34. Day of Death
Day of Death
Kate sipped from the water, telling him how thirsty she was as she took a deeper swig. No weird taste lingered in the water. Nothing to alarm her or tip her off. Not until he told her the words. “Now’s the time.”
She leaned an elbow on the counter, raising her eyebrows while asking. “What time is that? The one where I finally kick your ass?”
He nodded his head, smiling softly while telling her. “I promised I’d warn you when death came knocking.” Lucien swallowed once, throat dry. “It already knocked.”
Kate went still, her eyes sliding to the water bottle she held. Understanding lingered in her. “How long?”
He glanced away, unable to hold her gaze. “Couple of minutes.” He coughed. “But the effect will… take hold sooner.”
Her mouth opened then closed again. Wasting, they were wasting precious time.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, just… just don’t waste it in anger.”
She glanced outside, gaze on the pine branches, how she always did when something bothered her. But he saw it, the solitary tear slipping past her cheek.
That’s how it would go down tonight between them. Him and Kate, ending things as he should have the second he met her.
It played in his mind’s eye so vividly, he nearly dropped the bottle. Wished that it crashed to the floor and spilled over the smooth concrete.
It all came in flashes, just like Kate had said the past shot through her own mind.
Her rare smiles softened something deep within his chest, her trust in him during the panic attack when he guided her through it. And above all, the way she stood up to him, time and again.
Lucien held it up against the light. A darkly stained glass bottle containing the liquid that would ensure the recipient wouldn’t feel pain, merely weakness taking over the limbs before the person would fall asleep forever.
He watched it drip into the bottle, colorless, mixing together with the water he’d give her when she was back from covering his training.
A tremble coursed through his hand, causing a drop to spill beside the bottle and fall to the ground.
Lucien cursed, jaws clenching while he forced and failed to keep it steady.
His gut ached, tightening into a rolled-up ball. He hadn’t done it to get rid of her, no.
“I want her to die believing in herself.” Ghost sat next to him, amber eyes tracking his every move. As if instinctively knowing what Lucien was doing.
The dog padded away, off to the side, wearing an expression of pure disappointment on his large face.
Ten drops, five extra for good measure. Who knew? He couldn’t afford her to wake up, not again. He wasn’t sure he could do it a third time. It would seem like an act of God if she survived, even if he was no believer in the Almighty.
He screwed the lid back on the water bottle, securing it tightly, lest she discovered his plan.
Lucien reached out to Ghost, intending to pull the dog in.
Ghost danced out of his touch, a low growl rumbling in his throat.
His hand stilled, hanging in the air in an invitation.
“Come here, boy.” But his formerly loyal companion sent him one long look before turning and disappearing into the hallway.
The clicking of his nails faded into the silence of the house.
He snapped his arm back, leaning heavily against the counter.
There would be no way back from this, no forgiveness.
A kill he would never recover from.
It wasn’t right, using the knowledge of her chronic illness, merely to facilitate her exit.
He’d met up with Emilio and had taken the poison in his possession.
He hadn’t taken the time to linger, to explain why he did what he did.
In full honesty, Lucien couldn’t. His friend had shaken his head, somehow sensing where Lucien’s mind strayed.
Had clapped him on the back and murmured, “Good luck, Lucien. I hope it’s over quickly.
” Whether Emilio meant her death or the feelings that were growing for her.
It didn’t matter.
Emilio had also given him the medical records, a yellow file covering the emergency visits, and antibiotics she’d been given. His friend had told him to flip to the last page, pointing to a small doctor’s note.
Patient is of the firm belief that she is still suffering from chronic Lyme disease.
After the heavy dose of antibiotics she received, plus the blood work showing a negative result, it is my thought that she is either making it up to receive more attention.
Something we often see in children with her traumatic background.
Or she is suffering from a sort of phantom pain.
Something else Kate had faced, alone. At least she wouldn’t be alone tonight. Even if she were to yell, scream, push him away, slap him. He would stay with her, hold her hand during…
He pushed off the counter, rounding it to grab a dishcloth, holding it beneath the stream before sinking down to his haunches. Violently scrubbing at the spot where the drop had fallen. Knowing full well what had happened last time he got… stuck in cleaning.
An idea hit. Flipping out his phone, he dialed Georgia’s number.
“Lucien, my dear! Is everything alright? Shall I pass you on to Kate?”
“All is well, and no, no. Tell me… is she doing good?”
A laugh cackled out of the phone. Lucien winced, distancing the phone from his sensitive hearing. “Good? You should have seen her. A bit uptight at the beginning, stage fright obviously, but she recovered. And how she did it, oh. You should be proud of her, Lucien.”
Lucien smiled, affection clear in his voice. “I am, I really am.”
“As you should, but,” Georgia hesitated. “You sound off? Are you sure you’re alright, dear?”
She knew, she always knew. Might as well have become a fellow colleague in the field. Almost had, with her history.
“I’m sure, I have a favor to ask you, though.” He coughed once, scraping his throat. “Can you take Kate out tonight? With Isabel, maybe?”
“Well, yes, I can! It will be good to be out with the girls, talk about all their achievements, and toast to Kate. Great idea, Lucien. Mind if we stay out late?”
This time, he laughed, shaking his head. “No, Georgia, take all the time you girls need.”
One last act.
He could wait.