Chapter 2 - The Woman My Mother Feared
Mateo took the letter from Elena and slipped it beneath the cushion behind her back.
"Act normal," he whispered.
Elena almost laughed.
Nothing about this was normal.
Celeste opened the door.
Her perfume entered first.
White jasmine.
Elena had smelled it her entire childhood.
Celeste smiled.
"There you are."
Her eyes moved toward Mateo.
Then the open piano.
Her smile changed.
Not disappeared.
Changed.
Just enough.
"What happened to the piano?"
Mateo leaned against it.
"Loose soundboard."
Celeste looked directly at him.
"Really?"
"Really."
Elena watched her aunt.
Celeste had been there after Isabel died.
She had held Elena through the funeral.
She had chosen the flowers.
She had slept beside Elena for two weeks because Elena kept waking from nightmares.
After the crash, Celeste had moved back into the mansion without being asked.
She brought meals.
Organized nurses.
Sat beside Elena during bad nights.
Could that woman have poisoned her?
Celeste walked behind Elena's wheelchair.
"You look pale."
"I'm tired."
"You've been overworking."
She gave Mateo a pointed look.
"Some therapists forget that recovery also requires rest."
Mateo smiled pleasantly.
"Some therapists are unforgettable."
Elena almost kicked him.
If she could kick.
That thought hurt.
Celeste placed a hand on Elena's shoulder.
"Dr. Whitmore wants you to take your evening medicine early today."
Elena looked at her.
"Why?"
"Your tremors."
"They aren't bad."
"He disagrees."
Celeste reached into her cardigan pocket.
A small blue pill container.
Elena had seen it hundreds of times.
Celeste shook out two tablets.
"Here."
Elena stared at them.
Her mother had written about medications.
Medical records.
Someone finishing something.
For the first time, two small white pills looked terrifying.
Mateo stepped in.
"She shouldn't take anything before therapy."
Celeste's eyes hardened.
"Dr. Whitmore prescribed them."
"I'm aware."
"Then there shouldn't be an issue."
Mateo smiled.
"I'd still prefer she wait."
The two stared at each other.
Elena interrupted.
"I'll take them later."
Celeste looked at her.
Something almost like hurt crossed her face.
"Of course."
She returned the pills to the bottle.
Then bent and kissed Elena's forehead.
"I only want you well."
After Celeste left, Elena listened until her footsteps disappeared.
"Tell me I'm crazy."
Mateo shut the door.
"I can't."
"She practically raised me."
"I know."
"She changed my bandages after the accident."
"I know."
"She sleeps thirty feet from my room."
"I know."
Elena hit the wheelchair armrest.
"Stop saying you know."
"Then stop asking questions you don't want answered."
She glared.
He crouched in front of her.
"Your mother named Celeste for a reason. That doesn't prove she hurt you."
Elena looked toward the letter.
"What do we do?"
"We find out what your medication actually is."
That night, Elena pretended to swallow her pills.
She hid them under her tongue.
Twenty minutes later, Mateo returned through the side entrance.
She dropped the pills into his palm.
"Can you test them?"
"I know someone."
"Who?"
"A toxicologist."
"You have a surprisingly dramatic social circle."
He smiled.
"Occupational hazard."
The next morning, Mateo sent the sample to an independent laboratory using a friend's name.
They told nobody.
Not Rafael.
Not Celeste.
Not Dr. Whitmore.
For three days, Elena acted normally.
She took no medication except what Mateo could independently confirm.
And something changed.
The fog lifted.
Her vision improved.
Her hands stopped trembling.
On the fourth morning, Elena moved her foot again.
Then her ankle.
Mateo stared.
"How long since your last full medication dose?"
"Seventy-two hours."
His expression became serious.
"This is not a coincidence."
"Don't say that yet."
"Elena."
"If you say it, it becomes real."
Mateo sat beside her.
"It might already be real."
The lab called that afternoon.
Mateo took the call outside.
When he returned, his face had changed.
Elena's stomach dropped.
"What did they find?"
He closed the door.
"The tablets contain baclofen."
"I know that. Whitmore said it's for spasms."
"That's not all."
Elena waited.
Mateo continued.
"There's another compound. Experimental. Not approved for routine use."
"What does it do?"
"In high enough doses, it suppresses neuromuscular signaling."
Elena stared.
"Say that in English."
"It can weaken voluntary muscle response."
Her mouth went dry.
"Paralyze me?"
"Possibly worsen weakness. Especially combined with an actual spinal injury."
The room became silent.
Elena looked down at her legs.
Seven months.
Seven months of pills.
Seven months of being told her body was finished.
"Could it make tests look worse?"
"Yes."
"Could it stop me from recovering?"
"Yes."
Tears filled her eyes.
Mateo took her hand.
Elena whispered:
"Celeste gives me those pills every day."
"I know."
This time she didn't tell him to stop saying it.
She called her father.
Rafael came immediately.
When Elena explained, his first reaction wasn't shock.
It was anger.
At Mateo.
"This is absurd."
Mateo kept his voice controlled.
"I have the lab report."
"From some unknown facility?"
"Independent toxicology."
Rafael snatched the paper.
Read.
His face slowly changed.
Elena watched.
"Dad?"
Rafael lowered the report.
"Where did you get the medication?"
"From Aunt Celeste."
Rafael shook his head immediately.
"No."
"Dad."
"No."
"Mom named her."
That stopped him.
"What?"
Elena handed him the letter.
Rafael read.
The color drained from his face.
He sat down.
"You knew."
Elena stared.
Her father didn't answer.
"Dad."
"I knew your mother had become suspicious."
"Of Celeste?"
"Of everyone."
"Did you read this letter?"
"No."
"But you knew it existed?"
Rafael looked away.
"Your mother told me she was hiding something for you."
Elena's voice rose.
"And you never looked?"
"I thought grief had made her paranoid."
"She died."
"I know."
"Then I lost my legs."
"I know!"
Rafael slammed his hand against the table.
Silence.
He covered his face.
When he spoke again, his voice was smaller.
"Your mother believed someone was manipulating the family's medical records."
Mateo asked:
"Who had access?"
Rafael looked toward the window.
"Whitmore."
"Celeste?"
"Yes."
"Anyone else?"
Rafael hesitated.
"Me."
Elena felt cold.
"Why didn't you investigate?"
"I did."
"When?"
"After Isabel died."
"And?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Her medical files showed heart failure. No toxins. No criminal activity. Nothing."
Mateo asked:
"Who ran the toxicology?"
Rafael looked at him.
"Navarro Medical Center."
Mateo laughed once without humor.
"Your family's own hospital."
Rafael bristled.
"Are you accusing—"
"I'm saying whoever changed Elena's records could have changed Isabel's."
That landed.
Elena looked at the letter again.
Near the bottom, Isabel had written something else.
The proof is where Celeste cannot reach it. Find the summer photograph.
Elena frowned.
"The summer photograph?"
Rafael looked confused.
Mateo asked:
"Does that mean anything?"
Elena thought.
Then remembered.
A family photograph taken at Lake Como when she was sixteen.
Her mother kept it in the downstairs library.
Elena wheeled there herself.
The photograph still stood on the shelf.
Rafael.
Isabel.
Elena.
Celeste.
And a younger Dr. Whitmore in the background, holding a wineglass.
Elena removed the frame.
Nothing.
Then Mateo noticed the backing was unusually thick.
He opened it.
Inside was a tiny memory card.
Rafael whispered:
"Jesus."
They inserted it into Mateo's laptop.
One folder.
Twenty-three scanned documents.
Medication orders.
Lab requests.
Insurance codes.
And one audio file.
Elena clicked it.
Her mother's voice filled the room.
"Celeste, stop lying to me."
Then Celeste answered.
"I am trying to protect Elena."
"By giving her drugs?"
"By replacing them."
Elena froze.
Replacing them.
Not giving them.
Isabel's voice became furious.
"Then tell me who started it."
Celeste said nothing for several seconds.
Then:
"If I tell you, Rafael loses everything."
The recording ended.
Elena stared at the screen.
Mateo whispered:
"Celeste may not be the person hurting you."
Elena looked toward the door.
A shadow disappeared from the hallway.
Someone had been listening.
Mateo ran out.
Empty corridor.
Then Elena heard an engine.
Through the library window, she saw a black sedan racing away from the mansion.
Rafael stared.
"Whose car is that?"
Elena knew.
May you like
"Dr. Whitmore."
And suddenly the man who had diagnosed her paralysis was running.
