Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99917 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Patricia’s lips thin, displeasure evident despite her attempt to hide it. “That won’t be necessary. This is a private family matter.”
“I am family,” I counter smoothly. “Or have our roles as stepsiblings suddenly changed?”
Patricia studies me for a moment, something calculating in her gaze. “Of course not. But the doctor will need to examine Lilian privately. Medical confidentiality and all that.”
“I’ve seen Lilian at her worst,” I say, my tone deliberately casual. “I doubt there’s anything the good doctor could discover that would shock me.”
Patricia’s nostrils flare slightly—the only sign that my persistence has irritated her. Beside me, Lilian stiffens, whether from embarrassment or anger I can’t tell.
“Perhaps we could continue this discussion inside,” she suggests, her voice tight. “It’s chilly out here.”
Patricia steps back, allowing us to enter the marble-tiled foyer. The house smells of lemon polish and old money. Every surface gleams with the attentions of a staff that Patricia has trained very well to stay out of sight.
“Dr. Winters is waiting in the study,” Patricia says, leading the way through the grand entrance hall. “He’s been most concerned about your missed appointments, Lilian. Your condition requires consistent monitoring.”
“My condition is fine,” Lilian replies, a new edge to her voice that makes me glance at her with surprise. “I’ve been taking my medication as prescribed.”
“Have you?” Patricia asks, skepticism evident. “Then perhaps you can explain why your professors have reported concerns about your behavior? Missed classes, incomplete assignments, erratic attendance?”
“I’ve been busy with research,” Lilian says, the lie smooth and practiced. “You know how I get when I’m focused on a project.”
Patricia makes a noncommittal sound as she opens the heavy double doors to Richard’s study. The room beyond is exactly as I remember it—dark wood paneling, leather-bound books lining the walls, the massive desk dominating the space like an altar to power and control.
Dr. Winters stands as we enter, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the light from the desk lamp. He’s older than I expected, mid-sixties at least, with a carefully cultivated grandfatherly appearance that doesn’t quite mask the clinical assessment in his gaze.
“Lilian,” he says, voice warm with practiced concern. “I’m relieved to see you looking well. Your mother has been quite worried.”
“So I’ve heard,” Lilian replies, remaining near the door rather than approaching. I position myself slightly behind her, a silent sentinel. “But as you can see, I’m fine.”
“Nevertheless,” Dr. Winters says, gesturing to the leather examination couch set up beside the desk, “I’d like to run a few tests. Just to be safe.”
“What kind of tests?” I ask, maintaining my role as the concerned stepbrother.
Dr. Winters glances at me, then at Patricia, clearly expecting her to dismiss me. When she doesn’t—can’t, without creating a scene—he clears his throat. “Standard monitoring. Blood pressure, heart rate, blood samples for analysis.”
“And if I refuse?” Lilian asks, chin lifting slightly in defiance.
The question hangs in the air, a challenge that clearly takes both Patricia and the doctor by surprise. This is not the compliant, fragile Lilian they’re accustomed to handling.
“Lilian,” Patricia says, her tone sharpening with warning. “Don’t be difficult. You know these checkups are necessary.”
“Are they?” Lilian counters. “Because I’ve been feeling better than ever recently. Stronger. More energetic. Almost as if”—she pauses, deliberate and pointed—”my condition isn’t as serious as I’ve been led to believe.”
The atmosphere in the room shifts, tension crackling like static electricity before a storm. Dr. Winters glances at Patricia, and some silent communication passes between them.
“Your condition is quite real, I assure you,” he says, his tone taking on a patronizing edge that makes my fingers curl with the urge to break something, preferably his face. “Though I’m pleased to hear you’re feeling well. That suggests your current medication regimen is effective.”
“Or that I never needed it in the first place,” Lilian suggests, her voice deceptively light.
Dr. Winters smiles, a thin stretch of lips that never reaches his eyes. “Well, regardless of your theories, we have an exciting development to discuss. A new procedure that could significantly improve your quality of life.”
“What kind of procedure?” I ask, stepping forward slightly.
Dr. Winters barely spares me a glance. “A specialized treatment developed by Hayes Enterprises. Quite revolutionary, really. It’s shown remarkable results in cases similar to Lilian’s.”
“Cases like mine?” Lilian repeats. “What cases? What’s wrong with me, exactly? Because in all these years of treatments and medications and tests, no one has ever given me a clear diagnosis.”
I’ve witnessed the exhaustion, the erratic heartbeat, the shortness of breath, and the fainting spells. However, I don’t mention that since she stopped taking the carefully prescribed medication regimen, I haven’t seen much of anything, except for a slight shortness of breath.
The question lands like a grenade in the room, exposing the fundamental lie at the center of Lilian’s existence. Patricia’s expression hardens, all pretense of maternal concern evaporating.