Chapter 1 - THE BLINKING CAMERA
I smelled the water before I understood what I was seeing.
Stale.
Metallic.
Dirty.
Then Florence choked.
My grandmother’s head twisted across the pillow while Gwendolyn held a clear pitcher above her mouth and poured a stream of murky black water over her lips.
It ran down Florence’s chin.
Across the floral nightgown.
Into the blankets.
“How’s the toilet water?” Gwendolyn shrieked. “Delicious?”
Florence tried to turn away.
At seventy-six, she had become smaller over the past year.
Not weak exactly.
Smaller.
Her bruised arms rose over her face.
“Please…”
She coughed hard enough that her entire body shook.
“I’m begging you.”
I crossed the room.
I do not remember deciding to.
One second I stood in the doorway.
The next, my palm struck Gwendolyn across the face.
The pitcher flew from her hand.
Clear plastic? No.
It hit the floor and shattered.
Glass.
Dirty water spread across the hardwood.
Gwendolyn staggered.
Her seductive black nightgown suddenly looked absurd in the middle of what I had walked into.
“Lucas!”
I put myself between her and Florence.
“Stay back.”
“She—”
“Stay.”
My voice stopped her.
I had spent years building a reputation for being difficult to frighten.
Men twice my age lowered their voices when I entered negotiations.
Employees joked that I dressed like I belonged in a crime movie.
None of that mattered.
My hands were shaking.
I stripped the soaked blanket from Florence and reached for the folded comforter at the foot of the bed.
“Grandma.”
Her eyes found mine.
“Lucas.”
I wrapped her.
Her skin felt cold.
“Can you breathe?”
She coughed again.
“Yes.”
“Did you swallow it?”
“I don’t know.”
Gwendolyn recovered behind me.
“This is insane.”
I turned.
She touched her cheek.
“You hit me.”
“Yes.”
The answer came out before I thought about what it meant legally.
I had hit her.
Not in defense of myself.
Possibly in immediate defense of Florence.
Police would decide how the facts fit.
I would not lie.
“Save your explanation for the police.”
Gwendolyn’s expression changed.
Not guilt.
Panic.
“You think you understand what’s happening?”
“I understand enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
I reached for my phone.
She stepped backward toward the cabinet.
“You have no idea what she’s been hiding from you!”
I stopped.
Not because I believed her.
Because Florence flinched.
I felt it against my arm.
Gwendolyn saw.
“There.”
Her voice became sharp.
“You saw that.”
“Shut up.”
“Ask her.”
I looked at Florence.
“Grandma?”
Her eyes lowered.
For one second, something passed across her face that had nothing to do with fear of Gwendolyn.
Shame.
That was worse.
“What is she talking about?”
Florence whispered:
“Not now.”
Gwendolyn laughed.
A desperate, cracked sound.
“She’s been lying to you for years.”
I dialed emergency services.
Gwendolyn’s hand rose.
Not toward me.
Toward the ceiling.
“Fine.”
She pointed.
“Then ask her about that.”
I followed her finger.
Above the bed, near the molding, sat the small security camera I had installed after Florence fell the previous winter.
Gwendolyn told me it stopped working three months ago.
The replacement had supposedly been delayed.
A red light blinked.
Once.
Pause.
Again.
Recording.
I looked at my wife.
Her face drained white.
“You said it was dead.”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing.
Behind me, Florence started crying.
The dispatcher answered.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
I kept my eyes on Gwendolyn.
“My grandmother has been assaulted. She may have aspirated contaminated water.”
“Is the person who assaulted her still there?”
“Yes.”
“Are there weapons?”
“No.”
Gwendolyn whispered:
“Lucas, don’t.”
I almost laughed.
“Don’t what?”
“Call them.”
“Too late.”
She looked at the camera again.
Then at Florence.
Not at me.
That was when I understood something important.
May you like
Whatever Gwendolyn feared, it was not only the police seeing what I had just seen.
She feared what the camera had seen before I opened the door.
