Chapter 2 - The Silent Twins
The guest suite on the east side of the mansion smelled of fresh ocean air and old paper—a vast improvement over the sweet, toxic vapor of the north wing.
Jacob and Jonah sat on the edge of a massive king-sized bed, two frail, pale six-year-old boys with dark circles carved so deep under their hazel eyes they looked like hollow porcelain dolls. They wore matching flannel pajamas that hung loosely off their narrow shoulders. Despite being six, they looked barely four, their little limbs thin and fragile as dry twigs.
When I stepped into the room holding a tray of warm chamomile tea and whole-wheat toast, both boys instantly flinched, pulling the heavy duvet up to their chins.
"Hi boys," I said softly, setting the tray on the nightstand and pulling a small wooden chair over to the side of the bed. I didn't step into their personal space; I kept my posture relaxed and low. "My name is Emily. I'm going to be staying here with you for a while."
Jacob, who was older by three minutes, watched me with sharp, suspicious eyes. "Are you another nurse with the long needles?"
"No needles," I promised, holding up my empty hands. "No stethoscopes, no blood pressure cuffs, and no bitter white liquids in plastic cups."
Jonah leaned out from behind his brother's shoulder, his little voice barely a whisper. "Do we have to take the silver medicine tonight?"
My pulse spiked, but I kept my face entirely calm. "The silver medicine? What silver medicine, Jonah?"
"The medicine Dr. Reeves gives us in the little glass bottle before bed," Jacob spat out, his tiny voice laced with an anger that broke my heart. "It tastes like pennies and makes my stomach burn. But Daddy told us Dr. Reeves is trying to fix us, so we have to drink it."
I looked toward the doorway, where Nathan stood in the shadows of the hallway, watching us. I saw his jaw clench so tightly I thought his teeth might shatter.
"Well," I said, turning back to the boys with a warm smile, "starting tonight, Dr. Reeves's medicine is taking a vacation. The only thing you're drinking before bed is warm tea with real honey."
Jonah blinked, looking at his brother. "Real honey?"
"Big spoonfuls of it," I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out two wooden toy race cars I had bought at the train station earlier that morning. I set them gently on the duvet. "And tomorrow morning, if you feel like it, we're going to go outside and look at the garden pond."
Jacob reached out tentative, trembling fingers, touching the smooth red paint of the toy car. "Dr. Reeves said if we walk outside, the air will make our lungs bleed."
"Dr. Reeves was wrong," I said firmly, holding Jacob's hazel eyes with my own. "The outside air is where you get strong again. I promise."
For the first time in almost two years, a tiny, faint dimple appeared on Jonah's pale cheek as he picked up the blue car and rolled it across his brother's knee.
I stood up slowly and stepped out into the hallway, where Nathan was leaning against the wood paneling, his face buried in his palms.
"The silver medicine," Nathan whispered, his voice hoarse. "Reeves has been giving them liquid heavy metals. Chelation drops or lead acetate disguised as a supplement."
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"It's a double-tiered poisoning," I said, my voice cold with absolute anger. "The vents were slowly breaking down their respiratory and central nervous systems, while the drops were destroying their digestive tracts and liver function. It was calculated to mimic a progressive mitochondrial disorder. It's brilliant, Nathan. No standard blood panel would look for both simultaneous environmental exposure and targeted metallic ingestion unless a doctor specifically ordered a rare toxicology screen."
"And Reeves was the only doctor authorized to order their labs," Nathan said, his dark eyes turning into twin furnace embers. "He wasn't trying to cure them. He was murdering my sons in slow motion."
