"Laila is family; come over, buddy," Alice motioned to me. I have been a struggling teenager with a sick mother at home, a dad who died of cancer, and a sister who has to finish high school. Life wasn't fair to me; the heavy burden of providing for the family rested on my shoulders.
I finished college with no license to practice nursing. I was stuck at home, fed by the arms of friends and family. It wasn't long before the privilege stopped coming. We were stuck up to die or something close to death.
I took the risk of being a personal nurse to a lonely man who became all shades of a father figure I never had while growing up. The paycheck was enough to keep mom alive, but here I am with so many pairs of eyes looking at me like I was the culprit.
"So, Laila, by what time did you leave the house?" The voice of the detective brought me back to life.
"I knocked off by 11 p.m.; I found Jack on the doorway smoking," I answered, making sure my voice didn't crack. My chest sank into my stomach.
"Why will you leave at that hour?" came another question.
"Mr. Brick wasn't just a patient but a companion. We usually play chess; he makes fun of that even after I protest," the detective answered. He nodded, narrowing his gray eyes at me. It sends tension down my spine.
"How many mL of injection was given to him?" was the hardest part of the question.
"The good stuff was 5 ml, while the propofol was 5 ml."
"That's all for now, Miss Laila; please don't move out of town till the investigation is over." I dragged my legs to the hallway, far from the piercing eyes of the private investigator and the rest of the family. I diverted my legs to the restroom to puke. The habit I find myself doing whenever I lie.
I looked at myself in the mirror after puking, and I panicked about whether my secret had been let out. It was just the eve of Mr. Brick's 80th birthday.
The once deserted room was filled with different colognes and various people chatting away in twos and threes.
I felt out of place standing at the end of the sitting room, with my shoulder resting on the wall and my arms across my breast.
I have come to know everyone's flaws. Mr. Brick, who has three kids, Jack, Stones, and Alice.
Jack, who died far back, left a wife, Michelle, and a daughter. Michelle, who refused to take up her duties of caring for her daughter, instead depends on Mr. Brick to foot all her bills.
Stones was the last born of the house in his late 40s, with a crazy wife and a son who just stuck himself far from the family. He was found playing games in the restroom at his grandpa's birthday party. Stones was an example of a pest, feeding on his father's company and slowly running it down inch by inch till he was freed from his duties as the manager to create something for himself.
Alice, who has proven to have his father's blood running through her vein, She has successfully raised a multimillionaire company all by herself, not depending on Mr. Brick. She is in her late 50s with a rock-hard son and a cheating husband.
The opportunity was down, the time to read the will and the sharing of properties among the Mr. Bricks children. His neck was slated; it was a crime scene of suicide. Who could have killed Mr. Brick just after his 80th birthday party? Was he capable of committing suicide after spending the day with his children and grandchildren? Mr. Brick is a multimillionaire with numerous publishing companies scattered throughout the city. He lost his wife due to cancer; he was down with pulmonary dysfunction, with Laila being his nurse, friend, and companion, aside from the daily bills brought by his children whenever they came visiting.
"Are you okay?" I was shocked at the hand that rested on my back. I could recognize the baritone voice of the private investigator. I turned swiftly with a small smile.
"I get it that whenever you lie, you puke. Miss Laila, please come with me," he led me to the garden together with his assistant. I panicked. I will be going to jail for the rest of my life or, in the worst-case scenario, sentenced to death by either hanging or other means.
I was seated on a chair with a bowl in front of me. I just knew someday this stupid gift I have would put me in trouble.
The first two questions I answered were just lies, and that made me puke in front of the detective.
"C'mon, Laila, can you make this easy for us and come clean?" I nodded with tears dripping down my cheeks. I told my story.
The birthday party has ended with everyone going into their rooms. Mr. Bricks stayed down in the attics. I wonder why he decided to choose this place as his room. He was done with his daily night routine as it was time to give him his dose of injection. Instead, he had the option to play chess before he got his injection.
I wasn't having it, but he insisted. He played the game with me, and I emerged as the winner. I always beat him to the game, but he still insisted on playing. After the game, I brought out his medications from my medicine bag, which I dropped in his room. Without looking at the medication indication, I injected him. 10 ml and 5 ml, respectively, as usual. It was the wrong dosage. It was supposed to be 5 mL and 10 mL in dosage. I panicked, telling him about the mistake. I was prompt to call 911, but instead he refused. It will take 911 15 minutes to reach our location, and the drug is going to kill him in the next 10 minutes. My chest was about to be ripped out of my chest. What was I going to do? I was going to be charged with murder and more.
In the midst of the chaos, Mr. Brick spoke up and brought out a knife.
"I want you to act as normal, as you could leave the house as quickly as possible within 6 minutes and by the time you reach the gate. I will slice my throat with the knife."
"Whaaat! Are you insane? Instead, he ignored me and raised his voice for me to leave. I did as he said but later came back on foot, climbing up his room from the back door, to see a lifeless body in his own pool of blood. I narrated it all to the detective. I became a prime suspect. As the investigation went on, the cook, Miss Annie, was discovered dead in an isolated building. Who could be responsible for her death? I and the detective decided to play the game to discover the culprit behind the death. The day for the will reading came with Mr. Bricks lawyer with his documents at hand. I stood at the back end with my head rested on the wall while his children and grandchildren surrounded the lawyer, awaiting the property that would be given to them. The lawyer read
"The publishing company at St. Louis, I will to Laila."
"The tech firm, I will to Laila."
"The house and other properties I will give to Laila"—all eyes fell on me. I never believed it either. No property was given to his children or grandchildren. I was as surprised as they were, too.
That was when the chaos started—the supremacy of who showed affection to me. I needed to clear my head as I couldn't answer the numerous questions, and that was the moment Jim, Alice's son, decided to show up with his car, rescuing me from his family. Right after the birthday party, he was never seen, even during the will reading. He never showed up. He used his opportunity to swindle me while I played his game by making him confess to his crimes. He was behind the murder of Mr. Brick and the cook. He switched his medications, and the only person who saw him do so was the cook.
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