A gruff, unfamiliar voice spoke. I didn’t recognize it, but from the way he spoke, he was clearly an accomplice with some medical knowledge. Michael’s voice replied cold and precise, each word sending a shiver down my spine.
“Just mix it according to the ratio I gave you. High potency potassium chloride dissolved in the diffuser solution. Just let it run 24/7. His lungs are already weak. Inhaling this, his respiratory muscles will slowly become paralyzed. It’ll look like he died of old age, of natural decline. Even if a doctor examines him, they’ll just see collapsed lungs, respiratory failure. Who’s going to run a toxicology screen on the air?”
“How long will it take?” the other man asked.
“I’ve calculated it. given his condition about 72 hours, three days. Right when I get back from Hawaii, I’ll play the part of the grieving devoted son. A few dramatic tears and it’s over. Just remember, don’t leave any trace on the machine.”
“Don’t worry, you know how I work. But remember my cut.”
“Relax. As soon as the estate is settled and the property is in my name, I’ll wire you $200,000, not a penny less.”
The recording ended with Michael’s chilling chuckle. I tore the earbuds out, my body shaking as if I had a fever. 3 days, 72 hours. That was the deadline Michael had set for his father’s life, and the countdown had already begun. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was past midnight. There wasn’t much time.
I quickly took out my phone, switched it to video mode, and recorded the entire process of me opening the safe, showing each document the loan agreement, the forged will, and the voice recorder playing that damning conversation. Then I plugged the recorder into an OTG adapter and copied the entire audio file onto a tiny USB drive that I always kept on my keychain. When I was done, I carefully wiped my fingerprints from the papers, the recorder, and the lock box, and arranged everything exactly as I had found it. I placed the key back under the chair, securing it with the black tape. I backed out of the room, scanning it one last time to ensure there was no trace of my intrusion.
Back in my bedroom, I collapsed onto the bed, but couldn’t sleep. My mind was filled with the ticking of an invisible clock. Every second that passed brought my father-in-law closer to death. But I couldn’t act rashly. If I called the police now, Michael would deny everything, blame someone else, and with the power of his creditors and his own cunning, I might not win. I needed to catch him in the act to have him commit his crime in front of witnesses. Clutching the small USB drive that held Michael’s terrible secret, I returned to Arthur’s room, my heart heavy. The night stretched on endlessly. Every small sound in the large house made me jump. I lay on the cot next to Arthur’s bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds in a state of high alert. Michael’s plan was meticulous. He had even hired someone with medical expertise. This showed just how determined he was.
The next morning, as the first weak rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds, the doorbell rang. The sharp, insistent chimes felt like a bad omen. I checked the clock. It was just after 7:00 a.m. Who would be here at this hour? I threw on a light robe, tidied my hair, and went to answer the door. Standing on the porch was a middle-aged man, stocky with gold rimmed glasses and a black leather briefcase. He had an educated air about him, but his eyes were shifty and wouldn’t meet mine. He offered a wide smile and extended his hand.
“Good morning, Mrs. Peterson. I’m Dr. Evans, Michael’s private physician. He asked me to stop by this morning to check on Mr. Peterson’s health and see how that new diffuser is working, whether the therapeutic mist needs adjustment.”
A chill went through me, Dr. Evans. I had never heard Michael mention that name, but from his confident demeanor, I knew instantly this was the accomplice from the recording. He wasn’t here to check on Arthur’s health. He was here to see if the poison was working and why the expensive diffuser had been replaced. I forced a calm expression and shook his hand.
“Oh, Dr. Evans. Michael is so thoughtful, worrying about his father even when he’s away. Please come in.”
As I let him upstairs, my mind raced. If I let him examine Arthur now, he would discover that his vital signs were stable, even better than usual since I had stopped the poison and been providing intensive care. He would report back to Michael and their plan would change. Perhaps becoming more brutal, more direct. I had to do something now.
“Doctor, if you’ll just wait one moment, let me tidy up the room a bit. It smells so strongly of medicine.”
Using that excuse, I hurried into Arthur’s room first. I rushed to the medicine cabinet and grabbed a packet of a herbal sleep aid I sometimes used. It was a gentle naturopathic remedy, mostly Valyan root and chamomile, completely harmless, but effective at inducing a light, naturallooking sleep. I quickly mixed a potent dose into a cup of warm water and helped Arthur sit up, whispering in his ear.
“Dad, drink this for me. Then pretend to be in a very deep sleep. A bad man is here. We have to put on a show to trick him.”
Arthur seemed to understand, gulping down the mixture. Within minutes, his eyes grew heavy and his breathing became deep, slow, and even. He looked exactly like someone in a deep coma, his life force fading. I wiped his mouth, hid the cup, and then opened the door to let Dr. Evans in. Evans entered, his eyes darting around the room like a hawk. He stared at the old cheap humidifier chugging away in the corner, his brow furrowed.
“Why are you using this thing? Where’s the new machine Michael bought?”
I lowered my head, looking ashamed.
