by Anise Eden
I glanced sideways at Ben, expecting him to jump in with questions, but he was leaning back in his chair and looking bleary-eyed. It had been a long day for both of us, I guessed, but Ben usually preferred to be the point person in tricky conversations—and this one seemed to be getting tricky. How did Skeet know so much about us? Did Dr. MacGregor confide more in him than I’d imagined? Had she filled him in on our Saturday meeting with the researchers? Smiling, I asked Skeet, “How much has Dr. MacGregor told you about the Smithsonian study?”
Skeet leaned back in his chair as well. “She fills me in here and there. It sounds like they’re making great progress translating those kheir tablets.”
So he knew quite a bit, but probably not about our visit there. “I’m sorry, I’m just curious—how did you know that we had a double kheir?”
“Oh, I’m surprised they didn’t tell you,” Skeet said. “I walked in on Vani and Kai talking about it while they were planning a ritual last week—something to cure your paralysis, I believe. I wasn’t trying to be nosy, but we were all in pretty close quarters.” He smiled and shrugged. “Ben’s mother and I haven’t really had a chance to catch up since you joined the group, or I’m sure she would have told me. At any rate, I’m very excited for you. In our project, we have a couple of double kheirs. Now the trick is figuring out how to make the darn things work. Am I right, Ben?”
If Skeet didn’t know that we might be close to discovering how to activate the double kheir, I certainly wasn’t going to tell him. And why did he have a couple of double kheirs? What was his private project, exactly? I glued a smile on my face and looked over at Ben, expecting him to jump in with an incisive comment. But something was wrong. Ben’s jaw was slack, and he appeared to be struggling to stay alert. I put my hand on his arm and gently squeezed. “Ben?”
Thankfully, he rallied. “That’s right,” Ben said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table as if to balance himself. “That’s the trick—how to get the double kheir to work,” he said slowly, as though it was hard work to articulate clearly. “If we could figure that out, it would be a game changer.”
“Indeed. But let’s be honest, no one has any idea how long that will take, if we manage it at all. The timeline for decoding ancient rituals is maddeningly unpredictable, is it not?” Skeet smiled and clasped his hands behind his neck. “At any rate, with Team Forward—that’s the name of my project—we’re doing some unique work that I believe will interest you. Especially now that you’re going to be a part owner of Mercier, Cate. I mentioned yesterday that a couple of our NIMH research subjects are spending a few days here this week. They also happen to be members of Team Forward. They can tell you what we’re all about, on both fronts.”
“That’s great!” Desperately, I tried to open up my empathic senses so that I could figure out what was really going on with both Skeet and Ben. But when I focused on my heart, all I could feel was the hard edges of the lockbox into which I’d shoved all of my negative emotions. I couldn’t open myself up at all; it was as though my abilities had been shut away as well.
That settled it. I had no idea what was going on in the conversation with Skeet, but it felt like he was probing for information, and I didn’t like it. I also had no idea what was happening to Ben, but it was scaring me. He wasn’t giving me any indication that he was in distress, though, and if he was faking some kind of impairment as a strategic gambit with Skeet, I didn’t want to get in his way. I had to come up with an indirect way of asking Ben if he was okay.
All at once, it came to me. “Well, with a couple of double kheirs, it sounds like you and Team Forward have the best chance of figuring out how they work. Soon, we’ll all be turning to you for help.” Cheerfully, I added, “Ben, what was that line of Princess Leia’s in Star Wars?”
Ben’s head dropped to one side as though he was a marionette and a thread had been cut. I could tell he was making an effort to focus on my eyes. “‘Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi,’” he said.
“‘You’re my only hope,’ that’s right! That’s the quote.” My heart was in my throat, but I managed to smile brightly at Skeet. “You’ll be our Obi-Wan Kenobi!”
“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said, chuckling.
Skeet was acting as though everything was normal. I started to wonder if Ben’s altered state was obvious only to me—not that it mattered. He’d given the distress signal, and I had to get him out of there. “We really do look forward to hearing more about your project,” I said. “In the meantime, though, it’s been a long day. I think it’s time Ben and I called it a night.”
“Oh, no, don’t leave now,” Skeet objected. “We’re having such a great conversation. Why don’t I have the waiter bring some coffee?” He waved at the waiter.
“No,” I said with more force than I’d intended.
Skeet gave me a curious look.
“No, thank you,” I said, plastering another smile on my face. “I just think we need sleep rather than caffeine at this point.”
He frowned. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“I can’t convince you to stay? Tempt you with some dessert, perhaps?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“Well, perhaps Ben would like to stay a while—”
I stood up. “There are some things he and I need to go over before bed. About our clinic patients,” I added in an effort to sound convincing.
A current of irritation ran beneath Skeet’s expression. “I see. I suppose it has been a long day. I didn’t mean to push; I just enjoy your company tremendously.”
“The feeling is mutual!” I turned to Ben, who was barely able to get out of his chair under his own strength. “We’re so glad to be here. See you tomorrow,” I said as I positioned myself next to Ben, sliding in close so that he could put some of his weight on my shoulder. Then I put my arm around his waist.
Ben’s words were starting to slur. “Thank you for your hospitality, Skeet. We’ll have to continue this conversation later.”
Skeet stood as well and finally seemed to notice the trouble Ben was having. “Ben, are you all right?”
“Fine,” Ben said, “just tired. Need to do what Cate says and get some sleep.”
Skeet looked genuinely concerned. “If you’re sure, but we have a doctor on staff.”
I knew it would make me feel better if someone looked him over. “Ben, that might not be a bad—”
“No,” Ben declared.
I took a deep breath and tried to think. I wanted to trust Ben’s judgment that he didn’t need a doctor, but he was clearly out of it. I also knew, though, that my anxiety had a way of spiraling out of control. Finally, it dawned on me: I could call Pete when we got back to the room. He had been a medic in the Marine Corps, and he knew Ben better than anyone. If anyone would know what to do, he would.
“Yeah, we’re okay,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “We just need some rest.”
Skeet still looked worried. “Okay, but don’t hesitate to ring the front desk if you change your mind, or if you need anything else.”
“We will,” I promised.
“Goodnight then,” Skeet said.
“Goodnight!” I called as we walked out of the dining room—or rather, as I steered Ben out. He leaned on me, shuffling his feet as we walked to the elevator. I managed to get him upstairs and into my room, where he collapsed onto the bed.
I knelt on the mattress next to him as his eyes began to close. “Ben!” I pressed the back of my hand against his cheek. His temperature felt normal, but he looked like he’d done about ten Jello shots in as many minutes.
“I’m okay,” he mumbled, this time not trying to hide how difficult it was for him to speak. “I was drugged, but I’ll be all right.”
“Drugged? What?”
“Probably my ginger ale,” he said. “It was just GHB. I’ll sleep it off.” He rolled over onto his side and draped his arm over his head.
“Ben, for the
love—argh!” I grabbed my cell phone and called Pete.
It took him several rings to answer; all the while, my blood pounded louder and louder in my ears. “Hey, sis. How’s the—”
“Pete!” I cut him off. “Ben was drugged with GHB. He thinks they put it in his ginger ale at dinner.”
“What?” I was grateful that Pete sounded as alarmed as I felt. “How do you know? And who did it?”
“I know because Ben told me, right before he passed out,” I said. “And I don’t know who—somebody here at Mercier, though. We were having dinner with Skeet when the drinks were brought out.”
“Oh, hell,” Pete said. “Let me talk to him.”
“Okay.” I pulled Ben’s arm off of his head and held the phone up to his ear. Pete yelled, “Ben, what happened?”
Ben moaned.
“Come on,” he cajoled. “Wake up, it’s Pete.”
“I know it’s you,” Ben said. “Somebody slipped me a roofie.”
“Scale of one to ten?”
“Three or four.”
“Okay. Cate?” I heard Pete say.
I took the phone back. “What do you mean, ‘scale of one to ten’?”
“He’ll be fine,” Pete reassured. “We got trained on this stuff in the Corps. Ben knows what they gave him and roughly how much. He just needs to sleep it off. Just to be sure, though, I’ll come check him out.”
“But how does he know it’s a three or four?”
“Oh, he knows, believe me. Ben got an A-plus in roofies.”
I felt the phone fluttering against my cheek and realized that my hand was trembling. “Pete, I’m scared.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I get that. Can you stay in the room with him?”
I watched as Ben threw his arm over his head again, snoring lightly. “Well, yeah, he kind of landed on my bed. I couldn’t move him if I wanted to.”
“Good. Just keep an eye on him, and let me know if anythin’ changes.”
“Like what?”
“Any new symptoms. You’ll know ’em if you see ’em,” he said, and I could tell he was afraid that giving me any more specifics would cause me to worry. “Make sure the door’s locked, and don’t open it for anybody but me. You listenin’?”
“Yes,” I whispered, checking and double-checking the door.
“You sure you can stay awake?”
My nerves were so on edge, I didn’t think I’d ever sleep again. “Yes, definitely.”
“Okay. When we say goodbye, don’t hang up, just put whatever phone you’re on by the bed. Plug in the charger if you need to. We’ll leave the call active and open until I get there, so if anything happens, I can call in reinforcements. I’m packin’ now. I’ll be there soon.”
“Security is crazy here. I’ll call the front desk and tell them to expect you. Do you know how to get here?”
“Yup. Don’t worry, okay? Everythin’s gonna be all right. I’m sure it was accidental. You know how it is at those fancy resorts; you can order anything you want. Somebody likely asked for a little special something in their cocktail, and their drink got mixed up with Ben’s.”
I knew Pete was just trying to comfort me, but I decided to let him. “You really think that’s what happened?”
“Sure I do. You got a book to read?”
I hadn’t brought any reading materials, but I decided to comfort Pete right back. “Yes, I’ve got something.”
“Good. Try to relax until I get there.”
“Okay.” I looked down at Ben. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him so vulnerable. “Is there anything I can do for him?”
“There would be if he’d let you, but knowin’ him, he probably won’t. Just leave him alone; I’ll check him out when I get there. Now say goodbye so I can get on the road.”
“Goodbye. And thank you, Pete.”
“Sure thing, sis. If I wasn’t busy savin’ Ben’s ass all the time, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. See ya.”
I laid the phone carefully on the bedside table. Then I changed into my pajamas, looking over at Ben every fifteen seconds or so, just to check on him. Still asleep. Still breathing. Then I curled up on the bed next to him, wrapped my arm around his waist, and waited for the cavalry to arrive.
Chapter Nine
As promised, Pete arrived an hour and a half after my phone call, medic kit in tow. He said he also brought several steamer trunks and duffle bags full of other equipment, most of which he left in the truck. Pete woke Ben up and gave him a thorough examination, including a rapid toxicology screening. His verdict was that Ben had been right: it was GHB, and not a dangerous amount—just enough to induce a state similar to drunkenness. Pete settled into his room down the hall, and I was able to get a few hours of uneasy sleep before morning.
• • •
ParaTrain Internship, Day Eight
Ben woke up Monday morning with a headache—and quite a bit of embarrassment over having worried me and fallen asleep in my bed—but that was the worst of it. After hovering over me and asking four times in four different ways if I was all right, he went back to his room to shower and dress while I did the same. A permanent fist of tension had taken up residence just below my sternum, and my whole body ached. I took a scalding hot shower and some ibuprofen, which helped a bit. Once I was dressed and my hair was braided, I went over and knocked on Pete’s door. We had agreed to have breakfast called up to his room.
Ben was already there. They were both dressed, and Pete was in the middle of repacking his bags.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Pete grinned at what must have been sheer incomprehension on my face. “Old Marine Corps habit. We like things orderly. You’ll see; Rottie here is the same way.”
I walked up behind Ben, who was rifling through a duffle bag of equipment on the bed. Sliding my arms around his waist, I clasped my hands in front of him and rested my cheek against his back. Ben paused, dropped what he was doing, and turned around, pulling me close. “I’m fine,” he murmured. “I’m sure it was a mistake, like Pete said. We got a call from Skeet this morning; one of his kitchen staff fessed up to putting the drug in my ginger ale. He was trying to play a prank on a friend and got our drinks mixed up. Skeet was apologizing all over himself.”
I peered up at Ben. “Do you actually believe that?”
But instead of answering me, Ben looked over my shoulder for a second, presumably exchanging a look with Pete. That told me everything I needed to know. “Do you even remember the conversation we were having with Skeet?” I asked. “It was like he was pumping us for information.”
“I remember,” he said. “I filled Pete in, and I called my mother a few minutes ago. She confirmed that she has spoken to Skeet about her research at the Smithsonian, but not in great detail, and not since we got involved.” Ben looked down at me, his eyes soft with sympathy. “She also asked me to extend her condolences on the loss of your father—and to tell you how upset she is on your behalf that Skeet didn’t tell you everything sooner.”
“That was nice of her,” I said. “Please thank her for me, the next time you talk to her.”
Ben nodded. “We’ll have to ask Vani and Kai if Skeet’s story checks out—that he walked in on them talking about our double kheir. Then we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
“Ugh.” I buried my face in his chest. “I don’t like this.”
“Relax, sis,” Pete said, chucking me in the shoulder. “We’ve dealt with much worse. This is nothin’. We’ll get it sorted out.”
“We will.” Ben placed a warm kiss on the top of my head. “The good news is, Skeet seems more than eager to tell us all about Team Forward and what they’re up to. It should be an interesting week, at least.”
“Yeah, speaking of which.” My hands clenched, digging my nails into Ben’s back. I tried to force my fingers to relax. “What did you really think about those research methods he was talking about last night—the ones they were usin
g back when my mom and dad were together?”
“To be honest, they weren’t so unusual at the time. And psychedelic drugs are even making a comeback lately, mainly in psychiatry.” Ben’s brows gathered together to form a dark ridge. “But among people who work with sensitives, it has been common knowledge for more than half a century that mind-altering drugs should never be used on people with paranormal gifts. They’re known to have bad side effects—the kinds of problems we’ve seen in Skeet’s research subjects. You’re a special population, and there are ethical boundaries and protocols that have been set up to protect you. It’s clear that even in their early days at NIMH, Skeet and Joe were ignoring those protocols—which is pretty alarming, even if it was done with governmental oversight.”
“So my mom,” I said softly, “she was right.”
“Right to be worried?” His eyes searched mine as he rested his hand against my cheek. “Yes, I believe she was. And your mother’s concerns stirred Joe’s conscience—”
“Triggering the fallout between Joe and Skeet.” Skeet had said as much the night before, but as we talked it over, the picture snapped into focus.
“Right,” Ben said. “After last night’s conversation, it’s obvious that Skeet has little regard for the health and well-being of his research subjects. And given the patterns we’ve observed in our clinic, I’m willing to bet that he’s either still using psychedelic drugs, or he’s moved on to some other unethical research methods that are hurting his subjects. We still don’t have proof, though.”
And if we wanted to find any, we had to pretend that nothing was wrong and that we were all still friends—even though, after what I suspected he’d done to Ben the night before, all I wanted to do was wring Skeet’s neck.
I would have to curb that impulse, though. Skeet had asked Ben to meet him in the lobby after breakfast so that he could apologize in person. We all went down together. Skeet appeared genuinely horrified by the drugging. He assured Ben that the waiter responsible had already been fired and that they were considering having him arrested. But Ben came to the waiter’s defense, saying that it was a mix up; that a safe dose of the drug had been used; and that since Ben wasn’t the intended target, he wouldn’t press charges. Eventually, Pete brought an end to the conversation by confessing that they’d pulled much worse pranks on one another in the Marines.