The Commandment

by Kittrell, Anna;

  “Would you like a sedative?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t like taking medication.” She glanced down at what was left of the tissue. Little more than a pile of dust in her palm.

  Lukas reached for the wastepaper basket and slid it in front of her. “The sedatives I’m offering are very mild. You won’t even realize you’ve taken them. Tomorrow morning you’ll wake up refreshed and energized, with a lot less anxiety.”

  “No, thank you.” She dusted her hands together over the trashcan. “Lukas—can’t you just do it? Give me the abstergent and be done with it? I can’t stand living this way anymore. Unable to interact with the kids that I love, or to fulfill my passion to help them. Living as a shut in, having no contact with the rest of the world. And the guilt—I can’t cope with the guilt. There’s a tug of war going on inside me, and I’m ready to throw down the rope. Can you do it tomorrow, Lukas? Please? I’m prepared for the next step.”

  Tears flowed down her face, dripping to her light-blue bathrobe, turning the fabric a darker shade that matched her eyes. He pulled another tissue from the box and handed it to her, aware it would soon be minced to powder. “What about some tea?”

  She blew her nose and nodded weakly. “Tea sounds fine.”

  “Good.” He rose from the chair and slid it under the desk. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  She nodded again and offered the saddest excuse for a smile he’d ever witnessed.

  Lukas closed the door behind him and hurried down the hallway to the kitchen.

  Reid stood at the double sink, dousing a glass of ice cubes with water.

  “Excuse me,” he said, opening a cupboard door beside her leg and retrieving the teakettle.

  “Tea at this hour? The caffeine will keep you awake.” She swirled the ice in her glass and took a long drink.

  “It’s not for me. It’s for Briar.” He set the kettle on the stovetop and turned the dial.

  “Ah.” Reid clinked the glass to the countertop and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “She was pretty high strung today during her exam. The only vital I logged was her pulse, and I practically had to fight her for that.”

  “Glad you brought that up. We need to talk.” He opened a high cupboard and reached for his favorite red mug. He tore a paper towel from the roll, polishing the cup as he leaned against the counter.

  “Bringing out the good china.” Reid smirked. “Styrofoam might upset her fragile sensibilities.”

  Lukas tightened his grip on the ceramic handle, pointing the mug toward her. “That’s exactly what I want to talk about.”

  She cocked an eyebrow.

  “You always have something snide to say about her. It’s bad enough she’s been shipped a thousand-plus miles from home to be a test subject in a scientific lab that’s operated by total strangers. But that’s not quite torturous enough. You have to make her life as miserable as possible.” He set the mug solidly on the counter and extinguished the heat under the kettle. “A specific type of depression exists with Briar’s condition. When she thinks of what the future holds, the Agathus generates feelings of hopelessness and loss. It’s like a built-in emotional defense mechanism. The sensations are very strong, and comparable to grief.”

  Reid opened one of the matching canisters on the countertop and retrieved a teabag. “Are you saying she is in—mourning?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  Reid placed the bag into the mug. “Poor girl.” Her voice softened as Lukas poured the bubbling water. “I had no idea.”

  Was she being sarcastic? Wasn’t she always? He gave her a quick glance before setting the kettle in the sink. Head down, gaze on the floor. If so, she was hiding it well.

  “Your cutting remarks and general rudeness toward Briar aren’t helping matters. Your behavior certainly isn’t advancing the clinical process. Oppositely, the hostile environment you’ve created is hindering progress.”

  That should do it. If she came unhinged, it would be now. No way could she fake a calm demeanor following that speech. Not the Reid he knew.

  “I—I don’t know what to say.” Reid dragged her sad gaze to his. “This is hard for me to admit, but I’ve been a little jealous of Briar. Before she came along, I received much more attention around here. More attention from you.” She swallowed, her eyes never leaving Lukas’s. “Now I fade into the woodwork.”

  He glanced over her perfectly styled blonde hair, made-up eyes, bright pink scrubs and matching lipstick. No woodwork in the world could camouflage that.

  “Today in the exam room—well, to tell you the truth, I was embarrassed. Briar was distracted. She kept snickering, so I asked what was funny. She said she was thinking about something you’d said earlier, but I knew that wasn’t the truth. She was thinking about the incident with Roxy. Stupid dog. Do you think I enjoyed watching Derby pry my underwear from that beast’s mouth?” Reid inhaled through flared nostrils. “It was humiliating. When Briar laughed about it, I guess I lost my temper.” She widened her eyes and stood up straight. “Should I go and apologize? Would that make her feel better?” She took a step toward the door.

  Lukas touched her shoulder. “Not tonight. It’s a nice gesture, but she’s pretty distraught. I’ll take her the tea and hope it calms her nerves. A good night’s sleep would do her a world of good.”

  “Maybe you should suggest a sedative. Something to take the edge off, so she can rest.”

  He shook his head. “I offered. She isn’t comfortable with the idea of taking anything that makes her sleep.”

  “What about an anti-anxiety compound? Not enough to knock her out. A light dose to loosen her up so that she can fall asleep.”

  Lukas frowned and bobbed the teabag inside the red mug.

  “Look, I hate that I’ve contributed to Briar’s misery. I’ll do my best to make things right, starting tomorrow. Would you please give the poor girl something to help her rest? I can’t stand the idea of her lying awake all night because of my inexcusable behavior. That thought will keep me from sleeping. Then you’ll have two insomniacs on your hands.”

  He held the dripping bag above the cup for a moment and walked it to the trashcan. “She really needs the rest. We have an early testing session.”

  Reid nodded. “I’ll bring her breakfast in bed first thing in the morning. Fruit, toast, and coffee with a heartfelt apology on the side.” She placed a hand on her chest.

  “A mild sedative,” Lukas said, picking up the mug.

  “A few sprinkles in her tea. She’ll never know the difference.” Reid touched his elbow. “It’s for her own good.”

  “I’ll go and prepare the compound.” Lukas fished the key to the pharmaceutical closet from his pocket as he left the kitchen.

  10

  “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.” Reid’s voice, dripping with artificial sweetener, roused Briar from a dead sleep. She clattered something onto the nightstand and tapped Briar on the cheek. “Briar—that really was the name of the princess in the story, wasn’t it? Sleeping Beauty’s name was Briar Rose. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before.” More clattering. “You share the same name as a princess whose only responsibility was to look pretty and get plenty of rest. Fitting.” She tapped Briar’s other cheek, harder than the first.

  “What time is it?” Briar asked, lifting her head from the pillow and letting it fall back down. Her skull was made of solid lead. “I feel like I’ve only been sleeping a few minutes.”

  “It’s almost noon. I tried waking you earlier, but you were dead to the world. Now sit up and eat your breakfast. Fruit, toast, juice, and coffee. I threw away the first tray and made fresh.”

  “Noon?” Briar shot straight up into a sitting position and wrapped a hand around her forehead. “Ugh. My head.” The room spun. She closed her eyes to get her bearings.

  “Hangover?” Reid chuckled. “I’m not surprised, with the amount of sedative you ingested. I told Lukas you were a lightweight, but he insisted you could handle
it.”

  “Sedative? What are you talking about?”

  “Last night. Lukas slipped a sedative into your tea. Nothing harmful, just something to curb your anxiety and help you sleep.”

  “I don’t believe you. I told Lukas I didn’t want any drugs. I made myself clear.”

  Reid was lying, she had to be. Lukas respected her. He would never…

  “It was for your own good. He was blathering on about your being in mourning because a portion of your brain will soon die, and how isolated you are here at the lab.” She lifted the tray and sighed. “What I’d give for a little isolation.”

  Sharp tears pricked the corners of Briar’s eyes. He’d told Reid about her emotional state. Her private fears. She’d never been so betrayed—not even when her father killed himself. Dad hadn’t been thinking clearly. His final decision was made in a pressurized cloud of depression. Last night Lukas was expressive and alert. He’d known exactly what he was doing.

  Reid tried to set the breakfast tray over Briar’s lap. Briar brought both knees up and blocked the tray, ignoring Reid’s growled explicative.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Lukas wants you to eat before starting your testing session. You’re already hours behind.” She forced the tray over Briar’s knees.

  Briar straightened her legs with a jerk, rattling the dishes.

  “Knock it off. You nearly spilled your juice.”

  “Take it away. I said I’m not hungry.” Briar clamped her mouth shut. She wouldn’t say another word. She couldn’t. If she tried, the sobs would take over. She’d explode before she’d let Reid see her cry.

  “I had nothing to do with it. Slipping you that sedative was all Lukas’s idea.” She marched to the small wastepaper basket and dumped the tray, dishes and all. A piece of toast landed butter-side-down on the tile. “Starve, for all I care.” The tray banged against the doorframe as she left, slamming the door behind her.

  Briar stared at the soggy toast on the floor until her vision blurred. She dragged the pillow to her lap, buried her face, and sobbed.

  ~*~

  Briar guessed the silence would have been awkward, had she not been so angry. The testing session seemed to drag on forever, and she’d managed to stay silent the entire time. Now she was paying for it. She opened her mouth wide and massaged the areas under her ears. Her jaws ached from gritting her teeth and her stomach gurgled, filled with the bitter words she’d continually swallowed.

  “You seem tense.” Lukas glanced up, his fingers still tapping away at the flexpane in front of him.

  Briar slammed her mouth shut, refusing to wince at the pain.

  “Sleep OK last night?”

  He did not ask her that question. Angry words charged from the holding tank of her stomach and raced up her throat. Let them come.

  “Like a rock. Same as any other woman who’s had a roofie slipped into her drink at a party, I suppose.”

  The tapping stopped. Lukas blinked at her over the opalescent screen.

  She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I-I’m glad you rested well.”

  He lowered his shocked gaze to the flexpane and hammered the surface at what sounded like triple-speed.

  “Unbelievable.” She dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling.

  He didn’t respond. Chances were he hadn’t even heard her over the maddening tap of his fingers. She seriously doubted he was really typing words. Probably pounding random letters to fill the silence. Disheveled hair, perspiration on his brow—Lukas looked like some piano prodigy from an old-time movie banging out a symphony. Minus the music.

  Her blood simmered. Avoidance was not an option.

  “Lukas!” She hopped from the edge of the exam table, sticking a solid landing directly in front of him. It took all she had to resist snap-kicking the pane into his glistening forehead. Instead, she bent the screen downward. “Look at me.”

  He dragged his gaze up to hers, his brown eyes softer than usual.

  “Reid said you put a sedative in my tea last night.”

  “Reid? Since when do you listen to—”

  “True or false?”

  Lukas closed his eyes and drew a long breath. His slight Adam’s apple bobbed twice. “True,” he whispered, opening his eyes.

  Briar turned away, tears already spilling as she stepped toward the door.

  “You were so upset. You needed to rest. And the sedative was extremely mild—barely there at all.”

  She swiped the back of her hand across each cheek and turned to glare at him. “I slept until noon, Lukas. Noon. And you’re telling me the drugs you slipped into my tea were mild as mother’s milk? Give me a break.”

  “Drugs? Wait. No, Briar, it was nothing like that. You needed to rest. It was only a mild sedative. I would never—”

  “I told you no sedatives. No medication. I made myself clear.”

  Lukas nodded slowly, dropping his gaze. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  His apology should’ve made her feel better. It didn’t.

  “Actually, I’m glad this happened. I was starting to think of you as a friend. Now I realize what a gigantic mistake that would’ve been. From this point on, no more sharing interests, talking about emotions, or swapping childhood stories. Our relationship is strictly professional—although you’ve made it obvious you are, by no means, a professional.”

  His gaze snapped to hers. “Please, be reasonable. I meant you no harm. I was trying to help.” His focus turned to the baseboards. “As you’ve probably figured out by now, I don’t have many friends. And I would really love—” He winced. “Like to be your friend.”

  His voice was low and rough with emotion. She nearly caved. Instead, she swallowed and straightened her spine. “If you crave friendship, I’m sure your accomplice—oops, I meant to say, lab technician—will be happy to oblige. The two of you are so much alike, I’m surprised you aren’t finishing each other’s sentences by now.” She turned away, making it all the way to the door this time. Without looking back, she closed it behind her.

  ~*~

  Lukas sat on the little wheeled stool, flexpane on his knees, staring at the closed door.

  Why was the place so cold? The exam room felt like a meat locker—or how he imagined one would feel when there were such things. He blew out a breath, half expecting a white plume of smoke to escape. He ran a hand across his slick forehead and grimaced. Clammy. That explained it. He was in shock.

  And with good reason. Briar accused him of slipping a—what had she called it? A rudy? A roofie? Lukas rubbed his temple. He was the doctor, for goodness sake. He should know drug-slang better than a girl who’d been under house arrest for most of her life. A rookie?

  “Does the name really matter?” Lukas demanded from the empty room. He stood and slapped the pane to the counter. “Whatever the street name, it’s a date rape drug, OK? Some type of amnesia-invoking muscle relaxant from the benzodiazepine family, I presume.” He rolled his eyes. “And she strongly suggested—make that obstinately insisted—that I slipped it into her tea!”

  He paced the white tile, inhaling and exhaling out of flared nostrils. A traitor. That’s what she’d made him feel like. A schemer. An opportunist. “Some kind of pervert,” he muttered.

  She’d been so anxious last night. So, distraught. He’d only been trying to help her get a little rest. How could she think he would intentionally harm her?

  You betrayed her trust, Dr. Tactless.

  It was such a small amount—he never dreamed there’d be adverse effects.

  Lukas stopped pacing. He pressed his forehead to the wall and gave the drywall a few soft bangs. How could he be so careless? So, stupid? Not only had he betrayed Briar’s trust on a personal level—an atrocity in its own right—he had threatened, quite possibly destroyed, the integrity of the doctor-patient relationship. Inexcusable.

  He wanted to blame Reid. With everything he had, he wished the whole thing had been her fault. Anybo
dy’s fault but his. But that wasn’t the truth. To say Reid was responsible for what he’d done to Briar was to say he was incapable of making his own decisions—that he was without the ability to say no. For Lukas to believe that about himself, or to have anyone else believe it, would be worse than death. He was a scientist. A doctor. He lived to improve the lives of others. It was his passion. A doctor unable to make his own decisions wasn’t a doctor—or a man—at all.

  Lukas walked to the door. He had to make things right. But how? By talking to her?

  He pictured Briar as she’d looked the night before; hands shaking, chest hitching, tear-filled gaze and trembling lips tugging toward the floor. Overwhelmed with stress and anxiety, she’d begged him to give her the abstergent and put her out of her misery. He hated himself for adding to her pain.

  Maybe she was right. He should give her the abstergent and be done with it. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit the antidote was as perfect as it ever would be. He was killing time, putting off the inevitable. Because…why? He wasn’t exactly sure, but it felt a lot like dread. It wasn’t that he was afraid of his own serum. His formula was failsafe, and his research sound. All he knew was that something inside of him shrank at the thought of inserting that needle into Briar’s brain.

  What had he gotten himself into? Behaving like some junior high kid, nervous because he’d been assigned a pretty lab partner. Pathetic. He didn’t have time for emotions, or hormones, or whatever ridiculousness this was. He must take care of things. Concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing in the first place—his job. Briar was unlevel. Unresponsive to SAP. To be injected with the abstergent was the reason she was there.

  “The only reason.” He exited the exam room, leaving his foolishness behind.

  11

  “Who is it?” Briar glared at the closed door. If Lukas knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t be the one knocking.

  “It’s Derby, Miss Briar.”

  She turned to the nightstand, setting down the ink pen she’d been using to scratch the skin under her ankle monitor. Stupid shackle itched like crazy sometimes. “Come on in.” She pulled herself upright and slid her legs over the edge of the bed.