Celeste caught his wrist before he reached the pistol hidden there.
“I’m not taking the gun.”
“Behind it.”
She lifted the pillow just enough to see a small black phone taped beneath the headboard.
She tore it free.
Elias’s breathing hitched. His eyes closed for half a second.
Celeste slapped his cheek lightly. “Stay with me.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re trying very hard not to be.”
She called emergency services and gave the mansion’s address. When the dispatcher asked whether the patient had taken any medications, Celeste looked at the amber vial.
It had no label.
“No confirmed medication,” she said. “Possible toxic exposure. Adult male, thirty-six, conscious after convulsive activity, severe diaphoresis, breathing difficulty, irregular rapid pulse.”
Elias stared at her as if she had betrayed him already.
She turned away from him, pulled her black notebook from the pocket of her cardigan, and wrote the time with a hand that was steadier than she felt.