gave Walter the creeps?

“Return later?” The aide grinned as he shook his head, moving closer with absolute certainty. “We can’t change the schedule, Walter. You know that.”

Walter gathered his courage and his limited strength. He had to take a stand. It was now or never. “I’m done—done with the treatments. I’m checking myself out of here. The time has come for me to return home.”

The aide’s grin slowly faded. “Are you in earnest?”

“I am.” Walter nodded to confirm it. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but I’ll be leaving come morning.”

His gaze drifted over to his suitcase. Small, and a little battered around the edges, like himself. Unlike himself, it was full to the brim.

The man hesitated. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

“That’s for me to decide.” Walter lifted his chin, wanting it to be true.

He’d been told, hadn’t he, when he’d arrived: he could leave when he chose, though few did.

Dr. Thorne had said that people only left when they were cured.

But he felt more and more like a prisoner here, rather than a patient who’d paid an exorbitant fee to stay.

The aide continued to stare, his hesitation obvious.

“My nephew is expecting me,” Walter lied even as he looked the man in the eye.

The man’s brow furrowed. “Really? The one who hasn’t written in two weeks?”

Alarm coursed through Walter. How did he know that? “He—he’s been busy. With business. His birthday is in a few days, and I promised to be there to celebrate with him, so you see I need to—”

A knock sounded on the door and it opened again to reveal Dr. Thorne. “Good afternoon, Walter.” Her pleasant looks, confident demeanor, and charming smile were all part of the reason Walter had chosen to come to Hollowgate Heights. Comforting. Reassuring.

Yet now her familiar features were enough to make him shiver.

“You haven’t given Walter his next treatment yet?” she asked with a frown as she looked between them.

The aide flushed. “No, Doctor. He says he’s no longer taking them. That he’s leaving tomorrow.”

“Leaving?” The disbelief in her voice had Walter shifting in his chair.

He didn’t want to argue, hardly had the strength for it, but he’d already started down the path of refusing their supposed remedies and he was stubborn enough to keep going. “Yes. I am sure you’d agree that I’m no longer improv—”

“I don’t, actually.” Dr. Thorne moved forward to stand beside him, forcing him to tilt his neck up to hold her gaze. “As we’ve discussed before, improvements come in spurts. It’s only natural that a plateau is sometimes reached.”

“Humph. Well, this is my last plateau.” Walter waved a hand again. “I’m done.”

“If you’re not leaving until the morning, we might as well do one more.” The doctor’s suggestion caused his stomach to roil. “It could push you into a state of true recovery. You might feel totally different in the morning.”

“No, thank you.” Not even the thought of true recovery was enough to change his mind, though it had been his fondest hope when he’d entered the sanatorium. To be free, finally, from this cancer eating him from the inside.

But it was fear that consumed him now.

“Very well.” Dr. Thorne turned with a sigh to the aide. “It seems our work here is done.” Her gaze flickered to Walter. “I’ll send someone in with the paperwork for you to sign.”

“Thank you.” Walter waited for a sense of relief, but it didn’t come. Perhaps it wouldn’t until he was well away from the place. The strange chemical smells, and the cloying sense of dread, and something not quite right.

“We will miss you, Walter.” She reached to shake his hand briefly.

He nodded in response, unable to return the sentiment. “Goodbye, Dr. Thorne.”

The remainder of the day passed slowly. He packed his final few belongings, frustrated that he had to rest so often as he did so. His lungs were tight. Painfully tight. The bowl of clear broth with no bread that he was served for dinner only made him more anxious to leave.

“A proper meal is what I need,” he muttered to himself, his stomach grumbling. “Then I won’t feel so blasted weak.”

Still, he sipped the tasteless liquid, wanting what little energy it might give him. Within minutes after finishing, a heavy fatigue took hold, weighing down his limbs, slowing his thoughts. Good grief, he had to get out of here.

The aide knocked and entered his room, leaving the door open. The sight of another patient watching from the doorway was enough to have Walter stirring. “Don’t you have anything else to do?” he asked irritably.

The man eased out of sight, but Walter felt certain he remained to listen. Any contact with others was craved; they were all kept in their rooms so much.

“Here are the discharge papers that Dr. Thorne mentioned,” the aide said, placing them on a small table, along with a fountain pen. “You just need to sign here.” He pointed to the bottom of the sheet.

Walter could hardly keep his eyes open. Everything was blurry. Dim. He must be more tired than he thought. “I’ll do it come morning.”

“The doctor wants it done now.” The aide held the pen for Walter to take.

His thoughts fell away and he blinked through the mist, trying to remember what they’d been talking about. “Done? Sign…where?” he asked as he grasped the pen with clumsy fingers.

Another point at the paper that seemed to move across his sight, and it was over. Then the aide helped him prepare for bed.

“Sleep well, Walter. I’ll see you in the morning, and then you’ll be on your way home.”

Walter closed his eyes, a smile on his lips. Home. The word had never sounded so good. Exhaustion rolled over him, taking a firmer hold, but suddenly his eyes flew open as unease gripped him.

Someone—someone was in his room.

His unsteady gaze rocked to and fro as a figure reached for him, pushing up his sleeve, and a stunning pain took hold.

Something was wrong...terribly wrong. Then all went dark.