Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Aaron
By 3:00 AM, the storm had moved east, leaving the city wrapped in a thick, chilling fog. Peter sat in the basement of his own home, surrounded by plastic storage bins labeled Aaron’s Effects. When his brother died, Reena had aggressively insisted on clearing out his personal belongings, dumping three boxes of his old college notebooks, paramedic training manuals, and personal journals on Peter’s driveway, claiming she couldn't bear the sight of them.
For three years, Peter had left those boxes untouched, locked away because the grief of opening them was too sharp to bear. Now, he tore through the packing tape with a utility knife, his hands steady but filled with a frantic, desperate energy.
He pulled out old textbooks, uniform badges, and photographs of Aaron smiling on his wedding day—a smile that now looked tragic, the expression of a man walking into a trap with his eyes wide open.
At the bottom of the third bin, beneath a stack of heavy winter blankets, Peter found Aaron’s official department shift logbook from his final month alive. As a paramedic, Aaron was meticulous about keeping copies of his run sheets and patient care reports to protect himself from liability.
Peter flipped through the handwritten pages, his eyes tracking the neat, block lettering. The entries were standard—car accidents, elderly falls, drug overdoses—until he reached the logs for the week of October 14th, exactly fourteen days before Aaron’s heart failed.
An entry caught his eye, marked with a small red star in the margin.
Shift 12B. Responded to a private residence call at 442 Vance Manor Lane. Patient: Eleanor Vance (Reena’s mother). Presentation: Severe respiratory distress, suspected digitalis toxicity. Upon arrival, patient’s daughter (Reena) attempted to turn the crew away, claiming it was a false alarm. Patient was disoriented but stated she had taken her standard dose. Noticed an unlabelled vial of clear liquid in the kitchen sink. Secured the vial for lab analysis per protocol. Reena became extremely hostile, threatening to contact the city council to have my license revoked.
Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He turned the page, searching for the follow-up.
October 18th. The lab results for the Vance Manor vial came back from the department tox screener. It wasn't standard medication. It was a concentrated solution of industrial-grade cardiac glycosides. Someone is altering Eleanor’s prescriptions. I confronted Reena about it last night. She broke down, claiming her mother has dementia and must have mixed the chemicals herself. I don't believe her. Something is deeply wrong here. I’m taking the evidence files to the district attorney’s office on Tuesday morning during my off-shift.
The entry for Tuesday morning was blank.
Aaron never made it to the district attorney's office. He died on Monday night in his sleep, his heart stopping suddenly, his death certificate signed immediately by Dr. Pendelton before any secondary investigation could be launched by the department.
“He found her out,” Peter whispered into the empty room, the weight of the realization pressing down on him like a physical mountain. “He discovered she was trying to eliminate her own mother for the Vance family estate, and when he wouldn't look the other way, she turned the weapon on him.”
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The phone on the desk buzzed loudly, the vibration cutting through the silence of the basement. Peter snatched it up, seeing Sarah’s name on the caller ID.
“Peter, you need to get back to the hospital right now,” Sarah said, her voice tight with panic, the sound of distant hospital monitors audible in the background. “Reena’s here. She brought two men with her claiming to be private security, and she has a signed emergency court order from a family judge granting her immediate custody to remove the children from the facility. The hospital administration is stalling, but the security guards are stepping aside. She’s coming up the elevators now.”
