THE SHADOW BEHIND HIS SMILE

Clara sat in the passenger jump seat of the ambulance, the siren screaming overhead as the vehicle tore through the midnight streets toward St. Jude’s. Behind her, Sam was bagging Lily, keeping air moving in and out of her frail lungs.

Her phone kept vibrating against her thigh. Clara swiped the screen with trembling fingers, putting the device to her ear.

"Mark?" she whispered, her voice cracked with despair.

"Hello, Clara," a woman's voice answered.

The voice was raspy, hollow, and faintly muffled, like someone speaking through a thick cloth or an old radio transmitter. Clara’s breath seized.

"Who is this? Where is my husband?"

"Your husband doesn't exist, Clara. He never did," the woman said in a brittle whisper. "You need to listen to me very carefully. If you let Officer Vance take Lily to St. Jude’s Hospital, your daughter will never wake up."

"What are you talking about?! Who are you?!" Clara cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"My name is Claire Vance," the voice whispered. "And my brother Trent isn't trying to save your daughter. He's trying to finish what he started."

Clara spun her head around toward the back of the rig. Trent was crouched over Lily, adjusting the IV drip attached to her daughter's tiny arm. He noticed her looking, his eyes meeting hers with intense, hyper-vigilant focus.

"Clara? Who is on the phone?" Trent demanded, rising half an inch from his stool.

"Hang up," the voice on the phone hissed urgently. "Look at the IV bag he just hung. Look at the label, Clara. Now!"

Clara looked past Trent's shoulder. The IV fluid bag swaying from the metal hook was not standard saline. The handwritten label taped to the clear plastic bag read Potassium Chloride - Concentrated.

A lethal dose.

Clara lunged forward instinctively, knocking Trent’s arm away just as he reached to open the roller clamp wider. "Get your hands off her!" she screamed, tearing the IV line free from Lily's arm.