Conspire

by SE Hall

  Grabbing two beers from the fridge, she pops the cap off both and hands me one. “Then let’s get it out of the way, otherwise, I’m gonna be worried about it, and not enjoy our dinner together like I should.”

  If nothing else, I appreciate her honesty and forwardness. “Alright. First things first, the key. I noticed it last night when you let yourself in, and it worries me. You’ve got to find a better place to hide it, or maybe-”

  “You keep it,” she cuts me off.

  “Huh?” I question, tilting my head in confusion.

  “I said, you keep it,” she smiles lightheartedly like what she just said isn’t a big fucking deal.

  I’m taken aback by her suggestion, overcome with adulation and downright joy. “Are you sure? You want me to have a key to your house?”

  She eyes me suspiciously and takes a long drink of her beer. “Wait, the other thing you wanted to talk about wasn’t spending less time together or breaking things off, was it? Cause I’m gonna feel really stupid if so. And, was having an out of body experience when I offered the key.”

  Laughing hard, I shake my head and close the distance between us in one stride. I rub my nose up and down hers, in between stealing sweet kisses from her lips. “No babe, I was only going to tell you I’ve gotta go home and visit my parents this weekend. I wanted to make sure it’s okay with you if I tell them about you, so maybe next time I go, you can come with me?”

  A squee sound, something like that of a baby pig, escapes from her, which I take as her saying yes to my request. Releasing her with one last kiss to the tip of her nose, I begin to unpack the food I brought for my mom’s famous homemade lasagna and organize it on the counter.

  “I’m gonna leave tomorrow at lunch and I’ll be back Sunday afternoon. You think you can stay out of trouble, and gay or hetero bars, for forty-eight hours while I’m gone? I won’t be here to rescue you.” My tone is teasing, but my warning is serious. I don’t need her having any run-ins with Hunter or anyone else while I’m not around.

  “Yeah, I think I can do that. I was planning on staying home and hanging out with Stripe this weekend anyway.” She picks up the kitten, rubbing the soft fur against her cheek, inciting an endless string of purrs from the tiny animal.

  “That’s a great idea. Maybe you can teach her how not to attack my feet under the covers at night while I’m sleeping?” I joke, smiling warmly at Stripe and her gorgeous owner, as I wash my hands and get down to business with the food.

  The rest of the night is absolute perfection. Mom’s recipe didn’t let me down yet again, but even more than that, the conversation and level of comfort between Jocelyn and I is like we’re back at the cabin. Continual flirting and sensual teasing throughout the evening leads to a couple of rounds of intense love-making before we both pass out from sheer physical exhaustion.

  As I lie holding her in the dark, mind and body completely sated, I think to myself, this is what life is all about. This is what they stole from Devon, ending his life before he could ever experience something so pure and untamed. And as I vowed so many years ago, as my brother’s keeper, this is why I won’t stop until the truth is revealed. Although in a completely different way, Jocelyn Craig now owns a piece of my heart, just as Devon did.

  Because this is love.

  And I plan to keep her.

  I SPLASH MY FACE WITH cold water in the women’s bathroom outside my office, a trifling attempt to reduce the rosy pink flush that starts in the apple of my cheeks and travels down my throat, disappearing beneath my blouse. My disheveled hair and rumpled clothes look as though I just crawled out of bed after a good, long, hard fucking…which isn’t too far from the truth.

  Bryce treated me to a little goodbye present in his truck over an early lunch—a double-shot of O.M.V., my clever, and anatomically correct, new twist on the phrase—to keep me quenched until he gets back in a couple of days. At the time, it seemed like a phenomenal idea. However, now here I stand, staring in the mirror, wondering how in the world I’m going to finish out the rest of the day looking like this? As soon as Alyssa returns from her own lunch, she’s definitely going to know, one glance, what I was up to.

  Oh well, what can I say... I only hope I don’t run into my father or Hunter.

  “Well, well, what do we have here, Ms. Craig?” I spin around, startled, as the voice of my best friend echoes through the bathroom. And here we go.

  “You’re back early,” I say, turning away from her, ignoring her initial comment. “Where’d you go?”

  Lys comes up behind me and our eyes meet in the mirror, a stupid grin plastered across her face. “I think the more important question is, where did you go?”

  The pink deepens to a bright red across my skin, answering her question without me opening my mouth.

  “Mhmm, that’s exactly what I thought, you little deviant,” she teases. “One day you’re seducing your assistant on a dance floor and the next you’re luring the new employee to eat you for lunch.”

  Rolling my eyes, I nudge her with my shoulder. “Shuddup. You promised we wouldn’t talk about it again after I apologized yesterday morning.”

  She throws her arm around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder, our stares still locked through our reflections. “I’m totally flattered you wanted a piece of this awesomeness, and if I’d have known you were into me like that, we could’ve been using it to get guys’ attention years ago.” As hard as she tries, she can’t hide the amusement sparkling in her eyes.

  “Yeah, your brother was totally digging it,” I joke dryly.

  Deep laughs rumble inside us both at the recent memory of his tantrum at Woody’s. “He’s a stupid fucking prick,” she states matter-of-factly. “Has he said anything to you since then?”

  “Nope, not a word. I’ve only seen him once in passing, and he shot me a ‘go to hell, crazy bitch’ look, so I returned it with my sugary-sweet, fake ass smile.”

  “Nice, well at least you don’t have to worry about him this afternoon; he took off to Atlantic City for some bachelor party weekend.” She scurries over to one of the stalls to pee.

  “That’s cool,” I reply when she emerges; we then amble out together. “I’m gonna go downstairs for a while and do some research for most of the afternoon.”

  “Research? Is that what we’re calling it now?” She waggles her eyebrows at me.

  “No, he just left to go home for the weekend,” I chuckle. In the middle of my apology for my crazy behavior yesterday morning, I ended up telling Alyssa a little bit about Bryce and my relationship—not all the details, but she now knows there’s an ‘us.’ “I’ll really be doing research on those missing data logs. There’s gotta be something, some clue.”

  “Alright, if you need me to do anything, let me know. I’ll be pretending to work as I play Flappy Bird and shop for new shoes.”

  And that is why she’ll always be my best friend.

  For two hours I’ve been thumbing through these reports, and for two hours, I’ve compiled a longer list of questions than I started with, zero answers to anything. The inconsistency of the journaled logs, the missing computer files from the server—the entries Devon had been making, transferring handwritten data into the computer—and the aggressive assertiveness my father and Hunter have displayed in regards to getting Cerefore on the market as soon as possible are setting off all kinds of alarms in my head. I just can’t figure out where to find the missing pieces to the puzzle, linking it all together. A part of me—a huge part actually—is scared to death where this is going to lead me, but regardless, I need to know the truth.

  Discouraged, thwarted, and downright pissy, I decide I need a different plan of action. There are two clinics involved in the Cerefore trials—one in Washington D.C. and one here in Philadelphia. Journals from both locations are missing and have obviously been recreated, so maybe if I visit the clinics and interview the people actually working there and recording the data, they can shed some light on what I’m missing.


  Yep, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  After a quiet Friday night at home with Stripe cuddled up in my lap while I read and texted with Bryce, I eagerly awoke with a purpose Saturday morning. Skipping my morning workout, I threw on some capris and a t-shirt and headed out the door—first stop, corner coffee shop.

  A double-shot latte and twenty minute drive later, I pull into the parking lot of the clinic, scanning the property before getting out of my car. Close to the Temple campus, on the north side of the city, the premises are well-kept and other than a few normal-looking people entering and exiting the clinic itself, there’s very little activity.

  I climb out of my car, a little nervous as I approach the front door, hopeful for answers, but scared of what those answers are going to be. A young friendly-looking girl greets me as I walk in.

  “Morning, ma’am. Please sign in and we’ll be right with you.”

  Returning the smile, I lean my elbows against the counter. “I’m actually not here for treatment. I was curious who the supervisor is on duty right now, and if I could talk to him or her.”

  “I—uh, I’m the supervisor on duty this morning,” worry wrinkles in her forehead, “I’m Ellie, can I help you?”

  I extend my hand to her and introduce myself. “Hi, Ellie, I’m Jocelyn Craig from the main office of JCC, and I’m here to ask you a few questions about procedural protocol here. Is there a private place we could talk for a few minutes?”

  “Yeah, sure, one second. Let me get Abby up here to watch the desk.”

  She disappears for a few moments, and then motions me back to a tiny office in the far end of the small clinic.

  “Please, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?” she offers pleasantly, but I can hear the concern in her voice.

  “No, thank you, I just guzzled a coffee on the way over,” I take a seat in one of the plastic chairs. “Ellie, you aren’t in trouble by any means, please relax. This is a very informal visit; I’d actually prefer if you didn’t tell anyone about me stopping by.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replies, sitting across from me.

  “I’m here because I was going over some of the Cerefore trial results,” I begin, taking out my notepad and pen, “and there were quite a few discrepancies between the reports, which alarmed me. Have you worked in this clinic long?”

  “I’ve been here a little over a year.”

  “Okay, great, so you’ve been here for the entirety of these studies. Can you tell me in general what you’ve seen from the patients taking Cerefore? I understand every person is different... I’m looking for generalizations here.”

  She nods, nervously biting her lip. “Well, at first we weren’t having any issues with it, but over the last few months we’ve had numerous complaints of side effects like headaches, numbness in the limbs, and loss of appetite. Of course, now since we’re no longer administering the drug, we haven’t had anyone report in for the last couple of weeks.”

  Not administering the drug? Only yesterday I reviewed reports from this clinic dated the previous week.

  “Right, and do you remember when exactly you were told to end the trial?” I scribble down notes, though they’re not necessary. She’s just confirmed the entire trial is fraudulent, and I’m afraid I’m going to be sick, my face overheating with rage and my stomach knotted with knowledge.

  “I’m not sure exactly; it was a few weeks ago. We were told to shut down the clinic one weekend, and when we returned on Monday, we had instructions to stop.” Glancing down at the small calendar on the desk, she sighs. “Nothing’s been the same here since…”

  “Since what?”

  “One of our volunteers committed suicide not too long ago. It really rocked us; we’ve all become friends here, like a small family.”

  “Devon Harrison?” I blurt out, without even thinking.

  Cocking her head slightly, she nods. “Yeah, that’s right. I forgot you would know him since he interned at your office as well.”

  “Yes,” I croak, all moisture having been sucked from my throat, “I can imagine. I’m sorry to bring up a bad memory. I think I’ve gathered all the information I need today. Thank you very much for the time, Ellie, and thank you for volunteering for the company. I appreciate you and your staff greatly.”

  “Of course, Ms. Craig. It was great to meet you.”

  Staggering back out to my car, I collapse in the driver’s seat, feeling as though I’ve been punched in the gut... and the face. I knew in my heart of hearts something was amiss with everything surrounding this drug, and now that I’ve gotten the answers I so desperately wanted, there’s two gigantic questions looming:

  Who all is a part of the plan of corruption?

  And did they have anything to do with Devon’s death?

  I don’t even remember the drive home or getting out of the car. As soon as I’m inside my house, I change back into my pajamas and crawl in bed with Stripe to comfort me. Scared to death, I need Bryce home so he can tell me what I should do next.

  ARRIVING BACK AT MY CHILDHOOD home is surreal, with it the memories more vivid, also meaning more painful, like opening the wounds, fresh and raw, all over again.

  “Ma, I’m home,” I yell as I saunter through the door, toting my small overnight bag. I’ve got Reagan staying with a friend I’ve never met and Jocelyn home alone—this trip’s got to be considerate to my mother, productive, but as rapid as possible.

  “Graham,” she rounds the corner, already tearful, wrapping me up in a tight hug, yet feeling a lot like she actually needs to be held up. “My boy, I missed you. So glad you’re here; come on in the kitchen, I’ve got fresh buns and brisket.”

  Not hungry, but refusal definitely not an option, I follow her and sit down at the small, round kitchen table while she busies herself with making me a plate. “Where’s Pops?” I ask.

  “Got a call from the police department, said we could come down and collect the box they had,” she grips the counter behind her, swiping at her nose, “of Devon’s personal items. So off he went, figured with your fancy job and visit, it wasn’t a coincidence, better go get it for you.” She gives me her look, no opinion in her open, ready to receive and no judgment eyes, and waits.

  “Yeah, Ma, I called in a favor. Whadda they need to hold onto it for anyway? Suicide, open and shut, remember?” I bite out, shoving one of her famous homemade sticky buns in my mouth before I upset her more.

  “Oh, and I got that report you wanted.” She pulls it from a drawer, setting it down in front of me with a trembling hand. “All there in black and white, son. Some things are hard to accept, I know, but-”

  I gulp down my bite. “Not accepting this, Ma, not fighting with you about it either. I love you, so I’m gonna keep my mouth full or shut. Okay?” I smile at her, containing all the respect in the world.

  “Okay, Graham. Always were so smart,” she kisses my head and leaves the room.

  The more, or should I say less, I read, the angrier I get. This is the problem with big cities—too many people, bodies, and not enough officers of justice who give a damn—overworked and underpaid. Unless you’re a politician, the found-dead lover of one, a celebrity, or the next OJ Simpson trial-worthy death on their docket—the work effort is half-ass at best.

  This report, what a fucking joke. Like I need to know what he was wearing, height, weight, and that “finding match” as reported by the police—strangulation by self-hanging, found by roommate, blah, blah... Where’s hemorrhaging of blood vessels in eyes, and how bad, at what time? Ligature marks around the neck, made when? Bruises tell time, everybody knows that! Only foreign drug in system—alcohol—which means jackshit; my brother had an insulin pump, gravely altering the effects and accuracy of alcohol in his system or his blood sugar level. I’m surprised his Diabetes is even noted…and thank God the dumbass actually took his pump out before we buried him!

  IF he were here today, I’d ask about the drinking…he wasn’t twenty-one; maybe a good ol’ headlo
ck and scrub to the noggin’ by big brother.

  IF.

  I can say—having never practiced medicine in my life—this autopsy report was thrown together by a nimrod piece of shit, ready to concur with the police and get off early one Friday.

  They didn’t even mention the tat! So... no black light was used to scan for fluids, they didn’t bother lifting his arm, or half their brain was non-functional—which was it?

  Disgusted, I slam my fist down on the table, jarring my plate and knocking over my glass of tea. Shit!

  “Son,” my father walks in and drawls, voice calm and grim as ever.

  “Hey Pop,” I groan, ashamed as I stand and grab a towel to clean up my mess. “How are you?”

  “I’m sad, Graham. And I’m worried about your mother, but mostly –”

  My head jerks in his direction at the silence, an unfamiliar oddity in his fading tone, to find him pinching the bridge of his nose, shoulders hunched with the weight of the world. The sight rips away every vision of him in memory, and I know, this one will be at the forefront for quite a while.

  “Dad?” I manage past the lump in my throat.

  “Mostly, I’m worried about the son I have left. I know you’re angry, I am too. And I know you’re right about Devon, but what you find, and what might become of you in your search, scares me most. I have no doubt in you, you’ll find exactly what it is you seek. But what if you get too close, with no back up? What if they take you too?”

  And for the first time in all my twenty-five years—even at Devon’s funeral, he remained stoic for my mom—I see my father cry. I’d gladly hand over my eyeballs to unsee it.

  “Dad, I’ll be careful, swear it. But I have to do this. He was my little brother, mine to protect, keep. I can’t stand back and let them get away with this. For greed, they took him. No,” I shake my head violently, “No, can’t let them.”