by Keith Thomas
Who would look at a consent form in the middle of the night?
Reaching her office, Matilda unlocked the door and stepped inside. She was eager to get onto the system from her desktop and see if she couldn’t drum up some information on who exactly had access to the PDF and why. With her first class two hours away, she figured she had time enough to do some deep digging.
She was wrong.
Ashanique was sitting in Matilda’s chair at her desk. The girl was on the desktop playing Minesweeper. As Matilda stood there, eyes wide with shock, Ashanique spun around and smiled. That was when Matilda noticed Janice sitting in a folding chair in the corner of the room beside a mountain of file folders.
She had a Glock pointed at Matilda.
“Come in and close the door,” Janice said. “Ashanique, move.”
Ashanique got up out of the chair as Matilda, heart racing, closed the door behind her.
“Janice,” Matilda said as she crossed the room to her desk, eyes locked on Janice’s, “I know you weren’t happy with me talking to—”
“Sit,” Janice said, motioning with the gun.
Matilda sat and turned the chair to face Janice. Ashanique was sitting behind her mother, her face a storm of emotions. In that instant, Matilda understood why Janice appeared to have been erased from the web—she was in hiding, on the run from something, and Ashanique was caught up in her mother’s whirlwind.
Janice said, “I need you to erase everything on the university system about my daughter. Every note you’ve taken, every medical record. I don’t want her name, even her initials, to appear on a single form. Understand?”
“Yes.” Matilda nodded. “But Ashanique needs help, Janice.”
“Not from you. Delete the files.”
Matilda looked past Janice at Ashanique.
“Are you okay?” she asked the girl.
Ashanique nodded. Though she appeared relatively calm, Matilda could see the anxiety and fear in her eyes. The girl was strong, incredibly brave, but Matilda could tell Ashanique was just barely holding it all together. As much as she prided herself on having a consistently professional mien, there was something about Ashanique that brought out a powerful, almost feral maternal instinct in Matilda. Every fiber of her being joined in a cellular chant: You need to protect this girl.
“She’s fine,” Janice said, sensing Matilda’s protectiveness.
She turned Matilda’s chair back around with her foot.
As Matilda logged in, she noticed her hands were shaking. She had never had a gun pointed at her before. That wasn’t as disturbing as the steeliness in Janice’s eyes, however. The way she held the gun was so . . . proficient. For the first time in a very long time, Matilda worried that she was going to die in her office. Previously, she’d imagined that she’d have a heart attack after spending too many grueling weekends grading exams at her computer. But a bullet in the back was something else entirely. She wanted to panic, to scream until security came running and smashed down the door, but she knew that wasn’t the way out of this.
Stay calm. . . . Just do what they say and breathe. . . .
As Matilda logged in, Ashanique glanced up at all the Post-it Notes. Cautiously, the girl read what she could, gently lifting the papers and looking underneath. As Matilda brought up her patient databases and medical records, Ashanique paused and pointed to Theo Vang’s obituary.
“I know this man,” Ashanique said to Janice.
Matilda shivered. “What?”
“I’ve seen him,” the girl said. “In my mind.”
“Not now,” Janice snapped. “Let’s finish this.”
She leaned forward and tapped Matilda on the shoulder, pointed to the computer. Ashanique’s frightened expression on her mind, Matilda tried to focus on the databases and files, deleting every mention of Ashanique (even if it was de-identified). Though it took only seconds, Matilda dragged the process out as long as she could. She knew a security guard usually rounded her floor around seven. If she could hold Janice off until he showed up, knocking at her office door, to nod and say good morning, then maybe she’d get Ashanique out of this thing with only a scare.
Forty-six minutes. Come on, you can do it.
“Where is the pharmacy?” Janice asked.
“Downstairs. First floor, but it doesn’t open for another hour and a half.”
“We need some medication.”
“I don’t— I can’t really help you with that.”
“You have an ID, right? One that opens doors.”
Matilda said, “But not the pharmacy doors. I’m just research.”
“We’ll see. . . .”
Matilda turned around to face Janice. She hoped that her pleading look would be enough to convince Janice that she was serious, that this . . . this had to stop here, with no one getting hurt.
“Please, Janice,” Matilda said. “Think of Ashanique. She shouldn’t be seeing this. She should be getting some help. I know you think you’re doing what’s right, that you’re protecting her but—”
Janice leveled the Glock on Matilda.
“Everything I do is for my daughter.”
20
AS SUSPECTED, MATILDA’S ID didn’t unlock the pharmacy door.
Matilda had suggested as much, but Janice needed to see it herself. Despite Ashanique’s radiating tension and Matilda’s shaking hands, Janice was utterly calm. Gun at Matilda’s back, she cleared her throat and considered her options.
“Someone who works here will be in—” Matilda began.
“No time,” Janice interrupted. “Move aside.”
Matilda stepped to the right as Janice slipped a set of small stainless steel lockpicks from her back pocket. They appeared hand-machined.
“Come here, kneel down,” Janice said, motioning to the space between her and the door. “I’m not going to hurt you, but I can’t take any risks, clear?”
Matilda, the shaking in her hands getting worse, the fist at the back of her throat threatening to block her airway completely, kneeled down in front of Janice. As she did, she again caught the trembling fear in Ashanique’s eyes.
Matilda mouthed, It’ll be okay.
Ashanique didn’t appear convinced.
As Janice worked, Matilda studied her closely. The woman’s nonverbal clues gave away nothing; she was in complete control of her body. Matilda might have chalked it up to drugs, but she suspected it was training. Not military, not gang. The only people she’d seen who were that controlled, that insanely focused, had been new intakes to cult deprogramming sessions.
Click. The door unlocked.
Twenty-three seconds and Janice was done.
Janice tucked her tools into her pocket and motioned for Matilda to get up.
“We need a particular drug, okay?” Janice said. “It’s called MetroChime.”
“I’m not familiar with it.”
“You’ll look it up in the system. I know they have it here.”
Matilda led Janice and Ashanique inside, through the tall shelving systems filled with carefully organized bottles, trays, and boxes. Matilda stopped at a computer. Her badge unlocked the home screen, allowing her access to her patients’ files but not the pharmacy’s dispensing software. Janice stood over Matilda, her impatient energy filling the room.
“I don’t have access to this.”
“Find a way around,” Janice said. “The drug is for blood cancers. It works on chimeric antigen receptor T cells. It’s phase three; there are trials ongoing here. Check research files. Make it happen, Matilda.”
Matilda tried to log into the clinical research databases. She’d had access in the past, when she was called in on some pediatric trials, but it had been a long time. She doubted her approval was still valid. The passcodes would have been updated as well. Matilda knew it wasn’t going to happen.
“It won’t work,” Matilda said. “Listen, Janice, please just—”
“Move.”
Janice shoved the gun into Matilda
’s face.
Ashanique cringed.
Fighting the urge to jump up and try and overpower Janice, even if it meant taking a bullet to the chest, Matilda slowly got up out of the chair.
“There are other ways to get what you want,” Matilda said. “I can talk to someone in the department; we can get you help. But Ashanique doesn’t need to be here. She doesn’t need to see you doing this.”
“You need to shut the fuck up,” Janice said as she took the chair.
Matilda moved back beside Ashanique. And as she did, their hands touched momentarily. It sent a warm, electric sensation up Matilda’s arm and over her shoulders. She took Ashanique’s hand in her own and squeezed it tight.
While Janice’s lockpicking skills impressed Matilda, her hacking talents were actually surprising. Janice opened and closed programs with dizzying speed, diving into the guts of the operating system. Matilda’s eyes, however, were fixed on the gun. Janice had placed it on the desk beside the computer. Out of her hands, the gun looked smaller. Oddly softer. Matilda couldn’t stop her brain from conjuring up scenarios where she swiped the weapon to the floor and kicked it away. Or, even more ludicrous, where she grabbed the gun and leveled it at Janice.
As each scenario played out on the membrane screen of her mind, she asked herself: Would you pull the trigger? Would you kill this woman in front of her daughter? Does it matter? This is your only chance. You want to live, right?
Matilda found herself shifting her weight forward, her body unconsciously pushing itself toward the gun.
“Unit fifteen, shelf two hundred and one,” Janice said, grabbing the gun and spinning from the computer, as Ashanique pulled her hand from Matilda’s grip.
Unit fifteen was in the far-left corner of the room near the refrigerated medications. Janice found shelf 203 a few feet off the floor. The MetroChime was two shelves below. Janice grabbed two marked boxes and opened them. Stuffing blister packs of the drug into her coat pockets, Janice paused to hand a few back to Ashanique. The girl put them in her pants pockets.
“No, baby,” Janice said. “You need to take two right now.”
Matilda interrupted. “This is experimental—”
She stopped when Janice again stuck the Glock in her face.
“You shut up. Take them, baby.”
Ashanique pushed two of the yellow-and-white capsules through the silver blisters covering them. Janice kept the barrel of the handgun steady, inches away from Matilda’s forehead.
“They don’t taste too bad,” Janice told her daughter. “Just go ahead and put ’em in your mouth and chew ’em up. You’ll feel better right away.”
Eyes on Matilda, Ashanique placed the capsules in her mouth.
Matilda nodded to her, hoping to project stoicism.
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
Ashanique chewed the capsules, her face pinched at the bitter taste.
Matilda had no idea what the cancer drugs might do, what sorts of side effects they could have. Phase III meant they’d made it through animal testing and a small cohort of human research. It meant MetroChime, whatever it actually was, had been approved for more extensive clinical testing. But none of that meant it was safe. Matilda knew that only a quarter of drugs actually made the move from phase III into general sale to the public. And chances were this T cell receptor cancer drug wasn’t approved for use in children.
Wheels turning on the assumption that she’d get out of the pharmacy alive, Matilda tried to mentally calculate how long they’d have to pump Ashanique’s stomach. At the same time, she knew it was likely that two capsules wouldn’t have much of an immediate effect. Even more, Matilda suspected Janice had been taking them herself—How else would she know about the drug?—and doubted the woman would purposefully poison her own child. No, Janice surely believed MetroChime worked. But to treat what?
The back door to the pharmacy opened.
“Matilda?”
Matilda’s body jumped at the sound of Clark’s voice.
Janice tightened her grip on the gun. Matilda could see she was readying for the kickback, her shoulders narrowing and her soul going numb.
“I can make him go away. Please, trust me,” Matilda whispered.
Janice shook her head.
“He doesn’t have anything to do with this. Please.”
Clark’s shoes squeaked on the tile floor. Matilda knew exactly which ones they were, the sneakers that he rarely wore, the ones his daughter, Amanda, told him were hip. Clark thought they were too shiny, too brightly colored, and told Matilda he worried people would look at him and assume he was some midlife-crisis sap desperate to hold on to his rearview mirror youth. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he was right, that was exactly how the shoes looked.
“Yo, Maddie? You back here?”
Maddie . . . God, Clark, please be careful.
Janice nodded to Matilda. “Make him leave.”
“Thank you. . . . Thank you. . . .”
Not wasting a millisecond, Matilda stepped out from between the shelving units. Clark waved to her and walked over, all early-morning, overcaffeinated smiles. “What the heck are you doing down here? I came in to meet you early like we’d planned and, uh, saw you vanishing around a corner. Figured I’d follow you down . . .”
Clark looked over Matilda’s shoulder.
“You with someone? Pharmacy’s not exactly open—”
“Clark, I can’t talk right now. Can you meet me in my office?”
He read her face, the panic she was trying to hide.
“You okay, babe?” Clark asked.
“Yes, yes. I just— Meet me upstairs.”
Matilda didn’t see the shadow slide up behind Clark, but she saw the rubber-gloved hand reach across his neck. The sight was so suddenly incongruous that she couldn’t process what was happening. She saw a straight razor in the rubber-gloved hand. The folding kind barbers used in old-timey shops, but sleeker, sharper.
Eyes bulging, Clark wheezed as the razor drew a perfect red line that bisected his throat. The line opened like a second mouth. It was filled with the brightest blood Matilda had ever seen.
Clark folded, his shocked gaze locked on Matilda’s.
No. No. No. . . .
Matilda wanted to scream.
She wanted desperately to explode in panic.
But she was utterly immobilized with horror.
There was a man in a hoodie and tapered athletic pants standing just behind Clark. He was extraordinarily bald and his skin gleamed in the buzzing fluorescents like a freshly waxed bowling lane.
He winked at Matilda.
“Where’s Fifty-One?”
21
LIKE MOST PEOPLE, Matilda had mentally toyed with terrifying moments.
She’d indulged in weird daydreams born of bad headlines that quickly twisted into survival fantasies. Every time she’d played out the scenarios—whether in the midst of a mass shooting or being chased by an armed man—she took risks, bold risks, to ensure her own survival. But that moment, when the threat actually materialized in hideously cold reality, when the blood was pumping like thunder in her ears, she thought only of Ashanique.
“Run!”
Before the man in the hoodie could so much as wink again, Matilda spun and ran back toward the aisle where Ashanique was huddled. Janice stood in front of the girl, the Glock aimed at Clark’s killer.
Without a word, she pulled the trigger.
Matilda ducked and turned to see the bullet slam into a cabinet to the right of the man. Despite the shot, he continued walking toward Janice.
“You have to run,” Matilda said as she stumbled over to Ashanique and grabbed her arm. Then, she turned to Janice. “We need to go right now!”
Ignoring Matilda, Janice fired again.
The man in the hoodie dodged right, the bullet screamed past him.
“Please, Janice, we have to go!”
The man in the hoodie picked up speed, began running toward Janice. Seein
g the predatory expression on his face, the cold fire in his eyes, Matilda knew he would not stop. Even with a bullet lodged in his lungs, if Janice were lucky enough to hit him, he would thunder forward with a cosmological certainty.
Get the fuck out of there.
Matilda dragged Ashanique toward the front door to the pharmacy. The girl was crying, her head turned back toward her mother, but she didn’t slow. Matilda knew there was an alarm by the entrance. One she could trigger with her badge.
They’d had so many campus drills, so many intensely boring security presentations, that she knew the stats by heart—campus police would be on the scene within three minutes. However, three minutes sounded like nothing when she was in a classroom with a hundred other restless employees. But when a killer was chasing after her with a blade, it quickly became a lifetime. For a moment, Matilda thought about how she’d tell Clark about the morning’s encounter—she imagined him putting a shock blanket over her shoulders while she sat in the back of an ambulance, the way loving people do on television—but then images of Clark’s open throat, his desperate eyes, flashed before her.
Jesus, Clark . . .
Pushing aside the images, Matilda rounded a corner and collided with a medical cart. She remained upright, but the cart smashed back against a wall, boxes, syringes, and bottles scattering across the tile floor. Reaching the front of the pharmacy, Matilda directed Ashanique to scramble beneath the counter.
“Stay here, back as far as you can go. Stay hidden.”
“What about my mom?” Ashanique asked from under the counter.
“I’m getting us out of here. Getting us safe.”
“My mom, Matilda . . .”
Matilda couldn’t answer; she needed Ashanique to be focused. They weren’t safe yet. Not by a long shot. Matilda swiped her badge on the alarm pad by the door. Sirens instantly screamed to life.