Chapter 8 - The Trap
The trap was set with meticulous precision.
Vance coordinated with the hospital administration to clear the entire floor of regular patients.
Undercover officers dressed as doctors and janitors roamed the hallways.
Hidden cameras were installed in the air vents and smoke detectors of Eleanor’s room.
Vance officially released a statement to the press that Maria had confessed to the crime.
The news report claimed Eleanor was deteriorating and would likely pass away by midnight.
David was sitting in his mansion, drinking expensive scotch, when he saw the news alert.
A dark sense of victory washed over him.
He drove to the hospital, dressed in a sharp black suit, playing the role of the grieving husband perfectly.
He walked past the nurses' station, dabbing his eyes with a silk handkerchief.
When he reached Eleanor’s door, he paused, making sure the hallway was empty.
He quietly opened the heavy wooden door and slipped inside.
Eleanor lay perfectly still on the bed, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow and slow.
The monitors beeped at a dangerously low rhythm, completely manipulated by the police tech team in the next room.
David stood over her, his reflection caught in the dark window glass.
"It’s finally over, Eleanor," he whispered, entirely unaware of the cameras recording his every move.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid.
It was potassium chloride, untraceable in an autopsy if administered correctly.
"You fought hard, darling, but I always win in the end," he sneered.
He grabbed her IV line, preparing to inject the lethal dose straight into her bloodstream.
But the moment the needle touched the plastic tube, Eleanor's eyes snapped open.
She looked directly at him, completely lucid and terrifyingly calm.
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"You never win, David," she said clearly.
David gasped, stumbling backward and dropping the syringe on the linoleum floor.
