Chapter 3 - The Doctor's Visit
Ethan dragged his thumb across the horrifying bruises on his son’s arm.
His chest tightened with a sudden, suffocating panic.
Margaret had never mentioned any daily injections.
Dr. Vance had explicitly prescribed only oral medications.
“When did she start doing this, Noah?” Ethan asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.
“A long time ago,” the boy answered, his eyes full of fear.
“She says it makes the bad muscles go to sleep.”
Ethan stood up, his mind racing with terrifying possibilities.
He marched out of the bedroom and headed straight for Margaret’s downstairs office.
He did not bother knocking.
He pushed the heavy wooden door open, ready to demand answers.
The office was completely empty.
Margaret’s computer monitor was glowing in the dim light of the room.
Ethan walked around the desk and looked at the screen.
It was a live security feed of the estate’s front gates.
He watched as a sleek black town car pulled into the driveway.
Dr. Warren Vance stepped out, carrying a large silver medical case.
Ethan hurried back to the foyer to intercept the physician.
“Warren,” Ethan said, his voice surprisingly steady.
“You are here early.”
Dr. Vance smiled, a perfectly practiced expression of professional warmth.
“Margaret called and told me about the little incident in the garden.”
“We cannot have Noah exerting himself, Ethan.”
“I brought a stronger muscle relaxant to ensure he doesn't suffer any severe spasms.”
Vance handed Ethan a small amber pill bottle with a typed label.
Ethan looked at the bottle, then at the doctor.
Something inside him, a primal instinct he had buried for years, finally woke up.
He excused himself to the kitchen to get a glass of water for Noah.
Once he was alone, Ethan peeled back the pharmacy label with his thumbnail.
Underneath was the original manufacturer's sticker.
It was not a muscle relaxant.
It was a heavy, slow-acting paralytic compound used exclusively in veterinary euthanasia.
Before Ethan could process the horrific discovery, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
It was an unknown number.
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“Mr. Caldwell,” a frantic female voice whispered.
“It’s Claire, and you need to get Noah out of that house right now.”
