“She keeps a diary?” Maryanne asked when I told her what I’d found hidden behind books in their bedroom.
“Not exactly a diary, more like planning notes. I felt sick reading it. She’s been documenting everything. The drug combinations, the timing, even her observations about how you react to different dosages.”
Maryanne was quiet for a long moment.
“Read me some of it.”
I opened the journal to a random page and read.
“October 15th. Increased morning dose to 4 millit. Subject remained unconscious for 19 hours. Breathing remained stable, but heart rate dropped to 58 beats per minute. Need to adjust to avoid suspicious readings during nurse visits.”
“She’s treating me like a lab experiment,” Maryanne said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I turned to another page.
“October 22nd. Subject showed signs of awareness around hour 16. Made soft sounds when repositioned. Administered additional dose immediately. Note, may need to increase standard dosage to prevent breakthrough consciousness.”
“My god, Maryanne. She’s been studying how to keep you unconscious more effectively.”
“What else does it say?”
I flipped through more pages, each entry more chilling than the last.
“October 28th. Discussed timeline with G. Agreed to begin final phase after Seattle trip. Will document declining conditions starting November 1st. Estimate 10 to 12 days for complete respiratory failure. G excited about December cruise. Suggested upgrading to sweet with our windfall.”
Maryanne closed her eyes, but not before I saw tears forming.
“They’re talking about my death like it’s a vacation planning meeting.”
The final entry was the worst.
“November 2nd, L will be perfect witness to final days. Her testimony about peaceful final weeks will be crucial for any insurance investigations. G says his mother has always been easy to manipulate. She’ll never suspect anything. Looking forward to finishing this and moving on with our lives.”
I set the journal down, my hands shaking with rage.
“She calls you the subject and me L like we’re not even human beings.”
“Because to them we’re not. We’re just obstacles to overcome and tools to use.”
Maryanne opened her eyes and I was surprised to see determination rather than despair.
“Did you photograph all of it?”
“Every page.”
“Good. Now we need to put everything back exactly where we found it. We can’t let them know we’ve discovered their plans.”
We spent the rest of Friday carefully replacing all the evidence, making sure everything was positioned exactly as we’d found it.
Maryanne coached me on how to act natural when Grant and Emily returned.
“Remember, you’ve been caring for an unconscious woman for 3 days. You should seem tired, maybe a little overwhelmed. Asked them lots of questions about my condition and what to watch for. Act like the concerned, slightly anxious mother-in-law.”
Saturday morning, Mrs. Patterson made her usual visit.
As she checked Maryanne’s vitals, she made a comment that sent chills down my spine.
“Has anyone else been giving her additional medications?” she asked, studying her charts. “Her heart rate seems a bit slower than usual.”
My mouth went dry.
“Just what’s on the schedule you gave me.”
Mrs. Patterson frowned slightly.
“Hm. Well, these things can fluctuate. I’ll make a note for her primary care physician.”
She looked at me with concern.
“How are you holding up, dear? This can’t be easy.”
“I’m managing,” I said, though inside I was screaming.
She was seeing the effects of Amal’s drugs without realizing what they really were.
After she left, Maryanne and I discussed what the nurse’s observations might mean.
“They’ve been dosing you even when they’re not here.”
I realized there must be some kind of delayed release system.
“Check the IV bag,” Maryanne suggested. “Emily changes it every day before the nurse visits, but she might have added something to this one before they left.”
I examined the IV setup and found what looked like a small additional chamber attached to the main line, almost invisible unless you knew what to look for.
“That’s it,” Maryanne said when I described it to her. “She’s been giving me extended doses through the IV. That’s why I’ve been having trouble staying conscious for longer periods.”
“Should I remove it?”
“No. If Mrs. Patterson notices a change in my vitals before Grant and Amily return, it might raise questions we’re not ready to answer yet.”
We were running out of time to prepare.
Grant had texted that morning to say their flight was delayed, but they’d be home by Sunday evening.
That gave us less than 36 hours to finalize our plan.
“What exactly are we going to do when they get back?” I asked.
“We’re going to let them start their final phase exactly as planned,” Maryanne said. “But this time, we’ll be recording everything.”
Sunday afternoon, my phone rang.
Grant’s name appeared on the screen and my heart started pounding.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I answered, forcing my voice to sound normal.
“Mom, change of plans. Our flight got moved up. We’ll be home in about 3 hours instead of tonight.”
My blood turned to ice.
We weren’t ready.
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I know you’re anxious to get back to check on Maryanne.”
“How has she been?”
“The same. Mrs. Patterson says her vitals are stable. She seems very peaceful.”
The lies felt like ash in my mouth.
“Good. Listen, Mom. I want to prepare you for something. The nurse mentioned that Maryanne’s condition might start declining soon. These things happen with brain injuries. Sometimes patients seem stable for months, then take a sudden turn for the worse.”
He was already laying the groundwork just as Maryanne had predicted.
“Oh no. What should I watch for?”
“Changes in her breathing, her color, things like that. But don’t worry, Emily will know what to do when we get back.”
“Of course. I’ll see you soon.”