Chapter 7 - Shadows in the Medicine Cabinet
The gala ended late,
leaving the house smelling of stale wine and dying flowers.
The silence that followed was heavy,
pregnant with the secrets that had been whispered in the corners.
I wheeled Richard back to his suite,
the hum of the motorized chair the only sound in the hallway.
When we were inside,
I didn't wait for him to speak.
I immediately began the nightly routine,
checking his vitals,
positioning him for comfort.
But my mind was on the medicine cabinet in the attached bathroom.
Every night at 1:00 AM,
the house doctor,
Dr. Aris,
would bring a pre-measured syringe and a handful of pills.
Richard had told me they were "maintenance" medications.
Now I knew they were the shackles that kept him paralyzed.
“He’ll be here in ten minutes,”
Richard said,
his voice sounding stronger than it had all day.
“He doesn't like to be kept waiting.”
“I’m ready,”
I said,
though my hands were cold.
I went into the bathroom and opened the cabinet.
I had prepared a small kit earlier in the day—a set of identical-looking sugar pills
and a vial of saline solution I had managed to smuggle from the supply room.
The trick was the switch.
Dr. Aris was a meticulous man,
a man who lived for order and protocol.
He wouldn't expect a nurse—a "divorcee from Evanston"—to have the dexterity of a magician.
A knock sounded at the door.
Soft,
deliberate.
I stepped out of the bathroom just as Ethan walked in,
followed by the doctor.
Dr. Aris was a man in his sixties,
with wire-rimmed glasses and a face that seemed carved out of gray stone.
“Good evening,
Richard,”
the doctor said,
not waiting for a response.
He set his bag on the nightstand,
the metallic clink of instruments sounding like a death knell.
Ethan stood by the foot of the bed,
his arms crossed,
his eyes fixed on his brother.
“He seemed a bit more…
alert tonight,
Doctor,”
Ethan said,
his voice laced with suspicion.
“Is that normal?”
Dr. Aris began preparing the syringe.
“Fluctuations occur,
Ethan.
The brain is trying to bridge the gaps,
but the damage is too extensive.
The medication will help him rest.”
I moved to the other side of the bed,
acting as the diligent assistant.
“I’ll take the pills,
Doctor,”
I said,
reaching for the small plastic cup on the tray.
“I find he takes them better if I crush them into his water.”
Dr. Aris paused,
his hand hovering over the cup.
He looked at me,
his eyes cold behind the glass.
“I usually handle the administration myself.”
“Of course,”
I said,
maintaining a submissive smile.
“I just noticed he had some trouble swallowing earlier.
I didn't want him to choke.”
Ethan let out a frustrated sigh.
“Just let her do it,
Aris.
I have a call with the Swiss facility in five minutes.
I don't have time for a medical seminar.”
The doctor hesitated,
then pushed the cup toward me.
“Fine.
But I want to see him swallow the sedative.”
I took the cup,
my heart leaping into my throat.
I turned to the nightstand,
my back to the two men.
In one fluid motion,
I dumped the actual pills into my palm and dropped the sugar pills into the water.
I stirred it with a spoon,
the clinking sound masking the frantic thudding of my heart.
“Here we go,
Mr. Vance,”
I said,
lifting Richard’s head.
He played his part perfectly,
his mouth hanging slightly open,
his eyes unfocused.
He swallowed the water,
the fake pills dissolving into nothingness.
Now for the syringe.
Dr. Aris stepped forward,
the needle gleaming in the lamplight.
“This is the neural-stabilizer,”
he said.
It was actually a powerful muscle relaxant and sedative.
If it entered Richard’s system,
he would be a vegetable for the next twelve hours.
I moved to "adjust" Richard’s arm,
my body blocking the doctor’s view of the injection site for a split second.
I had the saline vial hidden in the folds of the towel.
But as I reached out,
Ethan’s phone rang.
“Take it outside,”
Dr. Aris snapped,
his focus breaking for just a moment.
Ethan cursed and walked toward the door.
The doctor looked at the phone,
distracted by the noise.
That was my window.
I didn't switch the syringe—I couldn't.
Instead,
I pinched the tubing of the IV line I had "accidentally" left partially clamped earlier.
The doctor pressed the plunger.
The medication flowed into the tube,
but instead of entering Richard’s vein,
it backed up into a small,
hidden reservoir I had taped to the underside of the bed frame.
“There,”
Dr. Aris said,
pulling the needle back.
“He should be under in minutes.”
He packed his bag and left without another word.
I waited until the door clicked shut.
I waited another five minutes,
listening to the silence of the mansion.
Then,
Richard sat up.
He didn't just move—he sat up with the fluid grace of a man who had never been injured.
He looked at me,
his eyes burning with a dark,
intense fire.
“You did it,”
he whispered.
“I’m awake,”
I replied,
my voice trembling.
May you like
“And for the first time in eight months,
so are you.”
