I Can Hear Their Murder Plots

My wife, Keira Walker, sliced off a piece of apple and held it up to my lips. She said softly, "Have some fruit first. I'll get your meds in a minute."

I opened my mouth and bit down.

Sweet juice burst in my mouth, but my stomach instantly churned with nausea.

As Keira focused on peeling the fruit, I stared at her side profile and those eyes, which were always overflowing with deep affection.

How gentle.

Who would ever guess that beneath such a refined, elegant exterior hid a thought that wanted me dead?

The day of the crash, my friend, Gabriel Pearce, had suggested taking a drive up to the mountain roads in the suburbs to clear our heads.

Keira, a total workaholic, had taken a rare day off to drive us.

On the way down, the car kept picking up speed. Panic set in, and I yelled at her to slow down, but she slammed her foot on the pedal, screaming that the brakes had failed.

The car smashed through the guardrail, tumbling down the steep slope.

I spent two full weeks in the ICU barely clinging to life.

Keira, in the driver's seat, walked away with a mild concussion.

And Gabriel, sitting in the back, hadn't a scratch on him because he'd braced himself behind the impact-resistant seat ahead of time.

At the time, I'd actually felt relieved that fewer people were hurt.

"Cody? Why are you zoning out? Is the apple not sweet?" Keira's tender voice pulled me back to reality.

Suppressing the shudder running through me, I forced a faint smile. "Give me the meds. I'll take them myself."

She didn't suspect a thing. She got up to pour a glass of water before handing it over with a few white pills.

"Swallow slowly."

I nodded. As I drank, I tucked the pills under my tongue. After gulping down the water, I opened my mouth to show her.

Keira gave a satisfied smile and turned to wash her hands.

Taking advantage of the moment, I spat the pills out, wrapped them in a tissue, and shoved them under my pillow.

At the foot of the bed, Gabriel was applying a warm compress and massaging my calves.

He kept his head down, looking deeply attentive. His tone dripped with a strong sense of brotherhood as he said, "Hang in there, Cody. The doctor said we have to massage your legs daily to stop the muscle atrophy. Don't worry. I'll swing by after work every day to do this for you."

A second later, his thoughts echoed in my mind.

[God, this is disgusting. My wrists are aching from all this massaging. These legs look like two shriveled twigs. It's repulsive. Remember how you loved showing off those limited-edition sneakers in front of me? Now that you're a useless cripple, let's see how smug you get.]

A chill ran deep through my chest.

Gabriel and I were college roommates, sleeping in the same bunk bed.

His family was poor. Knowing how proud he was, I'd cut the tags off brand-new designer clothes and sneakers, claiming I'd bought the wrong size just to hand them over.

When he couldn't afford a train ticket home for the holidays, I bought him a plane ticket and brought him back with me. Even my parents treated him like a second son.

I had considered him a friend I'd die for.

But it turned out that in his eyes, everything I did was just patronizing arrogance.

"Ow…"

Gabriel suddenly shook his wrist with a muffled grunt of pain, cutting my thoughts short.