by G. R. Lyons
“You're both crazy,” he murmured, throwing his hands up.
“Graeden–”
“Granddad is nothing but a doddering old man who is losing his mind!” Graeden shouted. “Why can't you see that?”
Saira stared back at him, eyes wide and lips parted.
Graeden squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm sorry, Mother.” He sighed and looked up at the screen. “I need to go.”
Saira looked down, nodded, and the video feed cut off.
Graeden closed the screen on the dash, returning it to the navigation display, and leaned back in the seat with a sigh.
Gods, I might have to take up drinking again.
Ignoring his work, Graeden closed his eyes and meditated his way into a short nap, quieting his mind until he fell asleep while the car continued its journey home. He woke as soon as the car pulled into his assigned parking spot in the garage below University Hospital and powered down to idle. Rubbing his eyes, he shut off the car, grabbed his tablet, and headed for the elevator, looking forward to a hot shower and a few hours of sleep.
Graeden pressed the button for the top floor, and the elevator moved up through the building without stopping, passing the underground morgue, the hospital levels, the office floor, and finally the residential levels. He faced the elevator doors, keeping his back to the glass wall that afforded a view to the outside, interested in nothing more than getting home.
As soon as he got within a few feet of his apartment door, it triggered a biometric scan that identified him and unlocked the door, allowing him to push it open and step inside without hesitation. He shut the door behind him, hearing it automatically lock, and leaned back against it.
The apartment was blessedly quiet, one large room from end to end, with only the washroom closed off from the rest. A sunken living room dominated the center of the space, with low-backed modern sofas on either side of a glass coffee table. Beyond the living room was a glimmering stainless steel kitchen, and to the right of the room was a raised platform on which sat a low bed with plain white sheets and only two pillows. No art adorned the walls, and no knickknacks covered the tables. The only other furniture in the space was a desk similar to the one he had down in his office. It sat near a wall of windows that made up the opposite end of the apartment from the bed, the windows affording an expansive view of the city, though the curtains were almost always drawn.
Graeden smiled at the sight of no clutter, clean lines, and plenty of room to move around. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose in preparation for a relaxing sigh.
Instead, he held the breath, trying to make sense of the floral scent in the air, and opened his eyes to find his girlfriend, Iora, stepping out of the washroom with a perfume bottle in hand.
“Oh. You're home.”
She ducked back into the washroom and appeared again, holding lipstick instead of perfume. She leaned against the doorway, all long legs and flat belly and no curves, wearing a lacy red bra and matching thong underwear. Her blonde hair was trimmed short, her bangs swept to one side, almost covering one eye.
“What took you so long?” she asked.
Graeden crossed the living room to his desk and set down his tablet as he answered, “I was out at Granddad's.”
“Ah. Did you eat?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Coming to bed?”
“In a minute.”
Iora finished with her lipstick and stretched out on the bed, her perfect salon tan a stark contrast to the white sheets beneath her. Graeden went into the washroom and undressed, shoving aside makeup bags and hair products that already littered the counter, even though Iora had probably only come over for the night. Grumbling under his breath, Graeden dumped his clothes in a hamper in the walk-in closet attached to the washroom and locked the door, taking a deep, relaxing breath now that he had a few moments to himself.
Closing his eyes, he went through a few quick stretches before running through a series of push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and planks, working off the stress of the day. He pushed out of a plank and up into Downward Dog, holding the stretch until his arms and legs trembled, then eased back out of it and slowly straightened up.
Feeling more relaxed, Graeden took a hot shower, then pulled on t-shirt and boxer shorts and headed for the kitchen.
“Get you anything?” he called over his shoulder.
Iora shook her head and stood up, coming around to the end of the bed while he got a glass of water.
“The company is sending me to a seminar in Briston,” she said, unclasping her bra and dropping it on the floor. “I'll be gone about a week.”
Graeden shrugged and set down his glass, taking his shirt back off and tossing it aside. “Alright.”
“Did you hear the new restaurant on 28th is finally opening?” she asked, slipping her underwear down her legs.
“No, I hadn't.” Graeden stepped out of his shorts and dropped them on top of his shirt on the floor.
“Apparently, the owner died while they were setting up the place and he had no Will, so the kids had this huge dramatic meltdown.”
“Hmmm.”
Graeden sat down on the bed and Iora straddled his lap, immediately lowering herself onto him without kiss or foreplay. She draped her arms over his shoulders while he held her by the hips, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the scent of powders and paints that covered her face.
Iora let out a small gasp as her orgasm hit, and Graeden tightened his grip on her as he reached his own a moment later. After waiting a few seconds to enjoy the sensation, Iora climbed off of him and stretched out on the bed while Graeden picked up his clothes and dressed again.
When he turned around, he found Iora with a cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other.
“How many times have I told you not to do that in here?” he asked, ripping the cigarette out of her hand.
“What?” she spat, propping herself up on her elbows. “I like it.”
“I don't care if you like it. You won't be doing that in my apartment.”
“I can do what I want.”
“Not while you're on my property, you can't,” he said, and saw her reach for her purse on the nightstand, pulling out another. “Don't you dare.”
Iora rolled her eyes and thrust both pack and lighter back into her purse.
Graeden muttered a curse under his breath and picked up her underwear, tossing them at her as he said, “If you're going to burn your lungs out, go do it in your own home.”
Iora sighed. “Can't you ever stop being a doctor for two fucking seconds?”
“It's not about that,” he said, then added, “It's not entirely about that. The point is: You won't be doing that here, in my apartment. My property, my rules. You ought to know better. Your entire job revolves around mediating contracts and property rights, for the gods' sakes.”
“Alright,” she said, holding up both hands. “Bloody hells, Grae, just lay off, would you?”
Graeden sighed, touched a control panel on the wall that killed most of the lights in the apartment, and climbed into bed, rolling over onto his side and closing his eyes. A moment later, he felt Iora stretch out beside him and shut off the lights over the bed.
He was asleep in moments, meditating himself into oblivion, and didn't wake again until his alarm went off the next morning. Graeden rubbed his eyes and shut off the alarm, breathing a sigh of relief that his usual nightmares hadn't haunted his sleep.
He looked up and saw Iora in the washroom, leaning toward the mirror while she put on a fresh application of eye color. He watched her for a moment, trying to feel something—anything—as he looked at her half-naked body, but couldn't seem to dredge up any emotion whatsoever. Iora really wasn't his type in the least, but she was completely different from what he'd had before, and for now, that was enough.
Stopping that train of thought before it could lead him down darker roads, Graeden got out of bed and padded over to the kitchen, bolting down a bowl of cereal while he waited for Iora
to finish in the washroom. When she was finally done, she waved goodbye to him and let herself out, leaving Graeden to finish his morning routine in blessed peace and solitude.
Dressed and ready, Graeden went over to his desk to grab his tablet, studiously keeping his eyes away from the wall above his desk where a painting had once hung, the outline still just slightly visible where the paint on the wall had faded just noticeably around it. Holding his breath, he hurried away from his desk and walked out the door, hearing it lock itself behind him as he strode to the elevator. Down in his office, he checked his schedule, looking over the surgeries and appointments he had, hoping the morning would go by quickly so he could get to his most important event of the day.
* * *
GRAEDEN FINISHED the stitches and carefully bandaged the stumps where two fingers had been. He glanced up at his patient, who was sitting very still in the chair and studiously avoiding looking at his hand while tears of grief streamed down his face.
“That should do it, Mr. Stromos,” Graeden said, setting aside his instruments. “You'll want to change the bandages regularly, and keep the area clean. The stitches will eventually dissolve on their own, so you won't have to come back to have them removed.” He paused. “Mr. Stromos, did you hear me?”
The man's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
“Very well.” Graeden snapped off his gloves and tossed them into the biohazard bin. He looked at a nurse and nodded toward the patient. “Would you?”
The nurse nodded and took over giving the patient instructions and finalizing his paperwork, and Graeden hurried off to clean himself up for his morning rounds. Once those were done, he rushed up to his office, logged new data into his patient files, left his white coat and stethoscope draped over his chair, and rushed out the door again.
“Oh, Dr. Crawford!”
He lurched to a stop at the secretary's desk, his hands tightening into fists as he turned to face her.
“Dr. Ker is on the phone,” she said. “He'd like to know if you could join him for lunch and go over some lab reports with him.”
“Ask him if it can wait, please?” Graeden said, sidestepping toward the hallway. “I really must be going.”
“But he said he really needs your help with–”
“And I'll help him later if I have time. Right now, I must be going.”
“Dr. Crawford–”
“Bela,” he bit off, “I've told you time and again. I am not to be disturbed or interrupted or otherwise made to miss my lunch appointment. Unless the hospital is burning down around us, it can wait. I won't say it again.”
The secretary flinched.
“Look,” he sighed. “I'm sorry. I just…I can't miss this.”
She nodded. “Yes, Dr. Crawford. I'll let him know.”
“Thank you.”
He spun on his heel and ran for the elevator, riding up one floor. He got out of the car, glanced around, and strode down the long hallway to the door at the end, glancing around furtively as he let himself into the stairwell, and raced up two more floors.
Graeden opened the door on that landing and peeked out before stepping into the hallway, keeping his head down as he hurried toward apartment 607. He knocked on the door, keeping very still as he glanced to either side while he waited.
The door opened, and a middle-aged woman stood there, giving him a welcoming smile.
“Hello, Graeden.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Newar.”
Mrs. Newar stood aside and held out her arm. “Come in. We're all ready for you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Newar,” he said, stepping inside and pressing her hand, feeling the weight of the world lift from his shoulders as the door shut behind him.
Chapter 4
TWO HOURS later, Graeden stepped back out of the apartment, giving Mrs. Newar a parting nod as he forced himself away. The farther he got, the more his smile faded, and once he was back in his office, it was all he could do to get his mind back on his work.
He checked his schedule again, noting a surgery that was slated for that afternoon, and pulled up the patient's file, reviewing all the particulars to prepare himself. After reading the information for the third time, he thrust the file aside, shaking himself, trying to get the emptiness he felt under control.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, quieting his mind, and straightened up in his chair. Once he was sufficiently calm, he opened his eyes and looked back down at the screen, but something on the corner of his desk caught his eye.
Graeden reached out slowly, picking up the letter he'd tossed aside the day before and forgotten about since. He flipped it over, found a folded note attached, and ripped it off. The envelope had clearly already been opened, and was vaguely addressed to Hospital with no other writing visible.
He unfolded the note and adjusted his glasses as he read:
Graeden,
This was picked up near the Tanasian Gate over in Divinity Square. Let me know if you'll consider this expedition. Considering your heritage, I thought you'd like to be on the team.
Harel Bokin
Graeden read the hospital owner's note twice, puzzled as to the meaning, and finally set it aside and pulled out the letter stuffed into the envelope. The page was filled on both sides with a cramped scrawl that was worse than any doctor's handwriting he'd ever seen. Squinting and holding the page close, he read:
To whomever finds himself in possession of this note:
We, the undersigned members of the Council of Elders on the Isle of Tanas, do hereby request the immediate assistance of a team of Agori doctors for the purpose of investigation into a troubling matter that our own doctors have proved incapable of solving. We will temporarily lift the ban on travel to our Isle via the Gate through which this note will be passed, thus allowing access to our capitol for those doctors who are willing to heed our summons. No other visitors will be permitted under any circumstances.
The letter ran on, an excess of words outlining what food and lodging would be provided, what access to different sectors of the city would be permitted, and what strange malady they would be attempting to treat, though the latter was described in such vague terms as to leave Graeden feeling slightly unsettled.
Near the end, the letter requested an immediate response, reading more like a demand, as a particular date and time was given that the Elders would be ready to receive their visitors.
Graeden scoffed at the letter and tossed it aside, then read Bokin's note again.
“My heritage, indeed.”
Stuffing both the note and the letter into the envelope, Graeden strode out to the secretary's desk and tossed it into her inbox.
“Send that back to Mr. Bokin,” he ordered, pointing at it. “Tell him I'm not interested.”
“Yes, Dr. Crawford,” she said, picking up the envelope as he walked away.
“An expedition to Tanas,” he muttered under his breath. “What in the gods' names could I possibly want to do with that Isle?”
Graeden slammed his office door shut, went around to his desk, and slumped down into his chair. He unlocked his computer with a biometric scan and tilted up the screen, greeted by a flashing icon that reminded him he had bills coming due.
“Not like I could leave anyway,” he thought aloud, slowly reaching out and touching the icon.
He input two more passcodes, opening up his secure personal files, and stared at the two items that needed to be paid, though he knew perfectly well what they were. The first one, to Mrs. Newar, was easy enough to process, but the second, to the hospital itself, required some deep breathing to calm himself first.
Clenching his jaw, he rapidly typed in instructions, bouncing funds through an encrypted, anonymous account, and waited a few seconds for confirmation the money had been delivered to the proper places.
Graeden took a deep breath and reached out to close the screen when he saw he had an incoming call on his personal line, not routed through the hospital secretary. He tapped the icon, and th
e video feed popped up, showing a man standing at the door to Graeden's apartment, his arm extended as he was holding out his mobile phone.
“Hello, Serg,” Graeden greeted.
“Hello, Dr. Crawford,” the man said. “I've got your dry cleaning and your food delivery for the week.”
“Thank you, Serg. One moment.”
Graeden pulled his own mobile phone out of his coat pocket and logged in to a program that gave him remote access to his apartment's security system. He typed in a remote unlock code and watched on the video feed from Serg's mobile as the apartment door opened.
Serg set his mobile propped up on a small table against the wall right next to the door, and rolled a cart into the apartment. Graeden shifted the video feed aside, only glancing at it occasionally while he opened up patient files on another portion of his screen. He saw the man carry the dry cleaning into the washroom, where it was hung in the closet, then return to pull prepackaged, frozen meals out of an insulated container and stack them in the freezer. When he was finished, the man closed up his cart, picked up his mobile, and walked out the door, showing Graeden that the door locked back in place before he left.
“All set, Dr. Crawford,” he said.
“Thank you, Serg,” Graeden said, and pushed aside his patient files, pulling over his finances screen since it was still open. He typed in a rapid instruction and closed it. “There. Payment coming to you now.”
Through the video feed, Graeden heard the man's phone sound a chime. “Received. Thank you, sir. See you next week.”
Graeden nodded and ended the call, closing the window for the video feed. He closed and secured his personal files, forcing his eyes away from the recent transactions as the window returned to an icon.
He took another deep breath, made sure no other windows were running in the background, and turned his attention back to his patient files.
“Definitely not going to Tanas,” he muttered under his breath, spreading out one patient's lab records and surgical reports so that they intentionally overlapped and covered his entire screen, particularly hiding the icon for his finances. “Not a bloody chance.”