Cure (7 page)

A sour smell came from one of the sedated patients. Her light brown hair was matted and her ragged nails were broken like she had, at some point, tried to escape. The other was less neglected looking, but only slightly. Her hair was greased back into a low side ponytail that wrapped over her shoulder. Her splotchy skin was scarred as if by a bad case of teenage acne.

“Holly is sick. Someone needs to look into that smell.”

Zach’s breath caught in his chest. The girl could have been Allison’s much younger sister six months ago, before the cancer treatments turned her skeletal.

“Name’s Penny,” the girl said. The soft shape of her round, pink cheeks were those of a girl far too young to be having a baby.
Nixon’s depravity knew no bounds.
Penny radiated innocence from her deep, blue eyes to her bob-length, black hair styled plainly like a schoolgirl’s.

Zach considered the introduction.
Do you answer her? Tell her your name?
No.
Don’t get involved. This isn’t personal.

“Did you hear me? My name’s Penny Hammond. I’m eighteen and an only child. I went to the clinic for my college physical and ended up here.” She was trying to humanize herself, a smart play under other circumstances. He slid a bowl of food over to her and refused to engage her. “Christmas is my favorite holiday. My parents probably still have presents under the tree. My Mom couldn’t take it down without me opening them. I’m my parents’ whole world. What you’re helping them do to me in here is nothing compared to the pain and suffering they’re surely going through. All you have to do is let me out of these straps. Help me get home.”

He wished she’d stop talking.
“I can’t do that,” he answered, owing her no explanation.
He was following orders. Doing what needed to be done for Allison.

“But you want to,” she said. “I can see it. You look at us differently than the others do, like we’re still people.”

Zach collected the few empty bowls. “I’m not the savior you think I am.”

“If you weren’t,” Penny said, choking down a spoonful of the mush, “you wouldn’t have bothered to answer me.”

12
.

Four shots of bourbon gave Billy the courage to stand on the chair in a semi-crowded waiting room and hold up the posters. “Have any of you seen either of these women?” He teetered and nearly fell.

This is the only way.
He prayed someone would answer him.

A tattooed security guard appeared and reached for his wrist. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” His polite tone contradicted the brutal hate in his eyes.

Billy read the guard’s nametag.
Max Reid
.
The murderer his Uncle Jack warned him about.
He brushed hair away from his pimply face with the back of his hand.
What could he do in public?
“Anyone?” He stepped down and stumbled sideways. “How about you?” He held the poster in front of an older woman. “Have you seen my sister, Amy. What about Penny? You see her?” He persisted even as Reid grew more annoyed.

 “I’m only going to ask this one last time. Will you come with me,
please
?” He was clearly not used to being polite.

“I have every right to be here.” Billy went from one chair to the next showing the posters to anyone who would look. Some took an interest, others turned to ignore him.

“All right, I’m done asking.” Reid grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry for the disruption, folks.”

Reid’s grip tightened as he steered Billy away from the others and toward the security office.

Shit! This is bad.
Billy’s head swam from the booze, his body shuddering with fear. He shouldn’t have drank.
This was a big mistake.

“I’m not doing anything wrong.” He tried to pull away, but Reid’s hold didn’t budge.
Got to get out of here. Get your knife.
The leather sheath rubbed on his leg, but there was no way he was getting to it.

Reid pushed Billy inside the Security Office and kicked the door closed behind him. “Foster, you can stay or go, but don’t get in my way.”

Stay, please stay.
Billy didn’t figure Reid would commit public murder.

The thin man in the dark framed glasses looked up from a stack of papers. “Whatever you’re up to, Miranda will be back any minute.”

Yes, good. Tell him reasons why he should let me go.
Another witness.

Reid locked the door. “I’ll be quick.” He pushed Billy hard into the split section of counter.

Billy doubled over, the hit to his gut making the bourbon rise in his throat.

Reid lifted the counter and shoved Billy into a chair behind it.

Billy willed his hand to his concealed knife, but his ribs hurt too much to bend.
He’s going to kill you.
His brow was coated in sweat.

“You were warned--all of you-- to stay away from here.” Reid’s brick of a fist connected with Billy’s jaw and knocked him to the floor. Billy’s vision blurred and he felt the disorienting sensation of being lifted. “When are you going to learn?” Reid hoisted him back into the chair. “Foster, give me that tape.” He pointed at a roll of duct tape behind him.

No, not that.
There was no shot of him escaping being bound.

“I’m not having anything to do with this, Reid.” Foster stood up, went into the back room, and closed the door.

So much for an audience.
Billy didn’t like the odds of being alone with Reid.
You have to get out of here.
He grabbed the edge of the table and managed to stand up, but he couldn’t run. He could barely walk.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A second blow to Billy’s chin nearly put him out. The sound of ripping tape broke through the fog.
Don’t let him get that on you. Run!

Reid had Billy’s hands bound behind his back before he formulated his next thought. His expression a mix of rage and pleasure.
He was enjoying this.
Billy pulled hard against the tape, but it was immovable. Reid’s tattoos blurred together, a fury of jabs connecting with Billy’s torso and head. The severe pain turned to numbness even as Billy’s eye swelled and blood ran from his mouth and nose.

“Please stop,”
Billy whispered. “All I wanted was to find my sister.”

A knock came at the door. “Reid are you in there?”

Reid paced, his clothes blood spattered and his knuckles split.

 “Goddamn bullshit.” Reid kicked over an empty chair.

“Reid, hello. Open the door.”

Please open it.

“Come on, open up.” The pounding continued.

Reid growled. “What?” He stood in the open doorway.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Billy listened to the fast approaching footsteps and braced for another hit. A hand gently lifted his face.

“You don’t know anything about this, Zach. Leave it alone.”

 “Did Nixon tell you to do this?” Zach grabbed a pair of scissors from off the counter and ripped them through the tape holding Billy’s hands.

Finally someone sensible.

Billy slumped forward, his shoulders, like the rest of him, stiff and aching. He coughed and tasted blood.

“Reid, he’s a goddamned kid. What the hell is the matter with you?”

Reid clenched his teeth. “He’s one of them. Look.” He opened a manila file folder and Billy saw his high school picture. “Billy Porter, Mark Wittman, Leonard Holtz, John Malkin, Frank Krieger.” He dealt the rest like cards.

Billy listened as Reid listed off everyone he knew who lost someone.
Those that were willing to fight.
Nixon collected information on all of them.

Zach flipped through the files. “What were you going to do, kill him? We hand him over to the cops. That’s how these things get handled.”

Reid sneered. “What do you know about how things get handled?”

The door opened and Miranda walked in.

* * * * *

Allison woke to Dr. Nixon rubbing her hand, aggravating the uncomfortable bruises from several blown IVs.

“Allison, can you hear me?”

She barely had the strength to open her eyes. On a scale of one to ten, her pain was a twenty. The increasingly frequent doses of morphine were the only thing allowing her to sleep. She swallowed and licked her dry lips.

“Allison, wake up.” Nixon raised her bed and held a cup with a straw for her to drink.

The plastic scraped against her dry lips.
Open your eyes. Come on.
It was like ordering someone else to move, someone she didn’t have control of. She opened her mouth and took a sip, the cool water reviving her.

“There you are.” Nixon turned off the overhead light when she couldn’t stop blinking.

“Thank you.” She tried to push herself up and the pain froze her. “Where’s Zach?”
She needed to hold his hand, to feel his kiss, and for him to be there when Nixon gave the news that was sure to be bad.
She regretted never telling him how much his presence comforted her.

Nixon smiled, the familiar reassuring expression she’d grown to trust even when the cancer ran rampant inside of her. “He’s handling a security issue downstairs. How are you feeling?”

She considered her answer and not wanting to be long-winded, she simplified. “Like someone that’s dying.”

Nixon’s smile faded and she braced for the worst. He pulled an unlabeled vial and a syringe from his lab coat pocket and set them on the table next to the bed. “Your most recent test results are in.” He took her chart from the bin on the wall and flipped to a page near the end.

She took a deep breath. “What’s the timeframe?” It was a question she didn’t want the answer to, not really, but there were important things to tell Zach before the inevitable happened.

Nixon pulled up a stool and sat down. “The cancer is spreading again. Your liver and kidneys are barely functioning.” The blood running through her catheter told her as much. “I don’t want to speak in weeks or days or hours, Allison. I want to talk options.”

Hours. Were things really that bad?
“What options?”

He drew up a small dose from the vial. “Experimental ones.”

A new wave of pain hit and something wet and warm spread beneath her.
Blood.
The pain contracted and she pulled up her knees. She could tell he saw the mess.

“Oh, dear.” He pushed the button.

She wanted to pull the covers over her head and hide. No matter how many people wiped, washed, and examined her, the process was dehumanizing, embarrassing and she died a little each time.

“I’ve spoken to Zach about the risks and benefits. He agrees it’s what’s best, but I’m happy to go over them with you as well. I believe it’s the only way to reverse these
effects.
”

Effects. Pissing and shitting blood in the most polite terms.
She had vomited blood, too.
The trifecta.
The pain came again, more blood spilling from her. “Do it.”

Nixon had his eye on the door. “Excuse me?”

“Do it. Inject me, give me the pill, whatever it takes just do it. Please.”
You have nothing to lose.

“Are you positive?”

She pulled her knees up, rolling on her side in a fetal position that was anything but dignified. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Nixon put the tip of the needle into the port in her IV tubing and administered the first dose.

13
.

Miranda covered her mouth with both hands, every omen against the Nixon Center culminating with the familiar, beaten boy in a chair.
The clerk from Porter’s.
“What did you do?”

Zach kept his palm to Reid’s chest and was only able to hold him off, she knew, because Reid let him.

Reid’s face and hands were blood-spattered and Billy was barely conscious. She picked up one of the crumpled posters on the floor and unfolded it.

“What was he doing here?” She confronted Reid. He didn’t answer and breathed deeply through his nose, his nostrils flaring. “Zach, what was he doing here?”

“I was looking for my sister.” Billy answered and his voice cracked.

Miranda knelt in front of him. His head hung down, a string of bloody drool running from the corner of his split lip.

“Get away from him!” Reid shouted.

Zach pushed him back. “Cool off, all right? Just cool off. Miranda, you should go.”

“I’m not leaving.” She took the boy’s hand. “Are you all right?” He nodded, but barely. “Can you stand up?”

“Miranda, please get away from him.” Zach said.

“He needs a doctor.”
What the hell was wrong with these people?

Billy held up his hand. “No, no doctors. Just get me out of here.”

Miranda helped him stand. The boy staggered and then regained his balance.

Reid watched, grinding his teeth.

“Let me help you, let me call someone to come get you.”
What kind of hospital was she working for?

“No, I mean it.” Billy steadied. “I don’t need help.”

Miranda sniffed his breath.
Is that alcohol?
She stormed over to Reid, pointing and shouting. She didn’t care that he was a tattooed maniac or almost two feet taller than her. The only thing she cared about was defending Billy. “You beat up a kid when he was
drunk?
What the hell is wrong with you?”

Zach stepped between them. “Miranda, please. Take the kid to his car, whatever you have to do, just go.”

The last thing Miranda ever did was what someone told her to do.

The office door slammed and Zach threw his hands up. “He’s gone, Miranda. Go get him, please.”

“Why don’t you go get him?”
The two of them were up to something.

Reid’s face tightened. “Zach, shut up.”

“Someone answer me. What the hell is going on?”

Reid shoved Miranda and her feet went out from under her. Her head ricocheted off the wall and she fell to the floor, the wind knocked out of her.
No way to scream. No one to hear her.