“The only way to stop it is to inject more serum to trigger the body’s defense, or to numb them up with morphine. This stage is where we wean them off of the medication.”
“I see. Can we see the other patients?”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”
“I need to see them.”
After hesitating, I realized I had nothing to lose other than more of my self-respect.
“This area is also one patient per room, but unfortunately we have to keep them heavily secured and monitor them at all times.”
“Why?” he countered quickly.
When I open the main door he’ll know.
As soon as the soldiers standing guard checked my badge and the door swung open, we could hear the patients banging on the padded walls of their cells and shouting. The most audible soldier was swearing the vilest words imaginable.
“Geez,” Weston said hurrying over to the first door. Peeking into the window, he told me the whole operation was insane.
“I know. That’s why I was brought here. They want me to figure out how to stop it.”
“They can stop it by not injecting anything into them!”
“But that’s not going to happen, so I’m working to find ways to help them.”
“Why you?”
“Despite what you may think of me, I am the most qualified doctor the military has for this kind of work.”
“I bet you are.”
I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, and for some reason I felt the need to explain myself more.
“I’ve always wanted to heal people. My father is a veteran, and once my mother died, it was just him and me. I knew he couldn’t afford to send me to medical school, and he wanted me to follow his path. So this way we’re both happy.”
He still had his gaze locked on the patient, shaking his head slightly. It was like he was ashamed of us, and I felt the need to keep explaining.
“I’ve saved a lot of lives, and when my superior officer recommended me for a high-clearance physician position, I took it. They assured me I was needed and that I would finish early, with military honors. That’s how I ended up here.”
“How long are these guys here for?”
“It takes about twenty weeks before they can be discharged.”
“Can I see the other patients?”
“They’re all the same,” I said, quietly.
Ignoring me, he walked along the hall, peeking into every door. When he was finished, he turned and looked at me. “So what do you want from me?”
“Well, the goal is to stop the soldier’s suffering.”
“Seems like you’re doing a decent job of that.”
“Without it taking twenty weeks,” I clarified.
“What you are really saying is that you want to find a way to make this drug work without any repercussions.”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“And what happens when we have a bunch of drugged up super-soldiers running around? And what happens when other countries have them, too?”
At that point I was feeling uncomfortable again, and the insistent shouting of the patients was making it difficult to think. I convinced him to continue our conversation in the debriefing room.
Once seated, I leaned across the table, attempting to make our encounter a bit more personable. “Weston, listen. I’ve seen war. I don’t agree with it. But I’ve seen enough to want to get behind this project. If this drug will help them gain strength and endurance in combat, then why not?”
He leaned forward, eyeing me intensely. “Dr. . . . Carter, there is no such thing as hand-to-hand combat anymore. Wars are fought with guns and bombs. Soldiers don’t need this. Think about what you are saying. This will either bring back hand-to-hand combat, or it’s really wanted for something else, and you and your soldiers are being used.”
I leaned back, considering his words. Something in them stung. I’m not sure if it was the suggestion that I was being blindsided or if somewhere inside I’d already known.
“Are you saying the government wants this for some other reason?”
Shrugging, he leaned back also. “I don’t know anything other than the insanity you just showed me. The idea of injecting this into people for anyone’s gain is wrong.”
“Your great uncle tried something like this.”
The mention of Dr. Thomas caused Weston to look at me sharply. After a minute of assessing me, he spoke assertively.
“Dr. Thomas would be ashamed if he knew you were trying to create some super-human. If you knew anything about him, you’d know his purpose was to heal.”
I started to feel offended that he was placing himself on a pedestal.
“And what do you call your lab’s purpose? Rumor has it that you’re doing the same thing.”
He huffed and leaned forward again. The motion sent a shockwave through my body as the force of his energy shot into me.
“What we are doing is trying to find a cure for people already suffering. People who are already dying.”
The urgent, but calm way he said it gave me a chill. It took a few minutes to gather my words and when I did, they sounded mediocre.
“We are trying to help people, too.”
“You are not. Doctor, snap out of it. They’re trying to alter people. You don’t want to alter people. I can tell you don’t. It’s not in your nature. But here, you’re trying to change the course of humanity, and I won’t help you, even if I could.”
He sat back and looked away. I was still considering his words when a knock sounded at the door. Given that I didn’t have anything to say, the timing was perfect. I cracked open the door and was greeted by John.
“Any progress?”
“Not yet.” I had a good inclination that I was not getting anything out of Weston either now or later, but I wasn’t ready to tell that to John or anyone else. I’d rather them think I was close. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to let him leave yet.
“That’s fine. The sergeant major is here and wants to see him. You . . . come with me.”
Chapter 5
GONE FOREVER
The morning sun glared through my sheer curtains. Still no missed calls.
I held back the urge to fling my phone across the room and watch it shatter in a million pieces. Instead, I gave it a good squeeze and tossed it on my nightstand.
This was getting ridiculous. Where was he and why hasn’t he called me? Ugh. I flexed every single muscle until my body felt like it was going to explode and then I released the built-up frustration, letting out a huge sigh. I had had enough.
I pulled myself out of bed, got ready, skipped breakfast, and headed for the hospital. That little prick was going to talk. Even if I had to re-break every bone in his body, he was going to talk. Otherwise, I really would have to confront Tim, and that was my last resort.
I drove with my hands tight around the steering wheel, furious. Technically it wasn’t Chase’s fault, or maybe it was a little, but not mostly. He was just a clueless puppet. And now he was going to man up, and unfortunately for him, all my built-up anger and frustration was about to be unleashed.
Inside the hospital, I half expected my courage to dwindle away. I mean really, what was I going to say? I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. My fury only increased with each step closer to his room. After all, he was my best chance to get answers. He simply had to talk, I needed him to talk. At this point I was panicked. Wes hadn’t called, and that meant he couldn’t call.
I rounded the corridor to Chase’s room and saw police officers lining the hall. They had been there before, but not this many. Further exploration revealed several doctors and nurses. Something’s going on.
I tried to make my way to Chase’s door, but was stopped short.
An officer put his arm out in front of me. “I’m sorry miss. This room is closed off.”
“Oh. Sorry. I’m just trying to visit the patient. Chase Chambers.”
He motioned a doctor o
ver. “Mr. Chambers is not here.”
“Well where is he?” I knew he couldn’t have been discharged. He could barely even move. There was no way they let him out, and if they did, where did he go? He had no family or friends. Except Danny. Yes, Danny could’ve taken him home. They were friends. Maybe that was it.
By then, the doctor had come over. “What can I do for you?”
The officer spoke up, “She came to visit Mr. Chambers.”
“Doctor, where is he?” I asked.
“Are you family?”
I was about to say no, but something told me the only way I’d get answers was to fib a bit. My conscience kept me somewhat honest.
“Well, sort of. I’m like his family. He has no real family left.”
“And you are?”
“Sophie.”
“Well, Sophie, I’m sorry to tell you, but Chase committed suicide last night.”
My heart felt like a fist was constricting the blood flow, making me lightheaded.
“Excuse me?” I whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
“But, he wouldn’t do that.”
I immediately thought back to how they believed he tried to kill himself when his car crashed, but he hadn’t. He was run off the road. No way. No way did he kill himself.
“Someone did this to him,” I said, firmly.
The officer spoke up. “No miss, he was in his room alone. The security camera confirmed it.”
Then the doctor joined in. “I’m sorry.”
“How?” I shot back quickly.
“He cut his wrists with a razor blade he had requested for shaving purposes.”
“Are you serious?”
They both nodded, but I couldn’t believe he would actually do that. “Doctor, if you thought he tried to run himself off the road, then you believed he was suicidal. Why would you give him a razor?!”
I was steaming with anger, my eyes were welling up, and my hope was fading.
“Miss, he was behaving normally and asked the nurse if he could freshen up and shave. He did and was fine. Until last night, when the nurse checked on him. It was too late. I’m sorry.”
“I can’t believe you guys.” I pushed past them into the room and saw the blood-soaked sheets for myself. At the sight of the mess, I dropped to my knees and sobbed. A nurse came in and placed a hand on my back. It looked like I was crying over Chase, and although part of me was sad for him, the tears were for everything spiraling out of control.
I had nothing left. Nothing to hold on to. I knew Dr. Lyon was trying to solve things, but he was going about everything by the book. There was no way those people were going to fold and send Wes home if we were playing by the book. I needed a backdoor way in and it felt like someone had just slammed that door shut, right in my face.
What was I going to do now?
With stinging eyes, I pulled myself together and stood up. After assuring everyone that I was okay, I gave them Mr. Healey’s name. I was sorry to put the burden on him, but something in me didn’t want to leave Chase’s body unclaimed, and I certainly wasn’t going to be able to make any arrangements for him. Mr. Healey and Danny were my only choice. I gave the hospital their contact information and hoped they would step in to handle any funeral arrangements.
In the meantime, I drove home, sucking in more sobs and trying to build up some energy for an alternate plan. Selfish thoughts kept entering my mind as I couldn’t stop being angry at Chase. For all he did, plus for killing himself.I cursed him over and over.
By the time I got home, I felt guilty for allowing hatred to mix in with remorse over someone who had lost his life, but damn it. I huffed and fought back more tears as I let it sink in that Chase was gone. Literally. Andy, Ms. Mary, and now him. So much death. It was all around me. It was overwhelming, and after pulling into my driveway, I did something I hadn’t done in years. I prayed.
People say that happens when you’re at your lowest, and maybe some would think my low was trivial, but it wasn’t to me. I was eighteen, and felt, without a doubt, that I was going to die . . . soon. I had been through the wringer, and my heart-and-soul was somewhere far away and I couldn’t get him back.
All I wanted was an end to this ordeal and for a moment I thought about death coming to me quickly, just so the pain and fear would go away. That, to me, is an all-time low, and one that justifies calling on a higher being for help.
Sitting right in my driveway, I placed my palms together and closed my eyes. “Dear God,” I said, “please help me. Please give me a sign that everything will be okay. Please give me something. Something that tells me what to do. Something that brings Wes home. Please.”
It may seem like a weak prayer, but it felt powerful. I felt hopeful again, and that was something I needed.
After pulling myself together, I went inside. Having not had breakfast, I found my way to the kitchen, hoping for a bowl of cereal or something. What I got was a box.
Sitting on the table was a small package at my usual place setting. It was addressed to me, so I figured my mom must’ve put it there from the mail. There was no return address, but the post office stamp was local, so I threw out any shots of a connection to Wes.
With little excitement, I opened the box to reveal a folded letter and a cell phone. Hmm.
Foregoing my quest for food again, I took a seat and unfolded the letter. Shock took over as I followed the handwriting down to a signature: Chase. Oh. My. Gosh. Leaning to within inches of the paper I read:
Sophie,
Sorry about this, but I really don’t see any other way out. My life is ruined. I don’t have any family or any real friends who could take care of me, or anywhere to go when I get out of here, so I won’t even try.
I also wanted to tell you that you were right. I am a coward. I’ve always lived my life following others. I never had anything of my own, never been worth much. It wasn’t hard for Tim to convince me that I could be something by following him.
And you’re right about him, too. He tricked me into using those drugs. He set me up with those guys, and he convinced me to wreak havoc for you. He hates you and he blames Wes for his grandfather’s death. I tried to hate you, too, but I don’t. Not really.
Anyway, I want to come clean and help you, because you convinced me that Wes is a better person than Tim or me. So, there is a video confession on my cell phone. You can take it to the police with this letter. You should get what you need to stop him. At least some of it. And about your other suspicions. You’re right again . . . about why they want it.
Well, I’d say I’d see you later, but I guess I won’t. So this is it, then.
Chase.
If things had gotten any weirder for me, I think my brain would’ve literally exploded. I wanted to re-read the letter until it sank in that it was possibly someone’s suicide note—right in my hand. But I couldn’t.
I was too drawn to the cell phone sitting in the box. Thoughts of what video confession he could be talking about consumed me until I found myself pressing buttons.
His screen saver was a picture of a snake on a florescent green background. The last time I had seen that image, it was tattooed on Chase’s abs at the fight club. Remembering him drugged up and fighting that guy made me shudder.
Quickly, I thumbed through his videos until I came to one dated just yesterday. On it was Chase, still in his hospital attire, unshaven with his head bandage on. I hesitantly pressed play and listened to every word as if what he had to say was the last transmission on earth.
“By the time you watch this, I’ll probably be dead, and that’s okay. The truth is, I don’t want to live anymore. What’s the point? If you can’t answer that, then how can I? Anyway, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is trying to come clean before I face whoever it is on the other side.
“I’ll start by clarifying that I did not drive my own car off the road to land myself here. Timothy Walters purposely did it in an attempt to silence me from what I’m about to say. I know
it was him. He was driving his girlfriend’s blue Civic hatchback.
“Why? It’s real simple. He runs an underground fight club operation, runs drugs, and is a murderer. I’ll only tell you about the last one, because if you cops do your job, it’ll be enough to put him away for a long time.
He paused and flinched as he tried to adjust himself before proceeding. Once he was comfortable, he cleared his throat.
“About a month ago, Tim talked me into going with him to search someone’s house. He told me that a guy who lived there stole drugs from him. When we got there, an old lady was home. I thought we would run, but Tim just jumped on the lady and strangled her. When he finished, he didn’t even look for drugs. All he did was take a bottle of water from an open twelve-pack on her floor.
“That’s important, because when he got back into my car he took off his gloves, drank it, and threw it into the back of my car. It’s still in the floor back there. If my car isn’t too effed-up, you can probably get it and find his fingerprints. And the rope . . . the rope he used was his. I later saw some of the same kind in his trunk. Your detective skills can probably match that up, too.
“After that day, I threatened to tell, but he convinced me that I’d be an accessory and then he offered me more of his drugs. I was addicted by then and that’s all I cared about. A couple of days later, he convinced me to get a job at Healey’s. Said he wanted me close to Sophie Slone. She was some girl he wanted me to watch because he thought she killed his grandfather. That’s when I found out the lady he killed used to work there. You get the picture.
“Well, that’s all I’ve got, so hopefully you guys can put your heads together and catch a killer . . . because Tim Walters is one.”
With that, the screen went to a message asking me if I wanted to replay it.
The Iron Quill Page 4