Malice

by Jennifer Jaynes

  He cleared his throat and straightened a little in his seat. “I mean, I could be jumping to conclusions. I have more research to do and people to talk to.”

  They lapsed into silence, both looking out at the water. Finally Mia spoke. “I found something today I think you’ll find interesting.”

  He waited for her to go on.

  “Do you know a Dr. Hemsworth? He’s a pediatrician from Sherman Oaks.”

  He remembered the article he’d read. Hemsworth was the pediatrician who had discontinued Respira due to safety concerns. But how did Mia know about him? He frowned. “Yes, why?”

  “So, you know that he supposedly killed himself and his family a couple of nights ago, right?”

  Hold on. Yes. He’d heard about that on the radio on his way to work on Monday, but he hadn’t connected the dots . . . that the man had been the same doctor who had spoken out about Respira.

  “Did you know him?” Mia asked.

  Daniel shook his head, thoughts swirling around in his brain. “No, I didn’t.”

  Mia told him about an article she’d read this afternoon about Hemsworth. About the doctor’s father saying the murder-suicide had to have been a set-up. Hemsworth Senior said his son loved his family. That they were all very close. He also said he’d ordered a private autopsy just before his son’s body had been sent for cremation, and the private pathologist he’d hired had reported that Hemsworth had been shot twice in the chest.

  “What?” Daniel said. “How do you shoot yourself twice in the chest?”

  “I know, right?” Mia said. “Hemsworth Senior said his son called him the day prior to the murders, saying that he’d received a death threat and had asked for advice on what he should do. When Hemsworth Senior asked his son who was threatening him, he said it was someone who was angry that he’d been talking publicly about the harm Respira had caused his patients.”

  Daniel raked his hand over his mouth, trying to comprehend what Mia was saying.

  “There’s also a witness. A teenage boy who was dating Hemsworth’s daughter claims he received text messages from her the night the family was killed. She wrote that someone had broken into their home, and she was hiding. She begged him to call 911.”

  “That makes no sense. How could they call it a suicide with all that information?” Daniel said.

  Mia shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Where’d you see this story?”

  “Online. It was buried in the Los Angeles Times’s website. I was going to send it to you, but now I can’t find it.”

  An hour later, Mia grabbed Daniel’s hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom.

  In bed, they kissed, and he buried his head in her hair, lulled by the connection they’d made. He realized he’d been starving to reconnect with her. And now that he had, he was feeling much less stressed. While his problems hadn’t gone away, he was feeling much less alone now that he’d had the chance to vent. Mia pressed her body against his and kissed him hard on the mouth; then her lips moved to his neck, his chest, his stomach. As she began making her way down even lower, he realized something was very wrong. He wasn’t responding sexually.

  What the hell’s going on? he wondered, trying to will himself to respond, but it wasn’t working.

  Mia looked up. “Is everything okay?” she whispered, her voice throaty and deep. “Am I doing something wrong?”

  His face burning, he sat up. “God, no. You’re perfect. I . . . I don’t know what the problem is. This has never happened before.”

  It’s because you’re onto her, Daniel. You might think you’ve forgiven her, but you haven’t.

  Dammit, he wished the voice would just shut the hell up. Usually, the alcohol silenced it. Now all the negative emotions he’d brought home flooded back into his mind with a vengeance. On top of it all, he was also embarrassed.

  She kissed him again. But knowing it would be no use, he gently extricated himself from her. “It’s not you,” he said, feeling his neck flush. “I guess I just have too much on my mind.”

  He wanted to change his rules yet again, go to the kitchen, grab another drink, self-medicate, calm down.

  Don’t. Do something that will help you think more clearly. Go for a run.

  He hadn’t run for months now. Before meeting Mia, he’d run several miles daily. So much had changed since meeting her. He crawled out of bed and went to his bureau. He grabbed a pair of sweats and yanked them on. “Sorry. I’ve just got so much on my mind. Maybe I’ll go for a run.”

  Mia sat up in bed, pulling the sheets up over her naked body. “Really? This late?”

  “Yeah. Maybe it’ll help.” He went to the closet for a sweatshirt.

  “Want company?” she asked.

  “No, thanks. I need to be alone. Then I’ve got more research to do.”

  He grabbed his running shoes.

  “Daniel?”

  “What?” he asked, slipping on his shoes.

  She folded her arms across her body. “I know this is probably a horrible time to ask for a favor, but I really need one.”

  He turned, curious. “Of course. What is it?”

  “I need to borrow some money.”

  Money? The request had come out of left field. She’d never asked for money before. Besides, they had a joint account. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “It’s for a friend who’s in a terrible bind.” She looked uncomfortable, even squeamish.

  A friend?

  A scream sliced through his brain. “We’re married,” he said. “What’s mine is yours. You don’t have to borrow it.”

  She was silent. It was obvious she was uncomfortable asking. And he didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable.

  “How much do you need?”

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  Billy’s words flashed into his mind. They only want guys like you for the money. They bide their time until they can ask for a divorce. Then they happily drive away with half of everything.

  He had no doubt that many women were capable of doing just that, but this was his wife they were talking about. Not some gold-digging con artist. And she was asking for the money, not stealing it.

  “You know your name is on our joint account, right?” he asked. “And the checks are in the top drawer of my desk.”

  “I know. But I wouldn’t feel right just taking that kind of money and not asking you.”

  “I appreciate that, but it’s your money, too. It’s fine.”

  Ask her who this friend of hers is. It’s probably the person who keeps texting her. The one she doesn’t want you to know about.

  He lingered in the doorway, hoping she’d offer more information. But she didn’t say a word.

  Ask her, dammit.

  “Thank you,” was all she finally offered.

  He nodded.

  As he walked from the room, he realized that for the first time in days, he and the voice were in full agreement. Not only did he accept that she was hiding something, he wanted to know what.

  He was almost to the back door when he realized he’d forgotten his jacket.

  As he lumbered back up the stairs to grab it, the pipes began rattling in the wall. Mia must be getting in the shower. Apparently, evening showers were becoming a thing for her. He reached the bedroom, and sure enough, Mia was nowhere in sight. The door to the shower was closed, and the water was running.

  Find her phone, the voice blurted. Find out who’s been texting her.

  He hesitated.

  Stop trying to be a saint, and do it.

  He stared at the closed door again. Okay, fine, he decided. Just this one time.

  Without giving himself a chance to second-guess the decision, he looked around for her phone. It wasn’t on the bed or on either bedside table or on the bathroom counter. His heart beating in his throat, he found the skinny jeans she’d been wearing earlier on the floor. But it was no longer in the back pocket.

  Her purse.

  She usually kept it
in the closet. He opened the closet door and saw it hanging in its usual place. He grabbed it, then dug his hand inside and pulled out her phone, a pen, and some coins. He threw the other items back in her purse and listened to see if the shower was still running.

  It was.

  He pressed the touch screen. A password request filled the phone’s screen.

  Dammit.

  He tried her birthday. No. Their wedding anniversary. No. Shit. Their address. No.

  Try 1111, the voice said.

  She’d talked about those numbers a few times over the months. Apparently, the numerology books she’d read had an impact on her. He punched them in and was granted access.

  He quickly found the Text app icon and pressed it. Her in-box popped up, and a list of text messages appeared. But the list was short. He frowned. There were only texts from him. Yet, in the last week, he’d heard several texts coming in. He’d seen her texting. There’d been a text tonight.

  But those texts were gone.

  There’s only one reason she’d delete them, Daniel.

  He checked her call log. Again, only calls from him and to him. That log had been freshly edited as well.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. Then feeling more agitated and confused than he had when he’d arrived home from the office, he returned her phone to her purse and grabbed his own phone to text Billy.

  CHAPTER 21

  RACHEL

  GUILT CLAWED AT Rachel as she chastised herself for not researching Respira before agreeing to give it to Suzie. For simply trusting Dr. Winters. She usually researched everything—from what foods to feed her daughter to the safest cribs and toys—so why hadn’t she researched this damn drug?

  She remembered the first time she’d held Suzie. She promised herself that she’d do everything within her power to make sure her little girl had the best life possible. That she’d keep her safe and make sure her life turned out better than her own had. She’d let her down, hadn’t she?

  She paced the apartment, trying to figure out what to do. Suzie still wasn’t herself. Although she hadn’t had any repeat seizures, she still wasn’t talking or walking, and she still had that faraway look in her eyes. Her diapers were still awful, and she was sleeping way more than normal. Instead of chattering away like she usually did, she just sat in the Pack ’n Play and stared off into space or at the walls.

  This morning, Rachel had taken her to a pediatric clinic in the valley that accepted walk-ins. The female doctor had examined her for all of five minutes and declared she was fine. She said it wasn’t uncommon for kids Suzie’s age to regress a little. Just to make sure to offer her plenty of Pedialyte and other fluids while she had diarrhea so she wouldn’t get dehydrated.

  But Rachel knew that Suzie wasn’t okay.

  She wasn’t okay at all.

  Now that it was clear that the doctors weren’t going to help her, Rachel decided to write a quick post on a support group she’d found on Facebook to see if she could get help from other parents.

  She’d meant what she told Dr. Winters and the heavyset doctor. She wasn’t going to let them get away with not telling the truth about the drug and hurting her daughter. Although she wasn’t sure what she was going to do yet, she was going to do something.

  Last night, she’d reached out to an old acting friend whose boyfriend was a reporter for a local NBC affiliate, and she’d asked him if he would cover Suzie’s story. The journalist said that if Suzie had been hurt by her crib or some toy, he’d be all over it, but his network generally shied away from reporting negative stories about certain pharmaceutical drugs, particularly vaccines, because the manufacturers accounted for a large portion of their advertising dollars.

  Rachel tried to figure out what to do about work. Although Jeff had told her to take Thursday and Friday off, he had been very clear that he expected to see her on Monday. It was a relief that he’d given her the days off because there was no way she could have left Suzie with Martha. Not so soon after the seizures. But now she had to make plans for next week.

  She remembered her sister, Laura, had a small apartment above her garage in Minnesota, and as far as she knew, it was empty. Maybe she’d let them move in there for a little while. The cost of living was much cheaper in Minnesota. Plus, she could help Laura care for their mother, which would take some of the pressure off Laura and her family. It could be a win-win all around.

  Taking a deep breath, she picked up her phone and called her sister. When she got Laura on the phone, she told her about the recent seizures. How the emergency room doctor and the new pediatrician said Suzie seemed fine now.

  “Oh, good,” Laura said.

  “No, it’s not good, because she’s definitely not fine.”

  She could hear her sister sigh as if to say, Here she goes again.

  “Seriously, Laura, she’s acting really weird. If you saw her, you’d say the same thing.”

  “Weird how?”

  Rachel told her about everything. “She’s not even walking. This is not normal for her.”

  She also told her what she’d read on the internet. The things other parents were reporting. But when her sister went quiet, Rachel decided she’d better change the subject.

  “Did you ever rent out your garage apartment?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I don’t know what the problem is. It’s a great space.”

  “Would you consider letting me and Suzie stay there? Just for a while? Until I can get back on my feet? I’m thinking of moving back. At least for the time being. I could help you take care of Mom.”

  The other end of the line was silent. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t . . .”

  Rachel’s face burned. Laura was searching for an excuse to say no, wasn’t she? She could feel anger bubbling up inside her, and she was afraid of what either one of them would say next.

  “Someone’s at the door,” Rachel lied. “I need to go.”

  Rachel ended the call quickly, before she said something she’d regret. She went to Suzie and gathered her into her arms. “I wish we had more family, sweet pea,” she said, her voice cracking. She couldn’t remember feeling so alone. So afraid. “I miss you talking to me. It’s been so long since I’ve heard you say Mama. Can you say Mama, sweetie? Please? Just one time?”

  Suzie didn’t respond. She just stared at Rachel’s chin.

  Rachel sat on the couch and bounced Suzie on her lap. “Who’s my sweet baby girl?” she asked, placing her face really close to Suzie’s, hoping to get a smile out of her. She held Suzie’s hands and lifted them up above her shoulders. “You are, Suzie! You are!” she sang.

  But Suzie just grimaced and pulled away.

  Tears burned Rachel’s eyes. “Oh, honey. What’s wrong?”

  Suzie just blinked.

  “I wish you could tell Mommy what you’re feeling.”

  Rachel burst into tears. And once she started, she couldn’t stop. She held her daughter against her chest and bawled.

  Her phone dinged. A Facebook message was coming through. Wiping her face with the heel of her hand, she reached over and grabbed it. It was from someone named Sadie Carter, who was also part of the Respira support group. She accepted it.

  I read your post about your daughter. My 6-year-old son goes to Healing Hands, too. He sees Dr. Reynolds and has been having horrible migraines since his Respira injections, but the doctor said it was just a coincidence. But like you, I’m not buying it anymore. Anyway, a few of us are picketing in front of the clinic Monday morning in hopes of drumming up some media coverage. Would you be interested in joining us?

  Rachel had just finished reading the message when she heard another message come in. This one from someone named Gail Whitman:

  I read what you posted about your daughter and would like to talk to you. I’m a journalist and run GetTheFactsAboutRespira.com. You’re in the LA area, right?

  An hour later, Gail Whitman was on Rachel’s doorstep. The journalist was an attractive woman with chin-length red h
air and a kind face and seemed to be somewhere in her thirties.

  Rachel invited her into the living room and took her coat. Then she lifted Suzie out of the Pack ’n Play. “This is my daughter, Suzie.”

  “Hi, Suzie,” the woman said, smiling at her. Suzie didn’t react.

  “She’s been doing this ever since the second shot. Looking so vacant. Like she’s in a world of her own. She behaved this way after the first shot for about a day, but then she stopped and became her usual self again. The doctors say it’s normal. Do you think she looks normal?”

  Gail’s eyes were warm. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no. It doesn’t look normal at all.”

  Rachel nodded and offered to make Gail tea, then set Suzie back in the Pack ’n Play and went to the kitchen to prepare it. She poured water into the kettle and turned on the stove.

  “So, like I told you on the phone,” Gail said, pulling a laptop out of her bag and opening it, “I’m trying to get as many parents’ stories out there as possible. There are an alarming number of you guys, especially considering this drug is so new. I want to do my part in making sure you are heard.”

  “How many parents have you spoken to?” Rachel asked, carrying a tray with two mismatched teacups and the teapot into the living room. She sat it on the coffee table in front of them and sat down across from Gail.

  “You’re number seventeen, and I have two more interviews scheduled for this week.”

  “All these kids are having seizures?”

  “Some. Not all. Some families are reporting other symptoms.”

  “Like what?”

  “Migraines, muscle weakness, transverse myelitis, speech impairment . . . all symptoms that could point to brain inflammation.”

  Rachel frowned. “So, you’re saying Respira is inflaming their brains?”

  “It appears as though it might be. The doctors and researchers who have been willing to talk to me about it think it’s the amount of adjuvant in the drug. It’s very high.”

  Gail explained that an adjuvant was a substance that was added to a drug to create an immune response. She said that in Respira’s case, the adjuvant was aluminum phosphate. Each dose of Respira contained a very large amount of it.