ViennaMata

Andrew

I texted Claire my usual goodnight and I love you text, then tried to sleep. I had hoped the anger would burn out overnight, that maybe sleep would dull the edges of it—but it didn't. It only festered. My mother had gone too far. This wasn't just interference anymore. This was war.

She'd moved out of the family estate—thank God—but this must have been her parting shot. A desperate, toxic attempt to sever what little peace I had left. Claire and Jared. She'd always had a special coldness toward Jared. He brushed it off, made jokes, but even that wasn't enough to shield him from this level of madness.

By seven a.m., I can't wait any longer. I get in my car and drive to her condo. I don't even feel the steering wheel under my hands—I'm too wound up. Too focused. I take the elevator up to her penthouse, paid for in part by selling some of her company shares—which I bought and quietly put into Claire's name. My own silent rebellion.

I pound on her door. I want her to be awake. I want her to feel the dread in her chest that she's instilled in others. She opens it with that smug expression already forming.

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"Ah, Andrew. I knew you'd come crawling back. Mother knows best, son."

I scoff. "What I do know is that Claire has a mother-in-law from hell. One who tried to frame her and Jared as some twisted, star-crossed lovers."

Her face changes like flipping a switch. She clutches her pearls, gasping theatrically. "Is that what she told you? That I did that? No, Drew—those are real pictures. Those two have been running around behind your back for years. They probably agreed to come into your life just to bleed you dry."

A cough wracks my chest. I feel a chill pass through me, and for a second, I think maybe it's just the stress. I shake it off.

"She didn't tell me anything, Mom. I opened the letter."

She freezes.

"You opened it?" Her voice drops. "Did you touch any of it?"

"What do you mean, did I touch it? The pictures fell out—I picked them up."

She starts pacing, muttering, panicking.

"Oh God, Drew. What have you done?" Her voice is a whisper now. "Did you shower when you got home?"

I blink. "What the fuck does that have to do with anything?"

"ANSWER ME, DREW! Did you wash your hands or shower?"

"No! I went straight to bed, Mom!"

She rushes for her phone, dialing frantically. "Hello, 911? I need an ambulance. It's my son—he's been poisoned."

The word slams into me.

Poisoned.

I go cold. "Mom? Poisoned? Who's poisoned? I feel a little off, but it's probably just a cold—"

She grabs my wrist, dragging me toward the sink, scrubbing my hands like she can erase what she's done. "Oh God, Drew, I didn't know you would open it! It wasn't meant for you!"

The truth sinks in, like a weight on my chest. "No, Mom. Don't tell me you did something to the letter."

"That letter was for her! I had to get her away from you!"

I don't hear anything after that. I bolt for my car, coughing harder now, nausea curling in my stomach. I pull out my phone and call Claire. It rings. No answer.

Voicemail. "Hey baby, call me back when you get this. Go to the hospital, okay? Please. Just go."

I call again. Still nothing.

I call 911. "My name is Andrew St. Claire. I need an ambulance for my wife. Her address is—" I give the dispatcher her location. "My mother admitted to poisoning her. I don't know what she used. Claire isn't answering. Please break the door down if you have to."

I hang up and call Jared.

"What's up, man? It's not time for work—"

"Jared. My mother poisoned us. The letter—there was something on it. Claire read it. She smelled her hand afterward. I can't get ahold of her."

I hear rustling on his end. "I'm getting dressed. I'll meet you at her place. Do you need me to stay on the line?"

"No. My mother's calling."

I answer, fury boiling in my voice. "What do you want, Mother? And make it fast. The next time I see you, it'll be through a pane of bulletproof glass."

"Andrew, you need to come back or go to a hospital. Now."

"What did you use, Mom?"

"I can't tell you. I know you want to save her—"

"If you don't tell me, I'll die with her."

"YOU WEREN'T MEANT TO TOUCH IT, LET ALONE BE AROUND HER WHEN SHE OPENED IT! That bitch—she does everything with you!"

"Goodbye, Mother."

"RICIN!" she screams as I hang up.

I hit the gas like my life depends on it—because it does. I reach Claire's condo and throw the car into park, ignoring the valet shouting at me.

"Tow it!" I bark.

Police, fire trucks, an ambulance. Lights flashing. My pulse is in my throat.

I run to her door. "I'm her husband! Let me through!"

They part, and there she is—on the floor, pale, lips blue, vomit staining her shirt. She's coughing, gasping for air.

"Oh God. Baby, I'm here. Claire...FUCK! I'm here."

My knees buckle as I fall beside her. I start coughing again, dizzy from the panic and maybe more. An EMT steps toward me.

"Sir, are you alright? Do you know what this is?"

"It's ricin. My mother poisoned her—with a letter. I touched it too. Please. She's pregnant. She has asthma. Please tell me she's going to be okay."

"How far along is she?"

"I—I don't know. First appointment was supposed to be this week. Just help her. Help her, please."

They load her onto a stretcher. Oxygen, IV, chaos. I try to stay upright as the world sways.

"She needs me," I whisper, stumbling forward.

The EMT radios for another ambulance. "We've got a second victim."

The elevator doors open to Jared. I meet his eyes but say nothing. Just nod. He'll follow.

I call the police in the elevator, giving them everything—her name, the poison, my mother's location.

Claire's hand is cool in mine.

"I love you, Claire," I whisper, choking back tears. "Don't leave me. Don't leave us. If you go—I go. Just... hold on my love."

33. Still in Danger boo: Drew

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