Chapter 2 - The Woman in Pink
I reached my mother's door in less than forty seconds.
Shaw was holding the syringe. Elena had both hands on the bed rail. My mother lay rigid between them, breathing as if every breath had a price.
"Put it away," I said.
Shaw turned. "Rafe. You're making this worse."
"I said put it away."
He closed the case slowly.
For eighteen years, men had obeyed me because they knew what happened when they didn't. Elena Morales didn't look impressed by that history. She looked angry with all three of us.
"Your mother has been trying to tell you something," she said.
"I know."
"Then why is a camera watching her instead of you sitting next to her?"
Nobody had asked me a question like that in years.
"You know about the camera?"
"I noticed the reflection in the dresser mirror yesterday. I assumed you had a reason."
I had a hundred reasons. None sounded decent out loud.
Shaw recovered his professional voice. "Teresa is becoming agitated because her medication is overdue. Miss Morales interfered with treatment."
"What medication?"
"The same one she's been receiving for weeks."
"That's not an answer."
He gave me a name I didn't recognize, as if saying it faster made it true.
Elena reached into the pocket of her pink uniform and unfolded a tissue. Inside sat a chalky, half-dissolved tablet.
"She pushed this out of her mouth yesterday," she said. "It doesn't look like the tablets in her written care plan."
Shaw's expression changed for half a second.
I caught it.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked Elena.
"I tried. Victor said staff weren't allowed to bother you with housekeeping concerns."
I remembered Victor's message.
DON'T GO UPSTAIRS.
"Get out," I told Shaw. "I'll have another physician here before sunrise."
"Rafe, withdrawing treatment without advice could harm her."
"I heard you. Now leave."
After he was gone, my mother reached for me. Her hand felt fragile and unexpectedly warm.
"I'm here, Ma."
She looked past my shoulder at Elena, then pressed our hands together with surprising force.
Elena gently pulled away.
"I work here," she said. "That doesn't mean I belong to anyone here."
"I wasn't implying—"
"Good."
She lifted the water glass toward my mother again.
For the first time in months, my mother drank without turning away.
At the doorway, Victor appeared, broad shouldered, gray at the temples, the man who had taught me how to drive and how to tell a lie.
"We need to talk privately," he said.
I stepped into the hall.
Victor lowered his voice. "There's footage missing from the bedroom camera. Eight minutes, every night, for the past eleven days."
"Who deleted it?"
May you like
He held my eyes.
"According to the access log, you did."
