The Blood Bank Daughter

Chapter 4 The Coldest Death

The pain struck as I crossed the grand hall. My right temple burned, my sight broke apart, and the floor hit my knees before I could call for help.

Sound continued after my vision failed: shoes on marble, Harris calling my name and someone ordering the medical wing opened.

Someone lifted me. When I could see again, I was in the family's private medical wing with Dr. Julian Vance bending over the bed.

The room was one I knew from years of blood tests. Julian checked my pupils, pulse and oxygen while an assistant fastened the monitor leads.

"Evelyn, can you hear me? Hold on."

The next spasm pulled my back off the mattress. Julian's assistants held my shoulders while I screamed and clawed at the sheet.

Through the glass wall, Arthur stood in the observation corridor with his arms crossed. His eyes stayed on the monitors.

He had come close enough to supervise, yet the sealed door remained between us. Even then, I searched his face for some sign that he saw me.

Julian turned toward him. "She's in agony. I need to give her a high dose of morphine now."

Arthur pressed the intercom button.

"No."

Julian stared at the glass. "She could have a seizure. Her heart could give out."

"Painkillers may damage the organs and marrow. Do not compromise their viability."

One assistant stopped with the syringe tray in her hands. Julian looked from her to my monitor, then struck the intercom button again.

I heard every word. Arthur was protecting what he planned to take from my body.

My hands loosened around the sheet. I stopped fighting the assistants and looked at him through the glass.

Arthur watched the monitor as my pulse slowed. I held his gaze until the line went flat.

(Julian's POV)

The alarm became one continuous tone. I checked Evelyn once more, then recorded the time of death.

Her fingers still held a crease in the sheet. I eased the fabric free and covered her before I faced the observation corridor.

Arthur lowered his hand from the intercom. Relief crossed his face before he turned away and took out his phone.

"Yes, it's done. Remove Evelyn Croft from the trust, effective immediately."

I had pronounced her dead less than ten seconds earlier.

Arthur ended the call and glanced at the elevator. He was already finished with the room and the daughter inside it.

I took the papers from my coat pocket: the death certificate, the glioblastoma diagnosis from three months ago and the DNR Evelyn had signed in my office.

Her signature on the DNR was straight and careful. She had asked me twice whether Arthur could overturn it, and I had promised he could not.

Then I opened the observation door and stood between Arthur and the elevator.

"Before you leave," I said, "you're going to read what she signed."