Charlene lay perfectly still on the narrow hospital bed. The heavy plaster cast on her right arm felt like a concrete block resting on her stomach.
She watched Columbus through half-open eyes. His performance was flawless.
He leaned over the metal bedrail. His voice was soft, dripping with fake worry. "Is the pain medication working, Charlene?"
She turned her head away. She stared blankly at the blank white wall. She didn't make a sound.
Columbus let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. He was playing the role of the exhausted, patient older brother to perfection.
He turned around and picked up a sleek, insulated thermos from the bedside table.
He unscrewed the metal lid. He poured a thick, steaming grayish nutritional paste into a small plastic bowl.
Instantly, the heavy, bland smell of boiled oats and artificial vitamins filled the small room.
The smell hit Charlene's nose.
Her stomach violently seized.
The mere act of being forced to eat flashed her mind back to the dining room at the estate. Isabela, smiling sweetly, handing her a bowl of soup. The soup laced with shrimp puree. The severe allergic reaction that closed her throat. Isabela crying, claiming Charlene did it to herself to frame her.
Columbus picked up a plastic spoon. He scooped up the thick paste and pushed it right against Charlene's pale lips.
"Eat," Columbus ordered. The softness was gone from his voice. It was a hard command. "You need your strength."
Charlene pressed her lips together. She clamped her jaw shut so hard her teeth ached.
Columbus's eyes narrowed. His patience vanished.
He reached out with his free hand. His fingers clamped down hard on her jawline. He squeezed, pressing his thumb into her cheek until the pain forced her mouth open.
He shoved the spoon inside and dumped the hot paste onto her tongue.
The liquid slid down her throat. She choked.
The physical trauma and the psychological terror collided. Her body's defense mechanisms went into overdrive.
She grabbed the metal bedrail with her left hand. She hauled herself up, leaning over the edge of the mattress.
She retched.
The paste, mixed with burning stomach acid, poured out of her mouth and splattered all over the spotless hospital floor.
Columbus jumped back, his face twisting in disgust. He slammed the bowl down onto the bedside table.
The ER door suddenly flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang.
Antwan strolled into the room. He was holding a red apple, casually peeling it with a pocket knife.
He looked at the vomit on the floor and let out a loud, barking laugh.
"Why are you playing the good guy with a lunatic, Columbus?" Antwan sneered, taking a loud bite of the apple.
Columbus spun around. His eyes were murderous. "Shut your mouth, Antwan. Get out."
Antwan ignored him. He walked right up to the side of Charlene's bed.
He leaned down. He brought his face so close to hers she could smell the sweet apple juice on his breath.
"You still don't get how the world works, do you?" Antwan whispered, a cruel, mocking smile stretching his lips. "You think you still have a say in anything? With that shiny new medical record of yours, you can't even prove who you are, let alone make a legal claim to Grandpa's estate. You're a ghost now. We hold all the cards."
Charlene's breath stopped.
Her pupils dilated. Pure, unadulterated horror flooded her eyes.
She slowly turned her head and looked at Columbus.
Columbus froze. He couldn't meet her eyes. He looked away, staring at the floor.
The truth crashed down on her, crushing her chest. It wasn't about the scandal. It wasn't about protecting the family. It was about money.
The last fragile thread of hope she had for her family snapped. Absolute, suffocating despair swallowed her whole.
