Chapter 78 The residue of betrayal
The sterile white walls of the Baragwanath emergency wing seemed to pulse with the rhythm of our collective grief. My father lay there, a mountain of a man reduced to a still landscape beneath a hospital sheet. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the salt of our tears. We were a family unmoored, drifting in a sea of sudden, violent loss.
As the nurses began the grim task of preparing the body for the morgue, pulling the privacy curtains with a metallic shriek that set my teeth on edge, the weight of the moment finally crushed the breath from my lungs.
"We have to know," Maya whispered, her voice cracking as she leaned against the cold tiles. "Elena, a man doesn’t just stop breathing because of one relapse. Not like this. Not with the foaming... the blue."
"It was John," I breathed, the anger finally finding a target that made sense. "It has to be. John was always the one who brought the worst out of him. He was the one who lured him back to that life. Maybe he gave him something tainted. Maybe he wanted to see Dad fall as far as he had."
Maya nodded, her eyes hardening with a desperate kind of logic. "He was the only one there, El. The neighbor saw them leave together. If Dad was poisoned, John is the only hand that could have tipped the glass."
We didn't even consider the basket on our table. In the chaos of the ER, Marcus Blackwood’s visit felt like a bizarre, unrelated fever dream—a wealthy man’s awkward attempt at a peace offering that had simply been timed poorly. The real villain, in our minds, was the man who had shared a booth with our father in a dark corner of Zone 4.
Maya stepped away, her hand trembling as she pulled her phone from her pocket. "I have to tell Vane. He needs to know why we aren't answering the estate calls. He needs to tell Victor."
I watched her walk toward the end of the hallway, her silhouette framed by the flickering exit sign. She looked so small against the vast, indifferent machinery of the hospital.
(Maya’s Perspective)
I dialed Vane’s number with fingers that felt like blocks of ice. It rang once before he picked up, his voice sounding alert despite the hour.
"Maya? Is everything alright? I’ve been trying to reach the house," Vane said, his tone laced with professional concern.
"Vane... he’s gone," I choked out, the words finally making the nightmare real. "My father. He’s dead."
There was a profound silence on the other end. "What? Maya, what are you saying? He was fine this morning."
"He went out... he went to a pub with an old friend, a man named John," I explained, the tears blurring my vision. "He collapsed. The doctors are saying it was poison. They’ve taken his blood to the lab, Vane. We think... we think this friend of his gave him something. Something bad."
"Poison?" Vane’s voice dropped to a low, sharp register. "Maya, listen to me. This is serious. You need to stay calm. I’m going to call Istanbul immediately. I have to tell Victor. Elena is in no state to handle the Blackwood legal team or the press right now. She needs a shoulder to cry on, and Victor needs to be that shoulder, even from a distance. He’ll want to be there for her."
"Please, Vane," I whispered. "Just tell him to be gentle with her. She’s carrying so much. She’s carrying his child and now she’s carrying our father’s casket."
"I’ll handle it, Maya. Go to her. Stay with her."
I was still standing by the Resuscitation Room when the lead doctor returned. He looked exhausted, his stethoscope tucked into his pocket as if he were officially clocking out of the tragedy.
"Family" he said softly.
My mother looked up from where she was clutching my father’s hand, her face a mask of primal sorrow. "The results? Do you know what happened to my husband?"
"The preliminary lab work is still processing," the doctor said, placing a gentle hand on my mother’s shoulder. "Toxicology takes time, especially when we are looking for specific chemical markers. But for now, I must ask you to leave the wing. This is a forensic case now. The police need to secure the area, and the morgue team is arriving. There is nothing more you can do tonight."
"I’m not leaving him!" my mother wailed, her grip tightening on the sheet. "I won't leave him in this cold place alone!"
Vane appeared at the end of the hallway then, having rushed from wherever he had been. He looked out of place in his sharp suit amidst the misery of Baragwanath, but his presence was grounding. He walked over and gently helped my mother to her feet, his movements respectful and steady.
"Mam, Elena... please," Vane said, his voice a soothing balm. "The doctor is right. You need to go home. You haven't slept, and the stress... Elena, think of the baby. You need to rest. I will stay here. I will handle the police and the lab updates. I promise you, I won't leave him until he’s moved safely."
"He’s right, Mom," Maya said, taking our mother’s other arm. "We can't help him here. We need to go home."
The drive back was a blur of streetlights and silence. No one spoke. The hum of the engine was the only thing that kept the darkness from closing in completely. When we arrived, the house felt different—colder, as if the very soul of the building had been sucked out through the chimney.
We entered the living room in a line, like a funeral procession. The gift basket from Marcus Blackwood was still there, sitting on the table. It looked grotesque now—a pile of expensive sugar and foil in a house of ash.
Without a word, Maya walked over and threw a dish towel over the basket, hiding it from view.
"I’m going to bed," Maya whispered, her voice hollow.
"Me too," I said, though I knew sleep was a fantasy.
Everyone retreated to their rooms. I walked down the hallway, my footsteps sounding like thunder in the quiet. As I passed my parents' door, I heard it the sound that broke the last of my resolve.
My mother was on the phone. Her voice was a thin, high-pitched wail, the kind that only comes from a woman who has lost her north star.
"He’s gone, Elizabeth," she sobbed into the receiver, likely calling one of my aunts. "My Elias is gone. They say he was poisoned... in a bar... like a common dog. Oh, God, what am I going to do? How am I going to tell the rest of the family that he died in the dirt?"
I closed my bedroom door and sank onto the bed, the darkness of the room swallowing me whole. I reached for my phone, half-expecting a message from Victor, but the screen remained black.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the image of my father’s blue lips burned into my retinas. John. It had to be John. He was the only link. The only one who could have done this.
But as the wind rattled the windowpane, a cold shiver went through me. I thought about Marcus Blackwood’s face when he saw my father. I thought about the terror in his eyes.
I pushed the thought away. No. That was too dark. Even for a Blackwood.
I curled into a ball, my hand resting on the small swell of my stomach. "It’s just us now," I whispered into the dark.
Across the hall, the sound of my mother’s weeping continued, a rhythmic, haunting soundtrack to the longest night of our lives.