Chapter 6 - The Dead Man's Hand
Willa stared blankly at the medical transfer order, her vision blurring heavily with hot, incredibly angry tears.
Sterling had successfully trapped her in a flawless, inescapable cage.
If she miraculously saved Everett, her innocent mother would be brutally executed by medical proxy.
If she selfishly saved her mother, the man lying helpless in the bed would be murdered before lunch.
She suddenly felt a very weak, deliberate tug on her sleeve.
Everett was looking intently at her, his expression remarkably calm for a man currently facing imminent death.
"Don't cry for me," he whispered, his rough voice gaining a tiny fraction of its former deep resonance.
"I absolutely do not lose."
Willa aggressively wiped her eyes, a sudden, wildly reckless spark of determination igniting hotly in her chest.
"You're completely right," she said, turning to face Crowley with a dangerous, unhinged glint in her eye.
"We aren't going to foolishly run away in the dark."
"We are going to simply let Dr. Whitfield kill him."
Crowley stared at her as if she had completely lost her fragile mind.
Everett, however, simply watched her closely, a slow, fiercely approving smirk touching the corner of his pale lips.
"I know exactly how to manipulate a standard heart monitor to confidently show a flatline," Willa explained rapidly.
"I also know how to synthesize a temporary, powerful beta-blocker that perfectly mimics clinical, biological death."
She pulled her old, worn nursing notebook from her pocket, frantically flipping to a specific page filled with complex chemical equations.
"If I can inject this counter-agent into his IV ten minutes before Whitfield arrives, his vital signs will aggressively crash."
"Whitfield will confidently administer his poison, but Everett’s metabolism will be too severely suppressed to absorb it immediately."
Crowley frowned deeply, running a worried hand over his graying, thinning hair.
"And how do we possibly revive him before the real poison actually takes a fatal effect?"
"With the defibrillator," Willa said firmly, pointing directly to the red emergency crash cart sitting in the corner.
"I will violently shock his heart back into a normal rhythm the second Sterling leaves the room to celebrate his victory."
It was a terrifying, clinically insane plan with a ninety percent chance of catastrophic failure.
Everett reached out weakly, his trembling but massive fingers wrapping gently around Willa's slender wrist.
"Do it," he commanded softly, trusting her completely.
The next morning at exactly 11:50 AM, the heavy bedroom door opened with a click.
Dr. Whitfield strode confidently in, holding a syringe filled with a deadly, completely clear liquid.
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He absolutely didn't come alone.
Sterling followed right behind him, holding a dark, silenced pistol casually by his side.
