“Euthanasia means good death in Greek. It is about letting life go peacefully, with dignity, on your own terms. But really, it is about ending excruciating suffering. We have some ground rules we abide by, though, Dr. Doyle and I, which is why we have very few patients. What we do is provide a service for the Ms. Blanchets of the world. Medical and prescription relief to people who don’t want to live in a hospice but spend their remaining time in their homes with their loved ones.”
“What are your ground rules?” I asked, propping my forearms on the kitchen island between us, intrigued.
I’d met many killers in my lifetime, but all of them were like me. Decadent and soulless. Selfish and cruel. They all did it for the bloodthirst. Not for altruistic reasons. Even those who had moral codes broke them often. What Aisling did had nothing to do with what I did for a living.
“For one thing, without getting into the bioethics of it, we only do voluntarily euthanasia. Which means that if we do not have the full consent of the patient for any reason, even if they are in a coma, we will not take on the patient. For another, we only take on patients at the very end of their lives. I am talking stage four cancer, people who have very few weeks to live. And even then, we don’t pull the plug, so to speak.” She put the pot of soup on the stove, turning up the heat, lost in her explanation. “We don’t perform the act of taking a life. No. We do something that is called palliative sedation. Basically, we keep the patient alive but under deep sedation when the time comes, until they pass away naturally. Such a thing is legal in many countries, including the Netherlands and France. It is not even considered euthanasia. Not really. But for these people—for my patients—it makes a huge difference.”
“And you only do it in their homes,” I said.
“Yes.” She put a lid on the chicken soup, tearing open a bag of egg noodles. “We make it possible for them to be surrounded by their friends and family.”
“Then what do you have the clinic for?”
“As I said, we try to prolong their lives as much as we can through medication and consultation.”
“On Thanksgiving …” I trailed off.
She bounced on her toes, looking sideways.
“Yes. And on Halloween, too.”
“Jesus, Ash.” I planted my forehead over the kitchen island, relishing its coolness.
“You really are my own angel of death.” She sighed. “Every time I do something like this, we have a moment together. But those were the only times I did it. I swear.”
“You could get into deep shit for doing this, know that?” I raised my head, pinning her with a look. Of course she knew that. Aisling wasn’t stupid.
She tilted her chin up, ignoring my words. “Cillian and Hunter say they haven’t been able to reach you the last few days. I put two and two together and figured you were sick and too proud to ask for help, so I came to nurse you back to health.”
“Listen to me…” I slammed my open palm against the marble between us, losing patience “…you can go to prison. This is first-degree murder. It is fucking intentional. Not even manslaughter. You need to stop.”
“I know you’re used to obedience, doing what you do…” Nix perched her purse on the counter and took out a thermometer, sauntering over to me and sticking it under my tongue “…but you can’t tell me what to do, Monster.”
I glared at her like she took a shit in my bed, waiting for the thermometer to beep. When it did, I spat it out back into her hand, and hissed, “This conversation is not over.”
“Please,” she snorted, rounding the kitchen island and taking a few pills from her purse, reaching over to hand them to me. “Don’t pretend like you care. We’re too old and too jaded for that. Here, take these.”
Eyeing her skeptically, I said, “I don’t know, Doc, you don’t have a glowing track record of bringing people back to health.”
She shrugged, about to withdraw her outstretched hand. I snatched the pills, shoving them into my mouth and swallowing without water.
“The soup will be ready in about forty-five minutes. Why don’t you lie down and tell me all about your brand of evil?”
Kicking her out wasn’t going to fly. Not when I could barely crawl to the door, let alone shove her out of it. And anyway, I was tired of fighting her off. She’d finally succeeded in worming her way into my life. I saw a distinction between her and Gerald. Between her and her brothers. Nix was finally her own person in my eyes.
And what a person that was.
Gorgeous, intelligent, and compassionate. Worst of all—someone who was blindly in love with me. She didn’t have to spell it out. It was radiating from every inch of her silken flesh.