Chapter 2 - The Mask Slips
The golden retriever’s tail gave one tentative thump against the table leg before freezing completely. Buddy let out a strange, wet choke, his head snapping back as if he had been stung by a wasp. He backed out from under the table in a flurry of golden fur, shaking his head violently and pawing at his snout with desperate, frantic swipes.
"Buddy!" Ethan screamed, dropping to his knees. "Mom, what’s wrong with him?"
Panic ripped through the dining room like shrapnel. My mother knocked her water glass over, the crystal shattering against the hardwood and sending a pool of ice water spreading across the polished floorboards like a creeping vein. Chris finally found his voice, dropping his beer bottle—which miraculously didn't break on the rug—and shouting, "What the hell is going on here?!"
Megan’s composure evaporated into thin air. Her face, a second ago painted with arrogant defiance, turned the color of skim milk. She stepped backward, her heel catching the edge of the dining room rug, nearly pitching her into the corner china cabinet.
"I... I didn't..." Megan stammered, her hands fluttering uselessly around her throat. "It was just a prank! It was supposed to make him sick for a few hours, just a stomach bug, just to teach you a lesson about—"
"A lesson?" I heard my own voice, but it didn't sound like me. It sounded hollow, like a voice echoing from the bottom of an abandoned well. The rage inside me was no longer a hot fire; it was a cold, dense block of lead crushing my lungs. "A lesson about what, Megan?"
"About the inheritance!" Chris bellowed, his face turning an alarming shade of purple as he stared at his wife. "Megan, tell me you didn't. Tell me you didn't put something in my brother’s food!"
"It was supposed to be Daniel’s plate!" Megan shrieked, the mask completely shattering as she pointed a trembling, manicured finger at me. "Your mother’s will gives the Cedar Rapids house and the commercial land to Daniel! Every single time we ask for a loan, you two look down your noses at us! You have everything, and we have nothing! If Daniel was sick—if he was incapacitated—we could take over the family trust management! It was just supposed to paralyze him or cause violent food poisoning, something to make him sign power of attorney over to Chris out of duress!"
The confession hung in the air, thick, grotesque, and impossible to wash away.
Patricia gripped the arms of her dining chair so tightly her knuckles turned translucent white. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish stranded on a dry riverbank. "My... my will? You plotted against my son at my own table? In my own home?"
"Mom, shut up!" Chris yelled, running his hands through his thinning hair, looking like a man trapped inside a collapsing building. "Megan, you absolute psychopath! You used poison? What kind of poison?"
"It’s not poison, it’s just plant extract! Digitalis derivatives, or something like that, Chris found it online—" Megan choked on her own words, her eyes widening in horror as she realized she had just implicated her husband directly.
Chris stumbled back, staring at her in sheer disbelief. "Me? You told me it was a harmless herbal supplement to prank Daniel about his high blood pressure! You said it would just make him dizzy!"
While they shouted and pointed fingers, Lauren was already on the floor beside Buddy. The dog was breathing heavily, his tongue lolling out, thick strings of saliva dripping onto the Persian rug. Lauren’s medical background as an emergency room nurse kicked in with terrifying, robotic precision.
"Daniel, get your keys," Lauren commanded, her voice cutting through the screaming match like a laser. "Buddy absorbed a tiny trace through his tongue, but Ethan was about to eat half of that steak. If Tyler had taken that bite, an eleven-year-old boy would have gone into cardiac arrest within twenty minutes. Call 911 right now."
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I pulled my phone from my pocket, my fingers shaking so badly I dropped it twice before the screen lit up. As the dispatcher’s automated voice asked for my emergency, I looked across the table at my mother, my brother, and the woman who had smiled and passed the butter rolls less than five minutes ago.
Thanksgiving was over. Our family was gone. And the nightmare had only just begun.
