10. The Final Dose
Chapter ten
The Final Dose
“Ipicked out the navy suit for you today,” Simon said.
He stepped through the master bedroom doorway, the dry-cleaning plastic rustling against his knuckles.
In his other hand, the thick green liquid inside a tall glass sloshed gently against the rim.
Early afternoon sunlight poured across the hardwood floor, illuminating the dust motes swirling in his wake.
He crossed the room to drape the bagged suit over the closet door handle and then set the glass onto my wooden nightstand. A drop of cold condensation immediately wept down its side.
I sat motionless in my upstairs wheelchair. My calves still carried a dull, satisfying ache from bearing my own weight in the garage hours ago. But I forced myself to slump against the heavy canvas backrest, adopting a look of passive exhaustion.
Simon turned around, invading my space. The sharp scent of his aftershave flooded my nose, stifling the clean morning air. He dropped to one knee, resting his palms lightly on my legs.
“Just relax your shoulders for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice adopting that sickeningly gentle cadence. “Let me do the work. I know you’re tired.”
I held my breath as his fingers reached for the top button of my pajama shirt. He undid them one by one. The cool air brushed against my bare collarbone.
I had regained enough strength in my arms to shove him backward onto the rug. Instead, I forced my muscles to go loose and dead. I let my arms hang limp at my sides, mimicking the total helplessness he expected to see.
He pulled the cotton fabric away, letting it drape over the wheelchair armrest, and reached for the fresh clothes.
The crisp silk blouse went on first. He lifted my wrist, guiding my hand through the sleeve.
The fabric felt slick and restrictive against my skin.
Next came the tailored navy jacket. As he adjusted the lapels around my neck, the metallic tick of his crystal-faced watch echoed right beside me.
“You look beautiful, Audrey,” he said, smoothing a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “The navy always brings out your eyes.”
Enduring the brush of his fingers against my bare skin made my stomach turn. I stared at his pristine hairline, amazed by his total lack of guilt. He was grooming me for an execution, entirely unaware that he was actually fitting me for my armor.
“Thank you, Simon,” I replied softly. I kept my tone breathy, feigning a pathetic frailty. “I just want today to go smoothly.”
He stood up, brushing an invisible speck of lint from his slacks.
“It will. Lawrence is bringing the notary at 1:45.” He tapped his index finger against the rim of the glass. “Drink your smoothie while I go shower. You need your energy.”
“I will. Go get ready.”
I watched him turn toward the bathroom, letting the hollow calm wash over me.
The master bathroom door clicked shut. Seconds later, water hissed through the copper pipes, building into a muffled, rushing roar behind the drywall.
I dropped the act immediately. Leaning to the right, I pinched the zipper of the black canvas pouch bolted beneath my armrest and pulled it back. I extracted an empty plastic water bottle with my left hand. With my right, I reached for the glass on the nightstand.
No tremors. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t lift a paper cup without spilling the contents down my own chest. Now, my fingers wrapped around the thick crystal, and my grip felt rock-solid.
The actual strength in my own hands sent a sharp thrill of adrenaline through my veins.
I brought the rims together and tilted the glass.
The viscous green liquid poured out sluggishly.
“Last one,” I muttered, watching the poisoned sludge pool at the bottom of the plastic.
I set the empty glass back onto the wooden nightstand, intentionally leaving a thin smear of residue along the bottom edge for Simon to find.
My left hand screwed the plastic cap tight and buried the bottle deep in the canvas pouch. My right fingers bypassed the plastic, digging farther into the dark pocket until they brushed the cold shell of the burner phone.
I pulled the device out and tapped the screen. The sudden glare illuminated my palms in the shadowed corner of the bedroom. I opened the encrypted messaging app, my thumbs moving rapidly across the glass.
I’m dressed. Simon is in the shower. The meeting is in one hour.
I stared at the glowing display, counting my own slow, deliberate breaths to steady my nerves. The device vibrated against my skin.
I’m parked down the street with the detectives. Lawrence just texted me that he’s en route with the notary.
Reading those words erased the final trace of my lingering anxiety. For six months, he had treated this beautiful house exactly like a prison.
Simon was currently washing his hair ten feet away, completely deluded by his own arrogance and assuming he still controlled every single aspect of my life. He had no idea the police were sitting right outside our gates. I held all the cards.
I typed my response, ensuring they knew exactly when they were allowed to move.
Wait for Lawrence’s signal. Don’t breach until I play the video.
The reply came instantly.
We’re ready. Hold your ground.
I held the power button down, watching the screen fade to black.
I slipped the locked device into the pocket of my tailored navy suit jacket, ensuring it was completely concealed.
I leaned back against the canvas support of the wheelchair, letting my shoulders slump forward.
I rested my empty hands limply against my silk-covered thighs, making absolutely sure I looked perfectly helpless.
The rush of the shower abruptly shut off, leaving the master bedroom in a heavy, ringing silence.
Simon’s wingtip shoes clattered against the wooden stairs as he carried me down to the main level. I kept my neck entirely loose, letting my head loll passively against his collarbone to feign complete exhaustion.
He lowered me into the primary wheelchair parked near the sofa, draping a knit blanket over my legs and adjusting the lapels of my navy suit before stepping back.
I settled against the canvas backing, fighting the immediate instinct to sit upright.
Under the cover of the blanket, I slipped the burner phone from my jacket pocket and hid it safely in my lap.
Before Simon could speak, a key scraped in the front door’s brass deadbolt.
Nina breezed into the foyer, bringing an instant, suffocating reek of jasmine perfume that overwhelmed the crisp atmosphere of the house. She wore a tailored emerald dress that clung tightly to her hips, her heels clicking rapidly across the marble entry.
“Right on time,” Simon said, checking his watch. “Lawrence should be here in twenty minutes.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Nina replied. Her eyes immediately darted past him to find me.
She crossed the living room in three quick strides and dropped into a dramatic crouch beside my wheels.
She reached out, snatching my wrists and pulling my hands into her lap.
The acrylic tips of her manicured nails dug into my skin, leaving a stinging bite against my knuckles.
She pushed her bottom lip out in a deeply exaggerated, theatrical pout, tilting her head in a cheap imitation of grief.
“Oh, honey,” Nina cooed, her voice pitched an octave higher than usual. “You look so tired today. Are you ready for this?”
I stared at her perfectly contoured face.
Six months ago, the fake sympathy would have made me feel small and pathetic.
Today, it just felt ridiculous. I was looking at a woman who thought she was inheriting a fortune, blissfully oblivious to the police cruisers idling two blocks away.
I let a slow, shallow breath escape my lips.
“I am,” I whispered, keeping my voice soft and breathy.
Simon rubbed the back of his neck, clearly satisfied with the performance. “I’m going to set up the proxy documents in the formal dining room. Keep her comfortable, Nina.”
“Of course, darling,” she said, never breaking eye contact with me.
His heavy footsteps faded down the corridor. The second the rustle of his suit died away, I spoke up.
“Could you push me into the dining room, Nina? Simon is waiting.”
The sweet, supportive smile melted from her face. Her emerald eyes hardened into a glare of unmasked annoyance. She didn’t bother to be gentle as she let go of my wrists, letting my arms fall limply and strike the metal armrests. She stood up, smoothing the front of her designer dress.
“Fine,” Nina snapped, her voice completely losing its sugary cadence. She stepped directly behind the wheelchair and grabbed the push handles. “Keep your hands inside the armrests. I don’t want to clip the doorframe.”
“I’ll keep them right here in my lap,” I replied softly.
I folded my fingers together over the navy wool of my pantsuit, keeping my elbows tucked tight. Without another word of warning, Nina thrust her body weight forward, roughly shoving the chair toward the hall.
The sudden, aggressive jolt threw my torso backward.
My stomach tightened, every instinct screaming at me to sit upright and brace myself.
I bit the inside of my cheek and forced myself to go slack, letting my core go dead.
I let my upper body sag pathetically against the canvas backrest, giving in completely to the rough jolts of the wheelchair.
I endured the abusive ride, knowing every petty cruelty was just another nail in her coffin.
The wheels clattered harshly against the polished hardwood as she shoved my chair forward, marching us both straight toward the dining room.