Over the days that followed, Penelope underwent daily brain rehabilitation treatment.
Twice a day, transcranial direct-current stimulation sessions left her in agony so severe she wanted to die.
But she never made a sound. She clenched her teeth and endured.
Outside her room, nurses often whispered among themselves.
"Isn't she Mr. Gilbert's wife? She's been hospitalized for days, and he hasn't visited once."
"He's next door, looking after that Miss Henson. Sits by her bed all day, doting on her hand and foot. The woman has a tiny cut on her arm, and he insisted the doctor admit her."
"Wait, seriously? He's got someone new?"
"Shh, keep it down."
Penelope swallowed the pills in her hand. The pain in her head surged again, sharp and relentless, like someone driving a drill bit into the base of her skull.
She closed her eyes and waited for the wave to pass.
Then she got up on her own and walked toward the treatment room.
As she passed Crystal's room, the door was cracked open. She stopped.
Luke sat at Crystal's bedside, holding a bowl of porridge. He blew on a spoonful, then lifted it to Crystal's lips.
Band-Aids were wrapped around several of his fingers. That detail was familiar.
It was the same way he used to look, standing outside the precinct every day with a packed meal waiting for her.
"Luke, you really shouldn't cook for me yourself anymore. It hurts me to see you get hurt," Crystal murmured, her voice impossibly soft.
"Taking care of you is something I'll always want to do."
Luke held her hand and tucked it gently against his chest to keep it warm.
"But shouldn't you go check on Mrs. Gilbert too? I'm worried she'll be upset and take it out on me..."
Luke laughed. He reached out and pinched Crystal's pale cheek.
"She works with dead bodies for a living. You think she can't handle a little pain? She had you locked up at the precinct for three whole hours. Of course I'm going to make it up to you."
Every word was a blade dipped in ice, driven straight into Penelope's skull.
She pressed her hand against her head, fighting through the bone-deep pain.
Her phone lit up in her pocket. A message from Homer.
[Penelope, I found something. The lumber supplier confirmed he specifically warned Crystal that the wood contained fungal spores and that full sterilization was mandatory before using it for fragrance production.]
[But we checked the sterilization equipment logs in her workshop. She lowered the original parameters by two-thirds. She deliberately preserved most of the fungal contamination.]
[Also, it looks like she and the victim had a romantic history. She lied about him being a stranger.]
A theory began to take shape in Penelope's mind.
She typed back: [Pull her hospital records from the past six months.]
She turned off the screen. She didn't look back at the tender scene inside the room. She walked away.
Two weeks later, Penelope was discharged and went home.
She hadn't even finished changing her shoes at the door when she heard giggling and playful whining coming from the master bedroom.
"Luke, you're so mean—"
Penelope didn't pause. She changed into her house shoes and went upstairs.
In the bedroom, Crystal was lying on their marital bed, laughing as she pinched Luke's waist.
Luke turned when he heard the footsteps.
"You're back?"
Penelope looked at him. "What is she doing here?"
Luke stood and walked over to her. His expression was open, almost indifferently so.
"Someone trashed Crystal's shop. She had nowhere to go, so I brought her here to stay for a few days."
Crystal rose from the bed, and only then did Penelope see what she was wearing.
Her pajamas.
Crystal stood behind Luke, her face arranged into the perfect picture of fragile vulnerability.
"Miss Simmons, I'm sorry to impose. If it bothers you, I'll leave right now..."
Luke stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body.
"I know this makes you uncomfortable, but—"
Penelope cut him off before he could finish.
"It doesn't."
She turned and walked away, leaving Luke staring after her, visibly thrown.
Her indifference seemed to irritate him more than anger would have. He stepped into her path and blocked her.
"What kind of act is this? You think playing it cool gives you leverage over me?"
Penelope looked at him. Her eyes were cold and still, like a frozen lake with no light beneath the surface.
"Do whatever makes you happy. I don't care."
She moved to leave. Luke seized her arm.
"'Don't care'? Fine. Crystal has a delicate constitution, and you reek of death from that morgue of yours. It might affect her health. I'll have someone cleanse the bad luck off you."
He ordered his bodyguards forward. They carried thick branches of pomelo leaves.
"Whip her. Beat every last trace of that stench out of her."
Penelope stepped back.
"Luke, have you lost your mind? I just got out of the hospital."
"Crystal just got out of the hospital too. You're tougher than she is. You can take it."
The bodyguards grabbed Penelope by the shoulders and forced her to the ground. They raised the thick pomelo branches and brought them down across her back.
Crack. Crack.
Her skin split open on impact.
Luke watched her grit her teeth and endure it. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. He walked into the study and shut the door.
Crystal stepped forward with a smile. "Don't blame Luke, Miss Simmons. You do have a certain... smell on you, and he's worried it might affect me. After all, he says the scent he loves most in this world is mine."
Penelope lifted her head and stared at her, eyes blazing with defiance and fury.
The intensity of that glare unsettled Crystal. She turned to the bodyguards.
"Dip the branches in salt water. If you're going to cleanse her, do it thoroughly."
Salt water seared into the torn flesh, setting every nerve ending on fire.
After ninety-nine lashes, Penelope collapsed to the floor.
