Chapter 3 - The Spilled Water
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At exactly 9:31 AM, the heavy oak door of Sylvia’s bedroom swung open on the monitor. Audrey walked in. The loving, dutiful fiancée who had waved goodbye on the front steps was entirely gone. Her posture was rigid, her face set in a cold, impassive mask of absolute boredom. She didn't greet the paralyzed woman in the bed. She didn't even look at her.
Audrey walked over to the mahogany dresser, carrying a silver tray holding a crystal glass of water and several brightly colored capsules. She set the tray down with a careless clatter that made Sylvia flinch on the screen.
Victor leaned closer to the monitor, his heart hammering a dark, violent rhythm against his ribs.
Instead of attending to Sylvia, Audrey pulled her gold iPhone from her cashmere pocket. She leaned against the dresser, scrolling through social media, occasionally typing out a rapid text message. Five minutes passed. Sylvia shifted uncomfortably in the bed, letting out a dry, rasping sound from the back of her throat. It was the sound of desperate thirst.
On the screen, Sylvia’s trembling, frail hand reached out slowly, her fingers grasping weakly toward the glass of water across the room.
Audrey looked up from her phone, clearly annoyed by the interruption.
“Oh, stop,” Audrey said, her voice dripping with venomous contempt. The audio feed picked up every cruel syllable.
Victor’s hands gripped the armrests of his leather chair so hard the wood groaned.
Audrey picked up the crystal glass and walked over to the bedside. For a fleeting, desperate second, Victor hoped he was overreacting. He hoped the stress of caregiving had simply made her short-tempered. He waited to see her lift the glass to his mother’s dry lips.
Instead, Audrey held the water directly over the edge of the mattress, right where Sylvia could see it. She tilted the glass and poured the cold, clear water directly onto the hardwood floor.
“You’re a burden,” Audrey whispered, leaning down so her face was inches from Sylvia’s. “You’re taking too long, old woman.”
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Sylvia’s eyes filled with tears, her chest heaving with silent, helpless sobs.
Down in the security room, Victor shot up from his chair. His hand flew instinctively to the cold steel of the customized 1911 pistol holstered beneath his jacket. The urge to storm up the stairs and put a bullet between Audrey’s perfectly manicured eyebrows was entirely blinding. But the ruthless discipline that had kept him alive in the underworld forced him to freeze. He needed the whole truth.
