Chapter 2 - The Collapse Beneath the Table
The kitchen clock ticked with an aggressive, hollow sound that seemed to mock the silence in the dining room. Buddy let out a strange, muffled whine, his heavy golden paws slipping against the hardwood floor as his hind legs lost traction. He didn't fall all at once; he sagged, his great head hitting the table leg with a dull thud.
"Get the dog outside!" Chris yelled, finally breaking the paralysis that had gripped the room. But Chris didn't move. None of them moved. They were frozen in various postures of denial, their eyes darting from Buddy's twitching paws to Megan's ashen face.
I scooped Ethan up in one swift motion, burying his face in the crook of my neck so he wouldn't see the golden retriever sliding onto his side. Lauren was already kneeling beside the animal, her hands hovering, her voice shaking as she pulled out her phone. "I'm calling the emergency clinic. Daniel, grab the plate. Cover it with foil. Do not let anyone touch it."
"You're blowing this out of proportion," Patricia hissed, her face flushed with a mixture of anger and panic. She stood up, smoothing her holiday apron with trembling fingers. "Megan is family. Lauren, you've always had these strange delusions about her, and bringing a dog into this—"
"Mom, shut up," I snarled, my voice tearing through the dining room with a violence I didn't know I possessed. I looked at Chris, who had finally set his beer bottle down so hard the glass cracked at the base. "Check your wife's pockets, Chris. Do it now, or I'll do it for you."
Megan backed away until her spine hit the mahogany china cabinet, rattling grandmother's crystal. "He's framing me," she whispered, her voice cracking into a high, theatrical panic. "Chris, tell your brother he's crazy. Look at her—she's been trying to push me out of this family since the day they married."
"Shut up, Megan," Chris muttered, his hand reaching out to grab her wrist. She jerked away with surprising force, her eyes wild.
"Don't touch me!" she shrieked.
Lauren didn't argue. She didn't scream anymore. She moved with cold, terrifying precision. While Megan was distracted, Lauren reached down, picked up the linen napkin Megan had dropped, and slipped it into a Ziploc bag she must have grabbed from her purse. Inside the folds of that napkin was a small, dark glass dropper bottle, the cap still damp.
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"What is that?" Patricia demanded, pointing a manicured finger at the baggie. "What are you stealing from my guest?"
"Poison, Patricia," Lauren said softly, standing up and looking my mother dead in the eye. "Ask her why she brought veterinary-grade organophosphate into a house with a child and a dog. Ask her why the plate was marked for Daniel."
