Chapter 1 - THE CLICK BENEATH THE PLASTER
The first scream came from inside the cast.
“Nanny Rosa!”
Mateo jerked forward on the leather sofa, clawing at the thick white plaster surrounding his left forearm.
“It’s biting me underneath!”
His injured arm swung toward the marble coffee table.
I caught it with both hands before the cast struck the edge.
Mateo was eight years old, but terror had reduced his voice to something younger.
His dark superhero pajamas clung to his back with sweat. His face was pale. His lips looked dry, and the sling shook against his chest as though his whole body had become a trapped heartbeat.
“Hold still for me,” I said.
“It stabbed me.”
“Where?”
“Inside.”
His father sat six feet away.
Daniel Vale lowered his phone only slightly.
“He’s crazy. Ignore him.”
Vivienne stood beside the fireplace in a white silk blouse and fitted trousers, arms folded beneath her chest.
She was Daniel’s second wife.
Mateo’s mother, Isabel, had been dead for nine months.
Vivienne tilted her head.
“Children perform when adults reward attention.”
Mateo stared at her.
“I’m not pretending.”
“Then stop screaming.”
I locked his forearm against my chest so he could not injure himself and pressed two fingers near the swollen edge of the cast.
The skin above it was hot and inflamed.
“When was the cast checked?” I asked.
Daniel returned his attention to the phone.
“Dr. Harlan applied it five days ago.”
“No follow-up?”
“He said two weeks.”
“The swelling is worsening.”
“You clean breakfast dishes and fold pajamas, Rosa. You do not diagnose my son.”
“Before I worked in this house, I spent eighteen years as a pediatric trauma nurse.”
“And now you’re a nanny.”
He looked up at last.
“Stay in your place.”
Mateo cried out again.
A sharp mechanical click came from beneath the plaster.
Not the normal settling of dried casting material.
Not a joint moving.
A device.
I became completely still.
Daniel’s eyes shifted toward Vivienne.
Her folded arms dropped.
That movement told me they had both heard it.
“What was that?” I asked.
Vivienne answered too quickly.
“The cast cracking.”
“It did not crack.”
I turned Mateo’s arm gently.
The cast was unusually thick along the inner seam.
Too smooth.
Too heavy.
And beneath the edge near his elbow, I saw a tiny indentation shaped by something pressing outward.
Mateo whispered:
“Please don’t let them take me upstairs.”
Daniel stood.
“Enough.”
His irritation carried something underneath it now.
Urgency.
“If he continues behaving like this, Dr. Harlan will sedate him.”
“Why would an orthopedic surgeon sedate a child at home?”
“He understands Mateo’s condition.”
“What condition?”
Vivienne stepped forward.
“An escalating behavioral disorder.”
“He has no diagnosed behavioral disorder.”
“You have not seen the reports.”
“No independent specialist has seen him.”
Daniel pointed toward the hallway.
“Take him to his room.”
I kept both hands around Mateo’s arm.
“No.”
His face hardened.
“What did you say?”
“I said something moved inside this cast.”
“Then you are frightening him.”
Another click came from beneath the plaster.
Mateo screamed.
I reached toward my medical bag beside the sofa.
After leaving the hospital, I kept a compact guarded cast cutter for emergencies involving circulation, swelling, or accidental water damage.
Vivienne moved faster.
She seized my shoulder.
“Do not open that cast.”
I looked at her hand.
Then at her face.
“Why?”
“Dr. Harlan sealed it for a reason.”
“What reason?”
“You are not authorized to interfere with treatment.”
Mateo pulled against me.
“It bit me again.”
I moved his arm onto the cushioned bench beside the sofa.
Vivienne reached for the cutter.
I took her wrist, redirected it downward, and stepped between her and the child.
“Move away.”
Daniel approached.
“If you damage that cast, I will have you arrested.”
“If I leave it closed while his circulation is compromised, he could suffer permanent injury.”
“You don’t know that.”
“That is why the cast must be examined.”
I switched on the guarded tool.
Mateo’s eyes locked onto mine.
“Will it hurt?”
“Not if you stay still.”
Daniel extended one hand.
“Rosa.”
I drove the cutter along the plaster seam.
Vivienne’s voice sharpened.
“Stop!”
The first section split.
A faint chemical odor escaped.
I separated the two halves with one controlled pull.
Broken plaster dropped onto the blanket.
Mateo stared down.
So did I.
Hidden beneath the padding was a narrow medical syringe secured beside a compact pressure mechanism.
A thin actuator pressed against the plunger.
The needle end had been positioned through the inner padding toward Mateo’s skin.
The device rolled free and stopped beside my hand.
No one spoke.
A small puncture mark showed beneath the cast.
Then another.
Mateo looked at me.
“What is that?”
I pulled him behind my body.
Daniel stopped mid-step.
His phone lowered completely.
Vivienne had turned ghost-white.
“Do not touch it,” she whispered.
Daniel looked at her.
“You knew that was there?”
“No.”
But she had not asked what it was.
She had told me not to open the cast.
I rose between Mateo and both adults.
My thumb found the emergency control on my smartwatch.
I pressed it once.
The watch vibrated against my wrist.
Vivienne’s eyes dropped toward it.
“What did you just do?”
I held one broken half of the cast in my hand.
“Requested medical and police assistance.”
Daniel stepped toward me.
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“You have no right to create a scandal inside my home.”
“Your son has been repeatedly punctured by something hidden inside a medical cast.”
“He may have put it there.”
Mateo’s fingers tightened in the back of my blouse.
I looked at Daniel.
“He is eight.”
Vivienne’s breathing became shallow.
I held her gaze.
“Tell me why you’re terrified of what was inside.”
May you like
She said nothing.
From beyond the mansion gates, a distant siren began to rise.
