Chapter 7 - What Was In The Glass
The bathroom door clicked shut and the water started. I stood in the hallway and listened to it hit tile for a slow count of ten. Sophie was on the couch where I'd left her, knees pulled up, still in her pink pajamas. She had her back against the armrest and her eyes on me.
"Stay right there for me, okay?" I said quietly. "If Claire calls out, just say I'm in the kitchen."
She nodded. I kept my voice even, but my hands weren't.
I moved fast and tried to keep everything in order. The glass was in the fridge on the middle shelf, right where Claire had put it after I said I'd drink it later. The orange juice sat still and opaque, a faint skin forming on top. I didn't touch it at first. I pulled out my phone.
I took three photos, each with the timestamp on. One of the glass where it sat in the fridge, the fridge light making the liquid look thicker. One of the counter where she'd poured it, a small ring of orange near the sink that hadn't been wiped. One of the hallway, the dark rolling suitcase with its handle still extended, right against the white cabinets. I made sure the handle position was clear in the frame. If she moved it, I'd know.
The water kept running.
I found the plastic wrap in the drawer by the stove. I pulled a sheet and stretched it tight over the top of the glass, pressing it around the rim so it sealed. I didn't want to spill it or let anything else get in. I took a clean gallon zip bag from the box on top of the fridge, slid the whole glass inside, and zipped it shut with the air still in it. I took another photo of it bagged. My thumb shook a little when I hit the shutter.
I put the bagged glass on the high cabinet above the fridge, behind the cereal boxes where Claire never looked. It was cold against my palm and heavier than I expected.
Sophie was still watching me from the couch. I gave her a small nod so she knew I was okay.
The trash was next. The kitchen trash can had a fresh liner, but under a few paper towels and orange pulp near the bottom, I saw what I wasn't looking for until I was. I pulled the liner out halfway and used two napkins to lift.
There was a crumpled blister foil, the silver backing pushed through in four places, empty. Folded over once like someone had tried to crush it smaller. Under it, a dusting of fine white powder clung to the inside of the liner, mixed with a little dried orange pulp. Not sugar. Too fine, too chalky, and it left a faint residue on the napkin when I brushed it.
My chest got tight. I breathed through my nose.
I didn't touch the powder with my fingers. I turned the foil over with the napkins. On the back, in small gray print, I could still read part of the label. The pharmacy name was torn away but the dosage was there. I took a photo of it right in the trash, then another with flash, then carefully lifted the foil with the napkins and slid it into a separate quart zip bag. I zipped that too. The powder I couldn't collect cleanly, so I photographed it from two angles, close enough to show the texture against the orange.
I tied the trash liner back the way it was and set it down again, trying to leave the orange pulp exactly where it had been.
I slipped the small bag with the foil into the inside pocket of my dark blazer, which I'd hung over the kitchen chair that morning. It fit flat against the lining. I zipped the pocket shut. The bigger bag with the glass stayed above the fridge, hidden.
The water in the bathroom changed pitch. She'd stepped out. I heard the shower curtain move on the rod.
I wiped the counter with a dry paper towel where my hands had been, put the plastic wrap back in its drawer, and closed the fridge. I checked my phone. The photos were all there, time stamped 9:42, 9:43. I locked the screen and slid the phone into my front pocket.
I walked back to the living room and sat on the edge of the couch next to Sophie. She leaned into my side.
"Did you hear anything?" I whispered.
She shook her head.
The bathroom door opened a crack and steam came out into the hall. Claire's voice came through, calm. "Daniel? Did you still want coffee?"
I kept my hand lightly on Sophie's shoulder. "No, I'm good," I said back. "Take your time."
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I could feel the small hard edge of the bagged foil against my ribs through the blazer, and I knew the glass was still cold and sealed above the fridge where I'd left it. I didn't have a lab name for it yet, but I didn't need one to know what it was. Crushed tablets. The same kind of empty foil I'd just bagged.
The bathroom door stayed cracked, and the steam kept coming.
