Chapter 13
Knock hit door hard. Two sharp raps. Then footsteps in hall outside suite. Polished shoes on parquet. Slow. Unrushed. Like employer owned hallway.
I stood beside nightstand. Pen uncapped in right hand. Notebook open to half-written line. Dose blank still waited. Amber bottle sat near bed rail where I left it. Visible. Documented. Photo backup safe on phone in bag pocket.
Patient eyes tracked door. Breath shallow. Blanket rose fell fast.
Guard pushed off wall. He moved to door. Hand found handle. Fingers wrapped around brass. Did not turn yet. Shoulders squared. Sunglasses caught window light. He looked back at me once. Quick glance. Warning.
Knock came again. Firmer this time.
Voice outside. Man, mid-fifties. Calm. Pressed.
"Margaret? We're on schedule. Chart needs closing before courier arrives."
Guard hand tightened on handle. He waited. He gave me seconds. That was promise from last night. One look-away. Now he held door closed. Bought time.
I stared at blank line in notebook. Black pen hovered. Ink tip almost touched paper. My hand shook.
Patient turned head toward me. Dry lips moved. Whisper barely air.
"Please."
One word. Not loud. Not for guard or man outside. For me.
I understood plea. Not please help me or please lie. Please tell truth. Yesterday he asked for water. I gave it. He watched me write. He knew what bottle did. He knew what numbers meant.
Guard shifted weight. He tilted head toward door. Listened to footsteps settling outside. Employer waited inches away.
My throat went dry. I heard own breath loud inside mask of quiet room.
I thought of rent due Friday. Agency direct deposit pending approval. Supervisor audit flag waiting if numbers did not match expected dose. Foundation tower paycheck that kept apartment lights on. Then thought of notebook legally binding. Ink permanent. Phone photo useless if paper record false.
Guard eyes flicked to amber bottle. Then to notebook. Then to door. Hand still on handle. Knuckles pale. He would have to open soon. Could not stall longer without suspicion.
Outside voice again. Closer to door crack now. Polished. Impatient.
"Everything alright in there? We need that entry signed before four."
Patient fingers twitched under dark blanket. Reached slight toward bed rail. Toward my hand. Did not grab. Just moved. Small human reach.
I lowered pen tip until it kissed paper. Ink bled small dot where dose number must go. Hand still.
Guard watched dot form. He did not move. He gave me choice frozen in that dot. Write true number and lose pay. Write false number and keep job but bury truth.
Window light cut across notebook. Glass of water beside pen caught light. Cat not there now but water still full. Patient still could not lift it himself.
My wrist locked. Pen poised. Door half-open pressure built. Guard thumb eased handle down quarter inch. Wood door creaked slight. Hinge sighed.
Employer shadow fell through widening crack onto parquet floor. Foot half over threshold. Guard body blocked full view but not for long.
Patient whispered again. Even softer. Same word.
May you like
"Please."
Pen pressed harder. Dot grew darker. I drew breath. Did not write number yet. Held there. Door half open. Pen to paper. Choice frozen.
