Chapter 4 - The Krakow Housekeeper
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Victor forced himself back into the leather chair, his breathing ragged and heavy. He watched the monitor with the cold, detached fury of a predator studying its prey. Audrey forcefully grabbed Sylvia’s jaw, squeezing the bruised cheeks to force the old woman’s mouth open. She shoved three capsules onto Sylvia’s dry tongue, held her mouth clamped shut, and waited for the agonizing swallow.
Without offering a single drop of water, Audrey turned on her heel and marched out of the room, leaving the door ajar. Sylvia was left coughing violently, her frail body shaking as she struggled to choke down the dry medication.
Victor was already calculating how to dispose of Audrey’s body when sudden movement on the screen caught his eye.
Marta, the quiet, unassuming housekeeper who had emigrated from Krakow five years ago, rushed into the bedroom. She abandoned her heavy wooden cleaning cart in the hallway, her face pale with panic.
She hurried to the bedside and gently lifted Sylvia’s head, supporting the old woman’s fragile neck with immense care. From the deep pocket of her gray cleaning apron, Marta quickly produced a small, hidden bottle of spring water.
She pressed it to Sylvia’s lips. Sylvia drank desperately, her coughing slowly subsiding.
Victor watched in absolute silence, the anger in his chest shifting into deep confusion.
Marta didn't stop there. Once Sylvia had caught her breath, the housekeeper pulled a small, folded square of parchment paper from her apron. She held it beneath Sylvia’s chin like a makeshift cup.
“Spit, Mrs. Sylvia,” Marta whispered, her heavy accent clear over the audio feed. “Please, spit for me.”
Sylvia coughed again, and two of the brightly colored capsules fell from her mouth, landing softly onto the paper. She hadn't swallowed them. She had hidden them under her tongue, enduring the dry, agonizing pain just to wait for the maid.
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Marta quickly folded the paper, sealing the capsules inside. She walked over to the bedside cabinet, opened the door, and checked a hidden, printed medication chart taped to the inside wood. She pulled a single, different pill from a hidden compartment, gave it to Sylvia with more water, and then quickly wiped the spilled water off the hardwood floor with a towel.
Victor sat entirely paralyzed in the dark room. Marta hadn't panicked. She hadn't improvised. This was a synchronized, desperate routine between a paralyzed mother and a terrified maid.
