Chapter 4 - the night ethan stopped taking the medicine)
Charles claimed the syringe was medication.
Ethan did not believe him.
“Stay away from me.”
Charles stopped.
His voice softened.
“Son, you’re frightened.”
“You lied about Mom.”
“There are things you don’t understand.”
“Then explain them.”
“Not while this child is here.”
Nia stepped backward.
Charles looked at her.
“You broke into my home.”
“You kidnapped your own wife.”
Charles’s face tightened.
Nia immediately seemed to regret saying it.
Ethan looked between them.
“Is that true?”
Charles ignored him.
He held out his left hand.
“Give me the letter.”
“No.”
“You’re in shock.”
“No.”
“You need your medicine.”
“No.”
Charles’s calm expression finally cracked.
“You do not know what happens to your body when you miss those doses.”
Ethan felt a strange thrill of certainty.
That sentence was not reassurance.
It was a warning.
“What happens?”
Charles said nothing.
Ethan looked toward his leg.
“I moved my toe.”
Charles went completely still.
Nia stared at Ethan.
He continued.
“In this room. Before she came in. My toe moved.”
Charles’s gaze dropped to Ethan’s feet.
For a moment, naked panic crossed his face.
Then he smiled.
“Involuntary reflex.”
“You said I couldn’t move.”
“Reflexes are not voluntary movement.”
“I want another doctor.”
“You have one of the best neurologists in the country.”
“I want one you don’t pay.”
Charles’s jaw tightened.
“You’re ten years old.”
“And it’s my body.”
The words hung between them.
Then Charles moved.
Fast.
He reached for Ethan’s shoulder.
Nia grabbed the audio recorder from the cabinet and threw it.
It struck Charles in the forehead.
He swore.
Ethan slammed the joystick forward.
The wheelchair hit Charles’s knee.
Nia opened the hidden door.
“Go.”
They raced into the library.
Charles shouted behind them.
The western hallway led toward the service staircase.
Ethan’s chair moved quickly on smooth floors, but the narrow stairs were impossible.
“Elevator,” he said.
They turned.
Security appeared at the opposite end of the corridor.
Nia looked around.
“No.”
She grabbed the back of Ethan’s wheelchair.
“Trust me.”
“What are you doing?”
“There’s another way.”
She pushed him toward a linen closet.
Behind hanging sheets was a narrow staff elevator.
Ethan stared.
“How do you know this house better than I do?”
“Your mom drew me a map.”
The elevator barely fit the wheelchair.
Nia squeezed beside him.
The doors closed seconds before Charles reached the hallway.
They descended.
“Where are we going?”
“Kitchen.”
“And then?”
“Outside.”
Ethan looked at her as though she were insane.
“I can’t exactly run.”
“I noticed.”
Despite everything, Ethan almost laughed.
The elevator opened behind the pantry.
Kitchen staff were still serving the gala.
Nobody noticed two children slipping through the delivery corridor.
Nia led him to the loading entrance.
Cold air hit Ethan’s face.
A van was parked outside.
A woman in a catering uniform stood beside it smoking.
She stared at them.
Nia said, “Please.”
The woman looked toward the mansion.
Then back at Ethan.
She clearly recognized him.
“Are you Ethan Vale?”
“Yes.”
“Are you supposed to be out here?”
“No.”
The woman dropped her cigarette.
“That is not the answer I was hoping for.”
Nia grabbed Ethan’s hand.
“They’re trying to hurt him.”
The catering woman looked toward the rear door.
Voices approached.
“Get in.”
She opened the van.
They hid between boxes of table linens.
Thirty seconds later, the van drove through the estate gates.
Ethan heard security shouting behind them.
He was outside his father’s control for the first time in years.
He should have felt free.
Instead, terror filled him.
He had no medicine.
No nurse.
No wheelchair charger.
No money.
And somewhere in the city, the woman he had mourned for three years might still be alive.
The catering woman stopped several blocks away.
“My name is Rosa,” she said. “I am going to regret this, aren’t I?”
Nia nodded.
“Probably.”
Rosa sighed.
“Where are you going?”
“St. Martha’s.”
Rosa looked at Ethan.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“No.”
“Good. At least somebody is being honest tonight.”
She drove them across the city.
By the time they reached St. Martha’s, Ethan’s hands were trembling.
He assumed it was fear.
Then his muscles began to twitch.
His breathing became shallow.
Sweat formed across his forehead.
Nia crouched beside him.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
His body felt strange.
His heart raced.
His legs ached.
Withdrawal.
He remembered the medication warnings he had read.
His father had kept him on the sedatives every day for years.
Stopping suddenly could be dangerous.
Nia looked terrified.
Rosa called for help.
A doctor volunteering at the shelter examined Ethan.
Her name was Dr. Lena Ortiz.
When she heard what medication he had been taking, her expression changed.
“How long?”
“Almost three years.”
“At those doses?”
“I think so.”
“Who prescribed them?”
“Dr. Howard Crane.”
Ortiz stared at him.
Then she asked a question Ethan would remember forever.
“Why would anyone keep a ten-year-old on this combination for three years?”
Ethan looked at Nia.
Neither of them answered.
Ortiz took his blood pressure.
Then she tested his reflexes.
She tapped below his left knee.
His leg kicked.
She tested the right.
Movement.
Then she ran a blunt instrument along the sole of his foot.
Ethan jerked.
Ortiz stared at him.
“Can you feel that?”
“Yes.”
“How clearly?”
“Very.”
She looked at Ethan’s medical summary, which had been stored digitally on his emergency bracelet.
Then she looked at his legs again.
“These records describe far less function than I’m seeing.”
Ethan swallowed.
“What does that mean?”
Ortiz did not smile.
She did not make promises.
But she said something no doctor had said to Ethan in three years.
“It means I want an independent MRI immediately.”
Nia squeezed his hand.
For the first time since entering the ballroom, Ethan believed her.
Maybe she really could help him walk.
But when Rosa opened the shelter office door to find Nia’s grandmother, the room had been destroyed.
Drawers were overturned.
Papers covered the floor.
One window was broken.
May you like
And on the wall, written in black marker, were five words.
THE BOY SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME.
