Chapter 9 - Shadows in the Medical Wing
The grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway chimed twice as I made my way down the dimly lit corridor toward the private medical wing. The estate was terrifyingly quiet at this hour, save for the faint hum of the antique wall sconces casting long, dancing shadows across the mahogany paneling. My shift had technically ended an hour ago, but the weight of the anonymous threat tucked securely inside my apron pocket kept sleep miles away. I needed to check Eleanor’s digital charting log on the nurse's console to ensure her evening medications had been administered correctly by the night-shift attendant.
As I rounded the corner near the sunroom, a sliver of pale light cut across the dark carpet from Eleanor’s half-open suite door. I slowed my pace instinctively, pressing the rubber-soled heels of my black shoes silently against the floor. A low, muffled rustling sound drifted out from the room, followed by the metallic click of a medical drawer sliding open. My heart skipped a beat. The night nurse was scheduled for rounds at midnight, but this movement sounded hurried, sharp, and entirely devoid of professional routine.
I eased myself closer to the heavy wooden door, holding my breath as I peered through the narrow gap. The overhead lights were off, illuminated only by the cold, silvery glow of the city skyline cutting through the massive glass windows. Standing directly beside Eleanor’s bedside medical cart was a tall, unmistakable silhouette in a tailored dark skirt and stiff white blouse. Even in the gloom, the precise bun and gold clip pinned neatly into the brown hair gave her away instantly. Patricia. She hadn’t left the grounds at all; she had merely retreated into the shadows to finish what she started.
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My pulse thudded in my ears as I watched Patricia’s gloved hands hovering over a stack of prescription bottles. She was rapidly flipping through Eleanor’s physical chart binder, tearing out a log sheet and sliding a fresh, falsified paper page in its place. She was rewriting the medication records, covering up weeks of altered dosages designed to keep the elderly woman perpetually drowsy, confused, and entirely dependent on her fraudulent care. The sheer audacity of it made my blood run cold. She was destroying evidence right under our noses, betting that no one would check the physical logs until morning.
I didn’t hesitate. I reached into my pocket, my fingers brushing against the brass key and the jagged paper warning note, before pulling out my phone to dial Luca’s private number. My thumb hovered over the screen as I silently pushed the heavy suite door open. The wood groaned softly against the hinges, the tiny squeak slicing through the heavy silence of the room. Patricia froze mid-motion, her head whipping around like a startled animal caught in a hunter's headlights. Her eyes widened with pure, unfiltered malice in the dark.
