“Just fine,” Emily said. “Mother should rest comfortably now.”
She smoothed Maryanne’s blanket with mock tenderness. “Sweet dreams, Mother.”
As we left the room, I felt sick knowing that Maryanne was already fighting off the drugs coursing through her system, but I also felt a surge of admiration for her strength and determination.
Back in the living room, Grant poured himself a scotch while Emily made tea. The atmosphere felt almost celebratory, though they were trying to hide it.
“I’m exhausted,” Emily announced after finishing her tea. “I think I’ll turn in early, Lorine. The guest room is all set up for you.”
“Actually,” Grant said, setting down his glass with more force than necessary, “I think we need to have a conversation first.”
Something in his tone made both Emily and me look at him sharply.
He was staring at me with an expression I’d never seen before—cold, calculating, almost predatory.
“Grant,” I said uncertainly.
He walked to the window and pulled the curtains closed, then turned back to face me.
“Mom, I need you to understand something about the situation here.”
Emily moved to stand beside him. And suddenly they looked less like a grieving couple and more like a team preparing for battle.
“What situation?” I asked, though my heart was already pounding with dread.
“The situation with Maryanne’s condition,” Grant said slowly, “and your role in what’s going to happen over the next few days.”
“I don’t understand.”
Grant and Emily exchanged another look, and this time I saw something pass between them that made my blood run cold.
“Mom,” Grant said, his voice taking on a tone I remembered from his teenage years—when he was about to lie his way out of trouble, “Maryanne is going to die this week, and you’re going to help us make sure no one asks any uncomfortable questions about it.”
The words hit me like physical blows. Even though I’d known this was their plan, hearing Grant say it so casually—so matter-of-factly—made it real in a way that terrified me.
“Grant… what are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb, Mom. It doesn’t suit you.” His voice hardened now, losing all pretense of warmth. “You’ve been here for three days. You’ve seen Maryanne’s condition. When she dies—and she will die very soon—you’re going to tell everyone that she went peacefully, surrounded by family who loved her.”
“You’re scaring me,” I whispered, which wasn’t entirely an act.
Emily stepped forward, her mask of sweetness completely gone. “You should be scared, Lorine, because you have a choice to make. You can be part of this family, or you can be a problem that needs to be solved.”
“What kind of choice?”
Grant sat down across from me, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Mom. Over the next few days, Maryanne’s condition is going to deteriorate. Her breathing will become labored. Her heart rate will become irregular. And eventually, her body will give up the fight, and you’re going to be here to witness all of it.”
Emily’s voice was smooth as glass. “You’re going to see how hard we fight to save her, how devastated we are when we lose her.”
“When the paramedics come, when the police ask routine questions, when the insurance investigators follow up,” Grant continued, “you’re going to tell them exactly what you saw: a loving family doing everything possible for a brain-injured woman who tragically lost her battle.”
I stared at them, these two people calmly explaining how they planned to commit murder and use me as their shield.
“And if I don’t?” I asked, my voice thin.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“Mom,” Grant said softly, “you’re sixty-four years old. You live alone. You don’t have much family besides me. Accidents happen to older people all the time.”
The threat was clear, even though he’d wrapped it in gentle language.
I felt true fear for the first time since this nightmare began.
“You wouldn’t,” I breathed.
“We really hope we won’t have to,” Emily said, her voice bright and cheerful again. “We much prefer having you as our ally rather than our enemy. After all, family should stick together.”
I sat there in stunned silence, trying to process what they had just told me.
They weren’t just planning to kill Maryanne.
They were prepared to kill me, too, if I didn’t cooperate.
“I need some time to think,” I finally managed.
“Of course you do,” Grant said, standing up and walking over to pat my shoulder. The gesture felt like a snake wrapping around my neck. “Take all the time you need, but remember—Mom—we start tomorrow morning, and we need to know that you’re with us.”
As I walked to the guest room on shaking legs, I heard them whispering in the living room behind me. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakably that of predators discussing their prey.
I closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed, my whole body trembling.
They had just threatened my life as casually as they might discuss the weather.
And tomorrow they were going to begin killing Maryanne while forcing me to watch and later lie about what I’d witnessed.
But what they didn’t know—what they couldn’t possibly suspect—was that every word of their confession had just been recorded by the hidden devices Maryanne and I had planted throughout the house.
The trap had been sprung, and they had walked right into it.
I barely slept that night. Every sound in the house made me jump, wondering if Grant and Emily had decided I was too much of a risk to keep alive until morning.
But as dawn broke through the guest room window, I was still breathing, still alive, and still determined to see their plan through to its conclusion.
At 6:00 a.m., I heard movement in the hallway. Emily was starting her morning routine, checking on Maryanne and preparing what she would claim were prescribed medications. I lay still, listening to her soft footsteps and quiet humming, amazed at how normal she could sound while preparing to commit murder.
Around seven, Grant knocked softly on my door.
“Mom, are you awake?”
Ik opende de deur en zag hem daar staan met een kop koffie en een oprecht bezorgde blik op zijn gezicht. Zijn acteerwerk was zo overtuigend dat ik even bijna vergat wie hij werkelijk was.
