Chapter 4 - The Voice in the Hospital Room
Harrisburg Memorial Hospital, Room 412.
The steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor was the only sound in the dimly lit room.
Mara Carter lay in the hospital bed, her right shoulder wrapped in thick white bandages, an oxygen nasal cannula resting beneath her nose. Her face was pale, her lips dry and cracked.
Derek sat in the armchair beside her bed, peeling an apple with a small pocketknife.
"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Derek asked, sliding a thin slice of apple onto a paper towel on her tray.
Mara turned her head slowly. Her eyes were dull, unfocused from the pain medication dripping into her IV line.
"Where... where are the boys?" Mara rasped, her voice thick and scratchy from smoke damage to her vocal cords.
"Evan is at Sarah’s house," Derek said smoothly, taking a bite of apple. "He’s doing okay. He’s taking care of the dog."
"And Eli?" Mara asked, her breath hitching in her throat. "Where is Eli, Derek? Why hasn't he come to see me?"
Derek set the pocketknife down on the tray, taking Mara’s uninjured left hand in his own. He lowered his head, squeezing her fingers with a theatrical display of fatherly grief.
"Mara... there’s something we need to talk about," Derek said softly. "The police... they found out how the fire started."
Mara’s eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"
"Eli set it, Mara," Derek lied, his tone dripping with fake sorrow. "He brought a gasoline rag to the back door. Evan saw him doing it. The police took Eli into custody two nights ago."
"No..." Mara gasped, trying to sit up in bed, but the pain in her burned shoulder seared through her body, forcing her back against the pillows. "No! That's... that's impossible! Eli wouldn't... Eli ran back into the house for me!"
"He ran back for the dog, Mara," Derek corrected quickly, his voice hardening slightly beneath the gentle facade. "He left you in the kitchen. If I hadn't pulled you out through the rear terrace, you wouldn't be here today."
Tears streamed down Mara’s cheeks, soaking into her hospital gown. "He’s thirteen, Derek! He’s a child! There has to be a mistake!"
"There’s no mistake, Mara," Derek whispered, leaning closer, his face inches from hers. "Evan gave a sworn statement to the detectives. The evidence is overwhelming. The best thing we can do now is cooperate with the insurance company so we can pay off your medical bills and get Eli the psychiatric help he clearly needs."
Mara stared at her husband.
Through the fog of morphine and physical trauma, something in Derek’s eyes made her stomach drop.
She had been married to Derek Carter for fifteen years. She knew his voice when he was stressed, his posture when he was proud, and the subtle, terrifying coldness that took over his face whenever he was lying to cover a mistake.
She remembered the night of the fire.
She remembered waking up to the sound of a heavy glass bottle shattering in the hallway near the kitchen. She remembered smelling something sweet and chemical—not gasoline, but paint thinner. And she remembered seeing a silhouette standing in the doorway holding a silver canister.
The silhouette had not been a thirteen-year-old boy.
It had been a tall man wearing heavy leather work boots.
Mara closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to remain slow and steady so the heart monitor wouldn't betray her sudden, soaring terror.
"I'm tired, Derek," Mara whispered, pulling her hand gently from his grip. "I want to sleep now."
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"Of course, sweetie," Derek said, standing up and kissing her forehead. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. Everything is going to be fine."
As Derek walked out of the room, Mara opened her eyes and looked at the emergency nurse call button resting beside her pillow.
