“The good part?” I say, getting up and punching Jesse in the arm. “No skipping.”
Jesse doesn’t acknowledge the punch or lift his eyes from the screen. “You ever hear of Cliff Notes? We don’t have all night. Listen to this: ‘Navarro stopped playing basketball and dropped out of school. So what went wrong?’”
“Seriously?” I ask. “What went wrong? That’s the good part? He turned into a psychopathic drug dealer. That’s what went wrong.”
“Nah,” Jesse says. “This is the good part: ‘Two DWIs and a charge of assault led to Navarro’s arrest. That’s when Dr. Steven Glass, a renowned scientist and Navarro’s uncle, came to his aid. “I helped Victor get his life under control,” Dr. Glass explains. “I paid his bail and found him a job as an apprentice with a pest control company. Victor did so well, he eventually started his own business. We’re family. We stick together. We watch each other’s backs.” Navarro claims he owes his life and everything he has to his uncle.’”
“So the Rat Catcher’s working for Glass!” I utter as my brain cells go manic, and the connections start to fire. He must’ve messed with my car brakes. Then he came to school, planted the pot, and called in the tip. But it wasn’t because he’s a drug dealer. It was to scare me off the clinical trial. He’s doing his uncle’s dirty work.”
“But why? What dirty work?” Anj asks.
“I don’t know, but we have three piles of papers from Dr. Wydner, and I’m guessing the answer’s in there somewhere.” I dart to the bed, the chemical cocktail of my brain turning me into a Wonder Woman taskmaster, and grab my pile. “Let’s get busy.”
I’ve just turned over the first paper when Jesse interrupts me for the second time.
“I think you’d better check out this one yourself,” he tells me.
I take the paper he hands me and angle it toward the light. There’s a picture of my mother, her skin pockmarked and pale, her blue eyes bloodshot, clipped to a page that says Patient #A1.
“‘Female. Caucasian,’” I read, my energetic supercharge slamming to a halt. “‘Thirty-seven years of age. Extensive background of heroin abuse. Treatment history: August 1st RNA 120 first dose.’” I reach for the lighter, but of course it’s not there.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” Jesse asks, pulling the Zippo from my pile of clothes crumpled on the floor and bringing it to me.
I take the lighter and nod. I try to continue reading, but my voice cracks and I can’t go on.
“Here, let me.” Anj pries the paper from my hand. “‘August 8th RNA 120 second treatment. August 15th RNA 120 third treatment.’” She reads a bunch of dates listing Mom’s treatment history with RNA 120, and then says, “‘September 12th PL44 first treatment.’”
“PL44? What’s that?” I grab the paper again and scan the notes about Mom’s vitals, her physical and mental condition at the time of each treatment—nowhere does it explain what PL44 is. “‘September 19th PL44 second treatment,’” I read. “‘Results of drug test indicate patient is no longer using heroin.’”
Tears prick my eyes. I see her smile, hear the words again: I’m clean. It’s going to be okay. I clear my throat and continue. “‘September 26th PL44 third treatment. October 3rd PL44 fourth treatment, appearance of facial scabs and lesions. Wheezing. Patient appears distressed. Complains of chest pains upon breathing.’”
I glance up at Jesse. He’s stopped fidgeting with the other papers in his pile, and his eyes encourage me to keep reading. “‘October 10th patient misses treatment. October 17th patient comes for treatment with a man identified as Victor Navarro. Patient appears agitated and frightened.’” I stop reading and drop the paper to my lap. “October seventeenth—that’s the day Mom died. The day the Rat Catcher came to our apartment and we first saw each other. He told her she had a debt to pay.…I thought it was about money or drugs, but…” I don’t finish the thought.
Jesse finishes it for me. “But maybe the debt had something to do with the clinical trial. Like maybe Glass wanted to make sure your mom didn’t miss another treatment, so he had Mr. Douchebag bring her in himself.”
“So why would Mr. Douchebag or the Rat Catcher or the beast or whatever you call him, do that?” Anj asks.
Jesse holds up another paper he’s pulled from his pile. “Maybe it has to do with this.”
I curl a pillow against my chest. “What is it?”
“Your mother’s registration for the trial. Check it out.”
I take the document and look at Mom’s signature written at the bottom of the page in her bubbly cursive. “Okay, and?”
“Read the last line.”
I skim the rows of small print details, details you’d need about five years to understand, and read the last clause. “‘Patient agrees not to miss any appointments in their course of treatment.’”
Anj looks at Jesse. “So you think the debt he was talking about was because Faith’s mother missed a treatment?”
“Could be, right?” Jesse says, lifting his eyebrows. “I mean it makes sense. The notes say she skipped a week.”
“But what difference would that make?” Anj asks, looking from Jesse to me.
“Dr. Monroe said RNA 120 had to be given weekly to work,” I say, remembering my first conversation with the professor. “Glass probably wanted to make sure everyone followed the right protocol, so he didn’t mess up his data.” Even as I say this I feel certain it’s not the truth. Dr. Wydner’s notes say Mom appeared agitated and frightened the day she died. She didn’t want to get the treatment. Navarro made her go. She knew something; like that the drug was making her sick—or worse.
“Let’s see what else Doc gave you,” Jesse says. “Maybe there’s something about Melinda.”
We search our stacks until Jesse holds up a picture of Melinda clipped to another page of notes. “Bingo! ‘Patient #A2. Female. Hispanic. Twenty-six years of age. August 1st RNA 120, first treatment.’” He skips the descriptive details about her condition and focuses on the treatment history. “‘August 8th RNA 120, second treatment.’ It’s the same as your mother’s,” he says, peering at me. “Whatever that PL44 thing is, Melinda was getting it, too, but she didn’t start getting it until November.”
Top-forty sing-along pop drifts in from down the hall, but I don’t mind the boy band’s auto-tuned crooning about true love. The music is a floatation vest. It keeps me from drowning in the murky waters of clinical trials, hired thugs, and my mother’s death.
“Check this out,” Jesse goes on, ignoring the music while Anj scowls at the door. “It says Melinda missed a treatment on November 28th, and on November 30th, a Saturday, Glass called Wydner into the clinic and ordered him to give Melinda her treatment. Victor Navarro accompanied her. ‘Patient seemed agitated and at first refused treatment. After a conversation with Navarro, patient consented.’” Jesse puts down the paper and we look at each other.
“November 30th,” I say. “That’s almost two weeks ago. The day we saw him at Melinda’s.”
“Yep, looks like Melinda had a treatment debt to pay, too.”
I pick up the grainy, black-and-white shot of Navarro again. As the song ends and a new one that sounds mostly the same begins, I drift back to the day Mom died.
“The night when I found Mom dead, I ran out for help,” I say, battling a new round of tears. “Navarro must’ve been hanging around waiting for his chance. He must’ve seen the paramedics leave, slipped into our apartment, and planted the heroin to cover Glass’ tracks. Glass counted on the police to see the heroin, and see her, and let their stereotypical little minds do the rest. Well, it worked. The case was closed before it was ever opened.”
The story fuels my rage. I jump to my feet and start to pace, stomp is more like it, although it’s hard to actually stomp on a carpet that feels like a pillow.
“Wait a minute,” Anj says as I stomp past her. �
�Didn’t you say there was a fund for dependents?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Then I don’t get it. I mean at first the clinical trial people didn’t think your mom had a kid, but before you said the Rat Catcher found out about you the day your mom died. He would’ve told Glass about you. So why didn’t Glass tell you about the money then?”
“Because there is no money,” I say, stopping in front of the bay window and turning to the bed where Anj is propped against a set of pink pillows. “There is no fund. They made that up to buy me off. Don’t you see? Glass is covering up something about the drug. The day you and I went to the clinic, Glass was coming into Dr. Wydner’s office when I left. Wydner must’ve told Glass who I was, so Glass got his thug-drop-out-loser nephew to get me to stop asking questions. But just in case Navarro couldn’t intimidate me, Glass invented this bullshit fund to buy me off and get me to shut up.”
“But how do you know the fund was bullshit?” Anj insists. “Maybe it was real.”
“There’s one way to find out.” Jesse’s back on the computer in half a second. He links again to the PluraGen website and brings up a section called Compensation to Human Research Subjects in Clinical Trials.
We read every clause, every situation that could possibly involve compensation: Medical Care for Physical Illness or Injury, Out-of-Pocket Expenses, Compensation for Time and Effort. Nowhere does the website mention a compensation fund for dependents.
Jesse gives a long, slow whistle and a look of amazement crosses his face. “Looks like Faith’s right. The compensation fund for dependents is a scam. We’ll give you money if you keep your mouth shut. Man, the Kennedy assassination conspiracy doesn’t have anything on this.”
I go to the bed and grab another paper with a new patient’s treatment history. This one has something called PL45 listed in the notes. “Okay, look, there’s still a ton to figure out. We have to go through all this stuff if we’re going to understand what’s going on. And we can’t read through every single page together. That’ll take too long. We have to sort through our own piles. Look for patterns and write them down. Can you guys handle it?” I glance at the silver wall clock hanging above Anj’s desk. “It’s pretty late. This could take a while.”
“Hel-lo,” Anj says. “It’s called caffeine. I’ll be right back.” She slips off the bed and leaves her room, returning a few minutes later holding three cans of Spyke. “350 milligrams of good ol’ caffeine for your all-night research pleasure. Ma’s secret stash. My parents will totally kill me if they find out. I’m not supposed to touch this stuff.”
I grab a can and pop the tab—caffeine and sugar, the legal drugs. It’s the first thing I’ve tried to swallow since the clinic. It hurts, but I force down the liquid. In about a minute my head is zinging. “Here’s the deal,” I say as the magic potion bubbles through my veins. “Obviously, not everyone was getting the same treatment. So, we look at the treatments each person was getting and write down what happened to them. We’ll compile everyone’s notes when we’re done.”
Anj bounds to her desk and brings us each a spiral notebook and pen then sets off on another mission to the kitchen for snacks. For the next few hours, we munch on Cool Ranch Doritos and Lucky Charms as we pour over medical records and make our notes. It’s midnight when finally we’ve gone through all the papers. Anj hands me her notes and collapses on the bed.
“Just closing my eyes for one teeny sec,” she says, yawning.
Jesse slides next to me and plays secretary, handing me notes, but soon his eyes droop shut and he’s crashed out, snoring next to Anj.
I sit with my back pressed against the wall, my feet stretched in front of me, the papers on my lap. The house is silent now. No music or television or voices drifting in from down the hall. Just me and the notes and a story to piece together. I study the notes, organizing the information into a table, so we can try to decipher what it all means. I’ve just finished the last column when Jesse opens his eyes and bolts up.
“Okay, man, I’m ready. Where do we start?”
“It’s all done, Sleeping Beauty. Check it out.”
I hand Jesse the papers and give Anj a gentle tap. She sits up, yawns, and looks over Jesse’s shoulder. We huddle as we study the data.
Patient
RNA 120
PL44
PL45
Notes
Outcome
A1
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22, 8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/17
9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/17
8/21 Stopped using heroin,
10/3 Severe wheezing, skin lesions
10/10 Missed treatment
10/17 Accompanied by RC
Death
A2
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22, 8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/ 31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/30
11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/30
8/21 Stopped using heroin
11/8 Wheezing, skin lesions
11/21 Missed treatment
11/30 Accompanied by RC
Death
A3
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22, 8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/ 31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
9/4 Stopped using heroin, clean
11/30 Wheezing, skin lesions, less severe
A4
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22, 8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/ 31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
10/24, 11/7, 11/21, 12/5
8/28 Stopped using heroin, clean
12/3 Wheezing and skin lesions
A5
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22, 8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/ 31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
10/3, 10/21, 11/14, 12/5
9/4 Stopped using heroin,
12/3 Wheezing and skin lesions
“‘Five people in group A,’” I say, reading out loud. “Each person started RNA 120 in August, then started PL44 in either October or November and received it in different time intervals, some got it every week, others got it every two or three weeks. The common denominator was that they got clean, then got wheezing and scabs.”
I finish reading and turn to the next page where all the patients are in a B group.
Patient
RNA 120
PL44
PL45
Notes
Outcome
B1
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22, 8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/ 31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28
10/24, 10/31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28
8/29 Stopped using heroin, clean
10/24 Wheezing, skin lesions,
relapse of heroin
11/14-11/28 Less wheezing and scabs clearing, not using
Symptoms in remission
B2
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22,
8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/ 31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/31, 11/7. 11/14. 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
110/31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
9/5 Stopped using heroin
10/31 Wheezing, skin lesions,
11/21 Less wheezing, skin lesions still present, but starting to clear
Symptoms in remission
B3
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22, 8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/ 31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
10/17, 10/24, 10/31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/28, 12/5
11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28
9/12 Stopped using heroin
11/7 Wheezing and skin lesions
12/5 No wheezing or skin lesions
Symptoms in remission
B4
8/1, 8/8, 8/15, 8/22, 8/29, 9/5, 9/12, 9/19, 9/26, 10/3, 10/10, 10/17, 10/24, 10/ 31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
10/24, 10/31, 11/7, 11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
11/14, 11/21, 11/28, 12/5
9/19 Stopped using heroin
11/14 First signs of wheezing and skin lesions
Death Spiral Page 24