Chapter 7 - The Flatline
Willa stood totally paralyzed beside the bed, her heart hammering wildly and painfully against her ribs.
Sterling’s unexpected presence was a catastrophic, potentially lethal wrench in her carefully laid plan.
"Just a minor precaution, my dear," Sterling said smoothly, noticing her terrified, wide-eyed stare at the gun.
"Sometimes the human body has violent, involuntary muscle reactions when the soul finally departs."
Willa forced her ragged breathing to remarkably remain as steady as possible.
Exactly ten minutes ago, she had injected the heavy, dangerous beta-blocker into Everett's hidden secondary IV line.
His skin was already growing horrifyingly pale, and his chest's rise and fall had slowed to a dangerous crawl.
Dr. Whitfield approached the bed, checking the expensive monitor with profound clinical disinterest.
"Heart rate is already dropping significantly," Whitfield noted, sounding completely bored with murder.
"It seems his body is finally giving up the useless fight."
Whitfield uncapped his lethal syringe and seamlessly inserted the needle into the main IV port.
Willa bit her lower lip hard enough to actually draw fresh blood as she watched the lethal fluid slide into the clear tube.
She started furiously counting in her head.
One, two, three.
The heavy, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor suddenly stuttered horribly.
Everett’s massive chest hitched, his strong jaw clenching violently as the conflicting, powerful drugs went to war in his bloodstream.
Then, the monitor let out a single, piercing, perfectly continuous tone.
Flatline.
Sterling smiled widely, a chilling, sickening expression of absolute, uncontested victory.
Whitfield checked Everett’s pulse directly at the neck, nodding once in professional confirmation.
"Official time of death, 12:05 PM," the doctor announced, packing up his expensive leather bag.
Willa threw herself aggressively over Everett’s unmoving chest, acting out the role of a hysterical, broken widow to absolute perfection.
"No!" she screamed loudly, her tears wonderfully genuine as she felt his skin turning terrifyingly icy cold.
"Please, gentlemen, give the grieving widow a moment of silence," Sterling chuckled darkly, turning smoothly toward the door.
Willa waited until their expensive footsteps faded entirely down the hall before springing into desperate action.
She aggressively grabbed the defibrillator paddles, violently smearing them with thick conductive gel.
"Come on, Everett, please," she begged, frantically charging the machine to two hundred joules.
"Clear!" she shouted fiercely, pressing the heavy paddles to his bare chest.
His massive body arched violently off the bed, but the monitor stubbornly continued its deadly, unbroken scream.
She charged it again, sheer panic violently clawing at her tight throat.
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Nothing happened at all.
He was actually, truly gone.
