Page 45 of The Reckoning
Patricia makes a noncommittal sound as she opens the heavy double doors to Richard’s study. The room beyond is exactly as I remember it—dark wood paneling, leather-bound books lining the walls, the massive desk dominating the space like an altar to power and control.
Dr. Winters stands as we enter, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the light from the desk lamp. He’s older than I expected, mid-sixties at least, with a carefully cultivated grandfatherly appearance that doesn’t quite mask the clinical assessment in his gaze.
“Lilian,” he says, voice warm with practiced concern. “I’m relieved to see you looking well. Your mother has been quite worried.”
“So I’ve heard,” Lilian replies, remaining near the door rather than approaching. I position myself slightly behind her, a silent sentinel. “But as you can see, I’m fine.”
“Nevertheless,” Dr. Winters says, gesturing to the leather examination couch set up beside the desk, “I’d like to run a few tests. Just to be safe.”
“What kind of tests?” I ask, maintaining my role as the concerned stepbrother.
Dr. Winters glances at me, then at Patricia, clearly expecting her to dismiss me. When she doesn’t—can’t, without creatinga scene—he clears his throat. “Standard monitoring. Blood pressure, heart rate, blood samples for analysis.”
“And if I refuse?” Lilian asks, chin lifting slightly in defiance.
The question hangs in the air, a challenge that clearly takes both Patricia and the doctor by surprise. This is not the compliant, fragile Lilian they’re accustomed to handling.
“Lilian,” Patricia says, her tone sharpening with warning. “Don’t be difficult. You know these checkups are necessary.”
“Are they?” Lilian counters. “Because I’ve been feeling better than ever recently. Stronger. More energetic. Almost as if”—she pauses, deliberate and pointed—”my condition isn’t as serious as I’ve been led to believe.”
The atmosphere in the room shifts, tension crackling like static electricity before a storm. Dr. Winters glances at Patricia, and some silent communication passes between them.
“Your condition is quite real, I assure you,” he says, his tone taking on a patronizing edge that makes my fingers curl with the urge to break something, preferably his face. “Though I’m pleased to hear you’re feeling well. That suggests your current medication regimen is effective.”
“Or that I never needed it in the first place,” Lilian suggests, her voice deceptively light.
Dr. Winters smiles, a thin stretch of lips that never reaches his eyes. “Well, regardless of your theories, we have an exciting development to discuss. A new procedure that could significantly improve your quality of life.”
“What kind of procedure?” I ask, stepping forward slightly.
Dr. Winters barely spares me a glance. “A specialized treatment developed by Hayes Enterprises. Quite revolutionary, really. It’s shown remarkable results in cases similar to Lilian’s.”
“Cases like mine?” Lilian repeats. “What cases? What’s wrong with me, exactly? Because in all these years of treatmentsand medications and tests, no one has ever given me a clear diagnosis.”
I’ve witnessed the exhaustion, the erratic heartbeat, the shortness of breath, and the fainting spells. However, I don’t mention that since she stopped taking the carefully prescribed medication regimen, I haven’t seen much of anything, except for a slight shortness of breath.
The question lands like a grenade in the room, exposing the fundamental lie at the center of Lilian’s existence. Patricia’s expression hardens, all pretense of maternal concern evaporating.
“That’s enough, Lilian,” she says, voice cold as ice. “You’re clearly not yourself today. Perhaps it’s time for a sedative before we proceed.”
Dr. Winters moves toward his medical bag, and every instinct in my body screams danger. I step in front of Lilian, blocking his path.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I say, keeping my voice level despite the rage building inside me. “Lilian is perfectly calm. She’s just asking reasonable questions about her own health.”
“Aries,” Patricia says, a warning in her tone. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Anything concerning Lilian concerns me,” I reply, not backing down. “And right now, I’m concerned about why you’re so eager to sedate her rather than answer her questions.”
Dr. Winters looks between us, clearly uncertain how to proceed in the face of my unexpected interference. “Perhaps we should all take a moment to calm down,” he suggests, his placating tone grating on my already frayed nerves.
“I am calm,” Lilian says, stepping out from behind me. “And I’m not undergoing any procedure until I understand exactly what it is and why I need it.”
“The procedure is scheduled for tomorrow morning,” Dr. Winters says, as if her objection is merely a minor inconvenience rather than a flat refusal. “The donors are already asking?—”
He cuts himself off, but not before the slip registers. Donors. Not doctors, not specialists. Donors.
“What donors?” Lilian demands, her voice sharp with sudden intensity. “What exactly are you planning to do to me?”
