Chapter 5 - The Poison in the Soil
I stood in the dark attic, holding the journal against my chest as if I could somehow shield Emily’s memory from the horror of what had been done to her.
The orchid pot in the kitchen.
I scrambled down the attic stairs, nearly falling in my haste, my flashlight beam bouncing wildly off the walls. I ran into the kitchen.
On the windowsill above the sink sat a ceramic pot. The orchid inside it was dead—had been dead for months, its dry, gray stalks reaching up like withered fingers. Patricia had never thrown it away. She was too meticulous about her home decor, but perhaps she had kept it as a sick trophy, or perhaps she simply hadn't thought about it.
I grabbed the pot, my hands covered in dry, black soil as I began digging.
If Emily had poured the poisoned tea into this soil, the chemical residue might still be there. Modern toxicology could identify heavy metals or organic toxins even years later if the soil hadn't been thoroughly washed out.
I found a plastic zip-top bag in the pantry and stuffed several handfuls of the dry dirt inside, sealing it tightly.
Suddenly, the kitchen lights flickered.
I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. The low hum of the refrigerator seemed to cut out, replaced by a soft, dragging sound from the hallway.
"You always were a terrible detective, David," a voice whispered from the darkness.
I spun around, shining my flashlight toward the hallway.
Patricia stood in the doorway. She was still wearing the cream cardigan, but it was now stained with dirt and grease from her car. Her hair was damp from the light rain that had started falling outside, and her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and completely devoid of sanity.
In her right hand, she held a heavy brass fireplace poker.
"I knew you'd come back here," she said, her voice eerily calm as she dragged the tip of the metal poker along the hardwood floor, leaving a sharp, scratching sound in her wake. "You couldn't just stay at the hospital and be a good, grieving father. You had to come back and ruin everything I built."
"You killed Emily," I said, my voice shaking but holding its ground. I stepped back, my heels pressing against the kitchen counter, my hand behind my back holding the bag of soil.
"I saved her," Patricia corrected, her face twisting into a hideous, mocking grin. "She was weak, David. She was always complaining. She didn't appreciate you. She didn't appreciate this beautiful house. I did. I deserved this life. I deserved you. And I was a much better mother to those kids than she ever was."
"You starved them, Patricia! You locked them in a room for three days!"
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"Because they were starting to look like her!" she screamed, her calm facade completely evaporating as she took a violent step forward, raising the heavy brass poker. "They have her eyes. Every time they looked at me, I saw her. I wanted to wipe her out of this house completely. And if you hadn't come home early, I would have. I was going to tell everyone they got food poisoning. A tragic accident. Just like their mother."
She lunged at me.
