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Chapter 3 - The Pillow Test

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The floor was dead quiet. It was past visiting hours, and the night shift nurses were busy in the ICU downstairs.

Margaret stepped into my room, wearing a beige trench coat. She didn't say a word. She walked straight to the heavy door, turned the deadbolt, and locked us in.

My heart beat so hard I was certain the heart monitor would alert the nurses station, but the sound was muffled by the thick cast covering my torso.

She walked slowly toward the side of my bed. She didn't look angry; she looked completely calm, almost relaxed, as if she were about to perform a routine household chore.

"Ethan is down in the parking garage taking a call from his lawyers," Margaret said softly, reaching out to smooth down my blanket. "It's just you and me, Claire."

I tried to move my arm, but my muscles burned with agonizing spasms.

"You shouldn't have survived that sidewalk," Margaret whispered, reaching over to grab the heavy goose-feather pillow from under my head. "My son deserves another chance at happiness. Real happiness. Not with a parasitic little girl like you."

She raised the pillow above my face. Her eyes were completely devoid of warmth.

"Don't worry," she cooed. "The doctors will think you suffered a pulmonary embolism. Tragic, but expected."

She slammed the pillow down hard over my nose and mouth.

Darkness smothered me instantly. I couldn't inhale. The weight of her arms pressed into my skull, pinning me against the mattress. Pain exploded behind my eyes as my lungs screamed for oxygen.

I couldn't fight her physical strength. I was trapped in stone.

So I counted.

One.

Two.

Three.

My thumb twitched against the brace. At count ten, I slammed my thumb down on the hidden transmitter switch.

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CRASH!

The wooden door frame splintered violently inward.

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