“Okay, he ran, he slipped, he fell, he got hurt. What does any of that have to do with Marjorie?” I ask, still confused.
“He was scared I’d let her in. He kept saying, ‘no visitors, make her go away.’ I figured he was just delirious, so I left him alone and went back to the front desk. That’s when Noemie told me about Kiran’s message on channel 3. Said you were too exhausted to work today and would stay home to rest. She also said Salvatore would be taking your shift and arriving soon to check on your patient.”
I look up and meet my brother’s eyes.
“Just get to the point already, Human!” Prax growls.
Esteban flinches, now even more rattled.
“Don’t scare him, Furball,” Kiran chides. “You’re not helping.”
“Oh no, you two are not starting this again,” I snap.
“Not now. Esteban, look at me. Calm down. What happened next?”
My friend’s eyes lock on mine, a bit lost, then he takes a breath and steadies himself.
“Youssef didn’t want Marjorie anywhere near his room. When I found out you weren’t coming, I decided to let him know in person. As I got close to his room, I saw Marjorie coming out—smiling like she’d just won a battle. I thought maybe they’d talked things out. Or maybe Youssef had said something ridiculous and she found it funny.”
“And?” we all ask at once.
“Youssef was dead! When I walked in, he wasn’t breathing!”
My mind starts racing. What could’ve caused cardiac arrest naturally? Several things, sure—a heart attack, a stroke, a seizure. But this timing? This coincidence?
“Esteban, you’re not a doctor. He could’ve just been asleep,” I say, though not very convincingly. “You’re saying I can’t tell the difference between dead and asleep? I grew up learning first aid like everyone else. Trust me—he wasn’t breathing. No visible injuries, but she must’ve done something. Haven’t you seen all the tricks in those old crime shows?”
Kiran strides over to the CCC and switches to channel 59. A news bulletin blares through.
“…sadly announce the death of our fellow citizen Youssef Mohamad. He was injured yesterday on his way home. Our dedicated doctor Neela treated him promptly. Unfortunately, he did not respond well to the transfer and died of cardiac arrest. He will be cremated later today. Please remember: even a patch of ice can have tragic consequences. In other news, Nathalie will be moving in with…”
Kiran switches back to channel 3.
We’re all silent.
Then he turns to me.
“Is this possible? The cardiac arrest?”
“Well, that’s how death is defined: the heart stops beating. But it’s vague. All causes of death end that way—whether you’re suffocated, drowned, or stabbed, your heart stops eventually. I’m not saying he was murdered, just that the explanation is far too broad to mean anything concrete.”
“I’m telling you—she killed him,” Esteban insists.
“You could see it in her face!”
“Okay, I’ll go down to Cydonia and check on him myself,” I announce. “No one would think twice if I dropped in after his accident yesterday.”
“No way!” Kiran objects.
“Out of the question!” adds Prax.
“No!” Esteban groans.
Great. For once, they all agree.
“Someone’s coming,” Prax says, disappearing into my bedroom.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, Viktor bursts into the house, visibly shaken. For a place designed for one person, it’s gotten pretty crowded lately.
