Chapter 8 - The Cornered Beast
The heavy leather shoes of Dr. Julian Vance clicked against the polished linoleum floor, stopping right beside the bed.
Beneath the dust ruffle, Maya lay on her side in the dark, her chest pressed flat against the floorboards, her hands cradling her belly to muffle the sound of her rapid breathing. The space beneath the bed was narrow, smelling of floor wax and stale dust, but through the gap between the hanging fabric and the floor, she could see Julian’s spotless black trousers and polished oxfords.
Behind him stepped another pair of feet—the heavy, rubber-soled boots of Dr. Ronald Vance.
“How is her sedation level?” Julian’s voice came from above, hard, clipped, utterly devoid of affection.
“She’s receiving two milligrams of lorazepam every six hours via IV drip,” Ronald Vance answered, his voice nervous, breathless. “She’s completely disoriented. If the probate investigator comes by tomorrow, she won't be able to answer a single question coherent enough to challenge your guardianship application.”
“Good,” Julian sneered. “What about the safety inspector? Torres?”
“Victoria’s lawyers are filing the formal civil suit against her at nine o'clock tomorrow morning,” Ronald said. “The state health department suspended her license an hour ago based on the preliminary police report. She’s done, Julian. Her career is over, and she’ll be facing felony assault charges the moment she delivers that baby.”
Julian let out a soft, dry chuckle. “A pregnant safety inspector trying to play hero. She picked the wrong hospital to conduct her unannounced walk-through.”
He stepped closer to the side of the bed, leaning over Eleanor.
“Grandma,” Julian said, his tone shifting into a sickening, theatrical sweetness. “Can you hear me?”
Eleanor didn't answer. She turned her face toward the wall, her eyes tightly closed, pretending to be swallowed by the lorazepam fog.
“She’s out,” Julian remarked, dropping the sweet voice instantly. “Make sure the IV line is increased by half a milligram before the probate judge’s clerk arrives on Tuesday. I want her looking like a vegetable when they execute the stock transfer.”
“Julian... what about your mother?” Ronald asked hesitantly. “Victoria is getting nervous. The district attorney’s office requested the maintenance logs for Bed 412 twenty minutes ago.”
“Let them request whatever they want,” Julian snapped. “Apex General’s digital records were wiped at seven o'clock tonight. The physical frame of Bed 412 is currently being shredded into three-inch steel chunks at the Calumet scrap yard. By tomorrow morning, there won't be a single gear, pin, or wheel left in this state to analyze.”
Beneath the bed, Maya’s hand tightened around her digital video recorder.
Every word, every confession, every cold-blooded calculation was being captured by the camera’s high-sensitivity microphone, recorded onto a high-speed digital flash card.
Suddenly, Maya’s body betrayed her.
A sharp, violent spasm ripped across her abdomen—a hard, involuntary contraction that caught her completely off guard. She bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper, but a small, sharp gasp slipped past her teeth.
The leather shoes beside the bed froze instantly.
Silence descended upon Room 512—thick, heavy, suffocating.
“Did you hear that?” Julian asked, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.
“Hear what?” Ronald asked.
“Under the bed,” Julian said.
Before Ronald could answer, Julian reached down, grabbed the edge of the blue dust ruffle, and yanked it upward with violence.
The bright overhead sconce light flooded beneath the frame.
Julian’s eyes locked onto Maya’s face.
May you like
For two terrifying seconds, no one moved. Julian’s mouth twisted into a horrific, unnatural grin of realization, his eyes burning with pure, unadulterated malice.
“Well, well,” Julian whispered, reaching into his inner jacket pocket and pulling out a heavy, stainless-steel surgical scalpel. “Look what the nurse dragged in.”
