Chapter 3 - Poison in the Nursery
Richard bypassed Evelyn with such force that her shoulder clipped the mahogany doorframe, spinning her backward. He took the hallway in three massive strides, his bare feet gripping the runner, his heart hammering in his throat like a trapped bird. The nursery door was supposed to be deadbolted. He reached the brass knob and twisted; it yielded immediately, the lock mechanism hanging loose from the jamb with fresh splinter marks in the white lacquer.
Inside, the nursery was in chaos. Mrs. Gable was on her knees beside the low four-poster bed, wrestling with Lily, who was thrashing violently against the floral sheets. The child’s skin had flushed a mottled, feverish crimson, and her lips were flecked with thick, viscous white foam. Her eyes were rolled back, tiny hands clawing frantically at her throat as if invisible wires were strangling her from the inside out.
“What happened?!” Richard roared, dropping beside his daughter, gathering her flailing limbs into his chest. Lily’s body arched, stiff as cured pine, a guttural rasp tearing from her windpipe.
“The tea!” Mrs. Gable cried, her voice cracking with terror as tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks. “The kitchen boy brought up chamomile with honey to settle her nerves after the pool. I turned my back for thirty seconds to fetch a dry nightgown from the press—I only gave her two spoonfuls, Richard! Just two!”
On the small bedside table, a porcelain cup painted with beatrix potter illustrations lay shattered, pale amber tea soaking into the plush wool rug. Richard scooped Lily into his arms, feeling the terrifying heat radiating off her torso. Her skin was scalding, yet her extremities were ice-cold.
“Call an ambulance! Now!” Richard shouted.
“I tried!” Mrs. Gable sobbed, grabbing the landline handset from the nightstand. “The line is dead. And my mobile has no signal—none of the phones have service!”
Richard looked at the top corner of his own screen. No Service. The estate sat in a secluded canyon north of Malibu, reliant on a dedicated fiber repeater on the property line. Someone had severed the primary line and activated a cellular jammer. This wasn't an isolated attempt; it was a synchronized siege.
He didn't waste time looking for Evelyn. He snatched Lily, wrapping her in the dry wool blanket Mrs. Gable held out, and sprinted down the back service staircase, avoiding the open central atrium. If they had jammed communications, they likely had eyes on the front gates. Lily was seizing now, her small frame vibrating with terrible, rhythmic spasms, her breath coming in ragged, suffocating wheezes.
He burst through the service entrance into the subterranean garage. The smell of oil, tire rubber, and cold concrete hit him. He reached his heavy armored SUV, yanked the rear door open, and laid Lily across the leather bench.
“Stay with me, Lily-bug,” he whispered, his voice cracking with the first real wave of terror he had allowed himself to feel. “Stay with Daddy. Look at my eyes.”
Her hazel eyes flickered down toward him, clouded with pain, barely recognizing him.
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Richard slammed the door, jumped into the driver's seat, and hit the ignition button. The engine roared to life with a deep, twin-turbo growl. He hit the wall transmitter for the automated garage door. Nothing happened. The green light on the wall unit was dark; the master breaker for the compound had been tripped.
Trapped underground with a dying child, Richard put the truck into reverse, backed up twenty yards, slammed the transmission into drive, and floored the accelerator straight at the reinforced corrugated steel doors.
