The Doctor's Fake Nanny(6)

By: Tiana Cole

It never occurred to me that it would be the last time. It never even crossed my mind that my twenty-one-year-old sister would have a heart attack and die in one of the best cardiac wings in the country. I still had that little tent sitting in my living room. I couldn’t quite bring myself to put it away. I swallowed with some difficulty, my throat feeling just a little too tight for comfort.

“No. He doesn’t recognize me at all.”

I had thought he might, right there at the beginning. I almost hoped that he would. It would have made it seem like my family had mattered to him, like my sister wasn’t someone he could just file away and forget about the moment she passed away. He didn’t, though. I told him we hadn’t ever met and he believed me without a second thought. He believed me with the arrogance of a man who only valued himself.

“Well, be careful anyway. Promise?”

“Promise. I’ll call you later.”

I hung up the phone, suddenly feeling very, very tired. I just wanted to sleep for once. I hadn’t slept well since Nikki died. First it was due solely to grief, then to my confusion over what should be done about it. Now that I had finally begun the process of making that happen I just wanted to get one good night’s rest. I couldn’t, though. Not yet. I had one more thing I had to do before my job for the day was technically done and it had nothing at all to do with the little girl I had been hired to take care of.

I looked at my phone and sighed, dialing the number that always filled me with a strange dread. I didn’t even like to talk on the phone at the best of times, let alone when it was for things like this.


“It’s me.”


“What do you mean, ‘ah’? Weren’t you expecting me to call?”

“Yes, yes indeed I was. Earlier. I was expecting you to call much, much earlier. What is it, Ms. Evans? Are you experiencing some doubts? Having a change of heart, perhaps?”

“No! No, nothing like that. What did you want me to do, just blow him off and go directly to my room? Don’t you think I might want to wait a little bit before I start acting like a crazy person?”

“Right. That’s fine. But what are your thoughts on matters as they stand right now?”

What was the deal with these doctors? They were so impatient, so pushy. Not for the first time I wished that I had found some way to feel the possibility of vindication without having to join forces with Dr. George Johnson.

There were several reasons for my hesitation on the matter. The first was probably unfair, and that was the simple fact that he was a doctor. When I was a little girl I looked at doctors as something between men and gods. I think most children do. I honestly believed that they could fix anything, do anything with their extreme knowledge and ability. Part of me believed that even when I grew up, right up until David Wyatt let my sister die. He was the one who had promised that medicine would make her better and instead he had just killed her. Once a person was disillusioned in that kind of a way, trusting any doctor was pretty much out of the question.

The other major reason for my hesitation about Dr. Johnson was how vehemently he seemed to hate Dr. Wyatt. I couldn’t understand it. I knew why I wanted to infiltrate the Wyatt home. I wanted some kind of proof that David’s negligence had killed my sister. I needed that proof. It felt like the only chance I had to move on and have some kind of life.

But why the hell was Dr. Johnson so dead set on bringing David Wyatt down? Sure, he insisted that it was to serve “the greater good.” His words, not mine. He wanted me to be content with that, and for all he knew I was. In reality, I wasn’t buying it. He believed that because he was a doctor and I was not, I would believe anything he said. I may not have been a doctor, but I also wasn’t an idiot. He was hell bent on getting David fired and it had nothing to do with helping me get closure. He had a vendetta, the motivation for which was all for himself.

“My thoughts are that it’s going to take more than just a couple of days to get the kind of information we’re going to need to prove anything. You’re going to have to be more patient than this. I can’t do this with you breathing down my neck all of the time. I don’t like it. It makes me nervous and that only makes everything that much harder. Okay?”

“Sure, that’s fine. That makes sense. But you will keep me informed?”

“You know I will.”

“Good. That’s good. You need to remember what we’re doing this for. That man, he’s a bad doctor. He’s hiding something and I truly believe it is an addiction. Not only that, but I would bet my life on that addiction being the reason for your sister’s death. Don’t you want him to pay?”