Chapter 5 - The Medicine That Kept Me Silent
For seven years, I'd swallowed whatever Richard placed in my hand.
Small white tablets.
Blue capsules.
Pale pink pills that made the world feel distant.
He always said the medication was necessary.
Whenever I questioned him, he reminded me what could happen if I stopped.
Seizures.
Confusion.
Permanent neurological damage.
I had been terrified of becoming even more dependent on him.
Now Dr. Heller stood in front of me, admitting that something was wrong with the medicine my husband personally administered.
"What do you mean?" Charlotte demanded.
Dr. Heller glanced toward the corridor.
"Not here."
"Then where?"
"My office. Tomorrow."
"No," I said.
Both of them turned toward me.
"I have waited seven years for answers. I'm not waiting another day."
He rubbed his forehead.
"Mrs. Whitmore, this is complicated."
"Was my husband giving me something you didn't prescribe?"
His silence answered the question.
Charlotte stepped forward.
"Doctor, I strongly suggest you start talking."
He looked exhausted.
Older than he had at the beginning of the evening.
"When I began treating Mrs. Whitmore, she had a documented spinal injury and several neurological symptoms following the crash."
"What symptoms?" I asked.
"Muscle weakness, intermittent spasms, nerve pain, fatigue."
"Did you believe I'd never walk again?"
He hesitated.
"I believed the prognosis was uncertain."
I stared at him.
"Richard told me every doctor agreed my paralysis was permanent."
"That wasn't my conclusion."
A wave of nausea washed over me.
Charlotte gripped the handles of my wheelchair.
"What happened after you examined her?"
"Richard arranged for another physician to manage the medication."
"Who?"
"Dr. Andrew Kessler."
I knew that name.
Kessler had visited our mansion twice a month for the past five years.
He rarely examined me.
Most appointments consisted of Richard speaking while I sat quietly beside them.
"Was Kessler authorized to change my prescriptions?" I asked.
"Yes. But he was required to document those changes."
"And?"
Dr. Heller looked at the floor.
"Some of the records don't match the medication inventory submitted by the household."
Charlotte took out her phone.
"Have you reported this?"
"Not yet."
"Then you'd better preserve every record you have."
He looked toward me.
"Mrs. Whitmore, please don't stop taking your medications without being evaluated by a hospital physician. Some require careful adjustment."
I nodded.
For once, somebody was giving me medical advice without treating me like a child.
Charlotte moved closer.
"We're taking Eleanor to the hospital tonight."
Dr. Heller seemed relieved.
"Good."
He started to leave.
Then stopped.
"One more thing."
"What?" I asked.
"Three weeks ago, I received a request for copies of your original neurological scans."
My pulse quickened.
"From whom?"
"An independent specialist."
"That was Dr. Adrian Foster. I went to him myself."
"I know."
"Then why did his office say Richard withdrew my records?"
Dr. Heller swallowed.
"Because someone sent a document claiming your husband had authority to revoke your consent."
"Was it valid?"
"I didn't investigate at the time."
Charlotte's expression turned dangerous.
"You should have."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he looked at me.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Whitmore."
Then he walked away.
I watched him disappear down the hallway.
Somewhere behind us, applause erupted again.
The party was continuing.
People were laughing.
Waiters were carrying champagne.
Richard Whitmore was probably telling another polished joke.
And I was beginning to understand that my life had been stolen in pieces while the rest of the world watched him pretend to love me.
Charlotte crouched beside Noah.
"Sweetheart, do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?"
He nodded.
"Mr. Samuel."
"Who's Mr. Samuel?"
"He helped Mommy."
"Where is he?"
Noah reached into his pocket and produced a small paper card.
On it was written a telephone number.
Beneath the number were two words.
SAMUEL REED.
Charlotte read the card.
Something flashed across her face.
"Samuel Reed?"
She looked at me.
"Eleanor, did Clara ever mention knowing a man by that name?"
I shook my head.
Charlotte looked troubled.
"Samuel used to work for your father's private security company."
I blinked.
"My father's security company?"
"Yes."
"Richard told me Dad closed it before he died."
"He did."
Charlotte paused.
"Or at least that's what we were told."
We left through a service corridor with Noah between us.
Outside, a black sedan waited near the kitchen entrance.
Charlotte opened the rear door.
I was preparing to transfer into the car when I heard footsteps.
"Eleanor!"
Vanessa.
My sister stood beneath the portico in a dark green evening gown.
The emerald earrings glittered beneath the lights.
She looked angry.
But beneath the anger was something else.
Desperation.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To the hospital."
She stopped.
"What?"
"I want an independent medical evaluation."
"Don't be dramatic."
The words were so familiar that they almost made me smile.
"Goodbye, Vanessa."
She moved toward us.
"Eleanor, you don't understand what you're doing."
"Then explain it."
Her eyes flicked toward Noah.
"That child isn't who you think he is."
Noah pressed against Charlotte's leg.
I looked at my sister.
"Then who is he?"
Vanessa's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
"Is he Clara Bennett's son?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
"Did Clara work for Richard?"
"Yes."
"Was she there the night of my accident?"
Vanessa's face changed.
The color drained from her cheeks.
I leaned forward.
"Did you take my baby, Vanessa?"
She looked as though I'd slapped her.
Then she whispered, "Eleanor, please."
"Answer me."
Her eyes filled with tears.
But I no longer trusted tears.
Not hers.
Not Richard's.
Not anyone who'd spent seven years watching me grieve a child who might still be alive.
"Did you take Benjamin?"
Vanessa glanced toward the mansion.
Then leaned close enough that I could smell her perfume.
"Richard didn't tell me what he was going to do."
My entire body went cold.
"What?"
She gripped my wheelchair.
"I swear I didn't know what would happen."
Charlotte moved toward us.
"Vanessa, what exactly are you admitting?"
My sister began shaking her head.
"No. No, I can't."
"Can't what?"
She looked straight into my eyes.
May you like
Then whispered something I would remember for the rest of my life.
"The mountain road was only supposed to frighten you."
