Chapter 5 - The Countermove
I returned to the nursery with Theodore cradled against my chest, my mind racing at a frantic pace. They were pushing me out. The car was scheduled to arrive at two o'clock. That gave me less than three hours to figure out how to stop an execution and save a man who couldn't even lift a finger to help himself.
I set Theodore down on the play mat with a collection of plastic blocks, then locked the nursery door behind me. I didn't go back to packing. Instead, I crept down the deserted hallway toward the master wing.
The door to Raymond’s room was unlocked. I slipped inside and bolted it from the inside.
Raymond was staring at the ceiling, his breathing shallow and rattling. I rushed to his side and grabbed his cold hand.
“They’re kicking me out,” I whispered urgently. “A car is coming at two o'clock to take me and Theodore away. Once I’m gone, Wallace is going to finish it. We don't have days anymore, Mr. Raymond. We have hours.”
Raymond’s eyes widened in terror. His fingers twitched frantically against my palm, trying to squeeze, but the neurotoxin was blocking the nerve signals.
“Listen to me,” I said, leaning in close so my lips brushed his ear. “I’m not leaving. Not without proof that the police can't ignore. Where is the original autopsy report for Arthur? The real one?”
Raymond’s eyes darted toward the heavy oak desk beneath the front window.
“In the desk?”
One blink. Yes.
“Which drawer?”
He looked at the top drawer, then the bottom one. Two blinks. Neither.
He blinked three times, then looked down at his own chest, beneath the hospital gown.
My breath caught. “It’s on you?”
One blink. Yes.
I didn't hesitate. I reached down, carefully lifting the edge of his hospital gown and the heavy wool blanket. Taped to his sternum, hidden beneath a layer of medical gauze and waterproof adhesive, was a thick, flat manila envelope.
My hands shook as I peeled back the medical tape, careful not to tear his fragile skin. The envelope was sealed with red wax bearing the insignia of a private Chicago forensic laboratory.
As I pulled it free from his chest, a heavy thud echoed against the outer bedroom door.
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“Nora?” Christopher’s muffled voice called out, sharp and irritated. “Why is the door locked? Open up.”
I froze, the manila envelope clutched in my trembling hand, as Christopher’s hand rattled the brass doorknob with increasing force.
