Then came the quiet snap of latex, the metallic click of the case, and a clean sterile smell that did not belong in a dark bedroom.
I still did not understand what I was looking at.
I only knew I had reached the edge of not knowing.
When I slapped the lamp on, the entire scene exploded into focus.
The man jerked back, one gloved hand raised.
He was wearing navy scrubs under a dark jacket.
In the open case beside him were sealed syringes, alcohol wipes, a coil of clear tubing, and packets of medical tape.
Elena had pulled the collar of her nightshirt aside, and just below her left collarbone, beneath a square transparent dressing, a thin line disappeared under her skin.
For one wild second my brain refused to catch up.
I was halfway off the bed, ready to drag him backward, when Elena sat up and cried out my name in a voice I had never heard from her before.
Not guilty.
Not frightened of being caught.
