Chapter 4 - The Husband's Awakening
Down the hall, in the master bedroom, Grant Whitmore groaned.
His head felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton. The sleeping pill Marissa had given him was potent, but it was fighting a losing battle against the adrenaline that had been pumping through Grant’s veins since he strapped his son to a bed.
He had been having a nightmare. In the dream, Anna was standing over his bed, screaming at him, asking him why he had tied their baby boy to a cage.
Grant rolled over. The other side of the bed was empty. The sheets were cold.
He sat up, rubbing his face. "Marissa?"
No answer. The rain outside continued its heavy assault on the estate.
Grant swung his legs out of bed. As he reached for his slippers, he knocked Marissa’s silk robe off the bench. Her phone slipped from the pocket and hit the hardwood floor, the screen lighting up.
Grant picked it up to put it on the nightstand, but a text message notification caught his eye. It wasn't from a friend. It was from the contact saved as "Dr. Evans—Child Psychiatrist." The same doctor who had texted Grant earlier to assure him Caleb’s pain was purely psychological.
The message read: Did he take the bait? Is the kid restrained? The trust fund transfer needs a medical declaration of mental instability, Marissa. We need this on record.
Grant stopped breathing.
His thumb hovered over the screen. He unlocked it—he knew her passcode; it was the date of their wedding. He scrolled up through the messages.
Marissa: The gel is working. He’s losing his mind. Grant thinks the boy is hallucinating. Fake Doctor: Good. Keep the bugs fed. A few more days and Grant will beg me to commit him to a private facility. Then you have power of attorney. Marissa: I'll handle the nanny tonight. She’s getting suspicious.
The phone slipped from Grant’s trembling fingers and shattered against the floor.
May you like
"Caleb," Grant whispered.
The heavy fog of the sleeping pill vanished, incinerated by a wave of pure, white-hot terror. He sprinted out of the master bedroom, running down the dark hallway toward his son’s room.
