Chapter 4Operation Ruin My Unfaithful Wife

Doubt began to ripple through the crowd at the door.

"Maybe Dr. Foster really did jump to conclusions?"

"I mean, she could have just been a really messy sleeper..."

"But what about all those wrappers on the floor?"

Hearing the tide of opinion shift, Giselle walked over to my mother, her face arranged in an expression of long-suffering martyrdom.

"Evelyn, you see what I have to deal with. Cam has been under so much pressure lately. I think he's having a psychotic break. We should suspend him. Let him rest at home. I will personally pay for the contaminated equipment out of my own pocket so the hospital doesn't suffer. Let's just clear the hall and forget this happened."

My mother looked past her, her eyes locking onto mine. "Camden. Are you certain there is someone else in this room?"

I didn't answer. I just looked around. The cabinet was empty. Where the hell could he be?

Then, I noticed the way Giselle was standing.

She was talking to my mother, but her body was rigidly angled, subtly shielding the corner of the room. Shielding the biohazard waste compactor.

It was a new piece of machinery the hospital had installed last month. A heavy-duty hydraulic press designed to compress medical waste into dense, sanitized disks before disposal. You hit the green button, and a steel plate inside crushed whatever was in the chamber with thousands of pounds of force.

I let out a low, dark chuckle. Giselle really was brilliant. A masterful misdirection.

I walked right past her, making a beeline for the compactor.

A fresh layer of cold sweat broke out across Giselle's forehead. "What are you doing now?!"

I looked at her, my face a mask of absolute calm. "Since the janitors haven't cleaned up your 'medical waste,' and the room is a mess, I'm just going to run the compactor. It’s protocol to compress and sanitize the waste, right?"

I reached out, my finger hovering over the heavy green start button.

Giselle lunged, grabbing my wrist with a grip like a vice. "No!" she roared, the sound tearing from her throat like a wounded animal.

"Giselle! Release him!" my mother barked, her voice echoing like a gunshot. "Have you lost your mind?!"

Giselle’s legs were physically shaking.

But behind her, Gary let out an exasperated groan. "Oh for God's sake, it's just a damn trash machine! Press the button if it makes him feel better!"

Before anyone could react, Gary shoved past his daughter. "My daughter has nothing to hide! Run the damn machine so we can go home and eat the soup your mother spent all night making!"

Giselle hit the floor hard. She scrambled toward her father, screaming, "Dad, NO!"

But Gary’s hand had already slammed down on the green button.

Donna, annoyed by the delay, reached over and slapped the yellow 'Accelerate/Compress' button right next to it. "There! Are you done throwing your tantrum, Cam? Now we—"

Donna didn't get to finish her sentence.

Because over the mechanical hum of the hydraulic press, a sound erupted from inside the machine. A piercing, agonized, inhuman scream.