by Sandra Block
“What?”
“It’s not Abraham.”
“What isn’t?”
“He poisoned Andre, but he’s not the one texting you.”
Someone tromps in, pulling off a winter hat and stomping boots before entering to check in. “What do you mean, it’s not him? It has to be him.”
“It’s not his phone, Zoe. It’s possible he has another burner phone out there somewhere, but this one has nothing on there about any patients. And no texts to your number.”
“Then what was the phone for?”
“Apparently he used it for his second family. One had been for Charmayne, and one for Jermaine and Shonda.”
I start pacing the little vestibule. “Then who’s texting me? We have to figure that out.”
“I know, we’re trying.”
“The warden thinks I’m behind all this now.”
“What?” His voice betrays definite surprise, which means that at least for now the warden hasn’t shared his pet theory with him.
“Yeah. He thinks I’m sending the texts myself out of some sick need for attention. Like he thinks he’s a psychiatrist or something. He wants to search my house.”
The detective actually laughs. “We’re still combing through evidence from Abraham Green’s house. I’ve got about a billion better things to do than go search yours. Don’t worry. The warden’s got his head up his ass.”
“That was my professional opinion as well,” I grumble. “But he doesn’t seem to want my professional opinion.” A sad silence follows this statement. “So what the hell am I supposed to do? Just sit at home baking cookies and waiting for my name to be cleared?”
“Zoe—”
“Someone is out there killing my patients!”
“Listen, I get that you’re under a lot of stress right now.”
“With good reason,” I exclaim. “I’m being set up while my patients get picked off, one by one. I’d say that’s a fairly stressful state of affairs.”
“If that’s what’s happening, Zoe,” he says. “Obviously, I agree with you on Abraham Green. But the other patients are just theories right now. And I must point out, the concept of these patients killing themselves is far more likely than the idea that someone else is orchestrating it.”
“But what about the texts?”
“A disgruntled patient, maybe, or coworker. Someone trying to hurt you.”
“Like Sofia.”
“Maybe. We’re on it, Zoe. We’re looking.”
“But Janaya Jones. I’m telling you. She wouldn’t have jumped. She just wouldn’t have. Detective,” I say, my voice growing desperate, “you said you would trust me on this. You promised me.”
“And I do trust you, Zoe. A hundred percent. We’re doing our best here. I’ve got everybody I can spare out there on this.” He sighs, and there is a long pause on the phone. “But Zoe, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way. You seem really, really stressed right now. It sounds like you could absolutely use a break. Maybe think of this suspension as a good thing. A blessing in disguise.”
Another patient comes in, blasting the vestibule with cold air. “I do have a lot going on right now.”
“This will all work itself out eventually. They gave you some time off. Pretend you’re on vacation or something. Take advantage of it.”
* * *
I’m sitting on the couch, my head cottony and disconnected.
Whether it’s the lemon, my lack of sleep, or the lack of meds in my system, I’m not sure. But I can barely string a whole thought together.
“I’m worried about you, Zoe,” Sam says.
No shit, Sherlock, I think, then stand up from the couch and start pacing. I can’t sit on the couch another second. And I can’t play with his ridiculous water toy. Sam stares at me pacing the room.
“We need to discuss whether this fellowship is the best thing for you right now.”
“Actually,” I say, sitting down, then standing up again, like a jack-in-the-box, “I think that’s been taken care of.”
“What do you mean?”
“They booted me.”
“From the fellowship?”
“The very one.” I try sitting again, picking up the toy and madly twisting the knobs.
“Because of your condition or because of the patient deaths?”
I stop twisting. “My condition?”
“Yes.”
“What condition?” I ask. “The anxiety-ADHD-depression thing?”
“Yes.” He adjusts the temples of his fashionable new rectangular glasses. (Seriously? It’s been less than three months. What the hell is his eyewear budget?) “I’d say it’s become quite a bit worse lately, Zoe. And you were doing very well on all the medications, so I’m not sure why, but that happens sometimes.”
I know why! I’m not on any medications. I’m pregnant! Tell him, tell him, tell him.
He must see something in my face. “You are taking your medications, right?”
I should grab my chance. It’s confidential. He can’t tell anyone. He could help me. I could just tell him, but I mutter, “Right, of course.”
“Would you like me to talk with Dr. Novaire? Would it help?”
“I doubt it. He’s pretty useless. And it’s more the warden who’s after me.”
“Really?” He taps the keyboard. “Why do you say that?”
I spring up again and start moving. “I told you about the texts.”
“Yes, and they thought Andre’s father was behind them.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem. It turns out he’s not. And now the warden thinks I’m the one behind them. He even thinks I’m poisoning Andre!” My boots scrape a rhythm against the carpet. “But someone else is doing this. Someone is killing all my patients. And I just don’t know how to prove it.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, calmly, though I read alarm in his eyes.
“Someone is setting me up. Maybe Sofia. Obviously that would make the most sense. But I don’t know that for sure. They’ve searched her cell quite a bit, supposedly.”
He pauses, his hands in a prayer position at his chin. “Let me see if I understand what you’re saying. You think someone is killing your patients?”
“Yes.”
“And you think they’re blaming you?”
“Yes.”
“But you believe Sofia is behind all this?”
“Stop with the reflective statements, Sam. Yes, yes, yes.”
Another pause. “Do you mind if I contact Detective Adams?”
“Of course. That’s a great idea.” Sitting down again, I grab the toy. But there’s something about the way he is looking at me. “Wait a second. You don’t believe me?”
“It’s not that, Zoe.”
I put the toy down, indignant. “You think I’m making all this up?”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh no. That I’m just paranoid? Is that what you think?”
He sighs, pulling his chair away from his desk and toward me. “You’ve been under an inordinate amount of stress lately, Zoe. I’m just trying to help you. We’re both on the same team here.”
And I do something I’ve never done to Sam before. Which is to pack up my stuff and leave.
* * *
Are you ok? It’s Mike, checking on me.
Fine. Walking Arthur, I text back. It’s a clear, dark night, and Scotty brought over pizza again so we could both mope around together. Misery loving company and all that. All night it was Kristy said this and Kristy said that, and no, she won’t take back the ring. After he left, the house was morbidly quiet, so I decided to take Arthur, who couldn’t believe his luck, on a second walk.
Be home around midnight, Mike texts. Earlier if I can. Love you.
Love you too.
I’m musing that we don’t use XO anymore when my arm nearly detaches from its socket as Arthur zooms after a rabbit. “Arthur!” As I yank him back, I skid on a black ice patch and nearly wipe out. Arthur gives me a disdainful glance as I right myself. “
Don’t look at me like that. If I break my hip, it’s your fault.”
He doesn’t answer. Not verbally, anyway.
A car whizzes by us, too fast, and I hold his leash tight. After the car fades down the road, the night turns deathly quiet again, the cold silencing everything all around us. I can hear my breathing, the crisp crunch of the snow. The stars are glittering dots in the frigid night.
I called Dr. Marchand’s office for a new date, and I’ve given myself a deadline.
Two weeks. Two weeks to decide.
“So,” I say, to hear myself speak, “it looks like it’s gonna be just you and me for a while tonight.” He darts around the base of a tree and sniffs around. “And the lemon. But I’m not so sure about the lemon.” Arthur lifts his head, having gathered all possible scented information from the snow around the tree.
We walk on then, the wind biting into my cheeks as my brain scurries back to my patients. The patients in the loss column.
Dennis Johnson—hanged himself in my first week on the job. Carrie Cooke—heroin overdose, probably from a hot shot after not having used for so long. Barb Donalds—strongly denied suicidal ideation but overdosed on Elavil, which she had not been prescribed. Janaya Jones—jumped off the roof.
Pushed?
“So who is connected to all these patients, besides me?” I ask Arthur, who manages to get his front paws stuck in a snowbank, then awkwardly retracts them. Dr. Novaire? He might be clueless and way past his prime, but I couldn’t imagine him killing off my patients. The warden? Not unless he’s scheming to lose his own job. Jason? Not. Abraham Green? Apparently not.
Sofia? Sofia? Sofia?
Arthur lunges at his shadow (yes, he is that stupid), nearly toppling me again. “Arthur, quit it.” I yank him back. He jumps out at an invisible squirrel, and I yank him again. “It’s freezing, buddy. Let’s go home already.”
My phone text sound goes off again, and I reach into my pocket, peeling off my mitten. I find a smile on my face, thinking of Mike texting to check up on me again. But the message isn’t from Mike.
Did you miss me, Angel of Death?
My eyes glaze, staring at the message in my hand.
So sorry about Andre. Looks like another patient you couldn’t save.
WHO ARE YOU? I text back, furiously.
That’s for me to know and you to find out. If you can. Are you ready for another riddle?
I don’t respond, but the next text comes up anyway.
What do you get when you mix the Angel of Death with the seed of the devil?
Arthur is tugging on my leash as I stand there, frozen to the spot.
Give up?
I watch the screen, waiting, as wind chimes gong out in the distance.
You get a tainted, rotten fetus. That will die inside of you.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I didn’t think you’d still be up,” Mike says, shaking snow off his boots onto the rug. A waft of cold comes in with him.
“We have to talk,” I say. I’m holding a mug of chamomile tea, having read somewhere about its calming effects. With no wine or Klonopin at my disposal, I’ll take anything I can get.
“What about?” He hangs up his coat, his usually imperturbable demeanor etched with worry. Arthur lifts his head in greeting, then drops it again on my foot.
Mike sits next to me on the couch, and I can feel the cold off his body. “Is this about Serena?”
“Um…well…” It isn’t, of course, but I decide to hear him out nonetheless.
“Listen.” He wrings his hands. “I told her point-blank that I’m with someone else. From the very beginning. I’ll admit, I didn’t mind the attention at first. But now it’s gotten out of hand. I’ve started finding shifts she’s not on.” Frowning, he shakes his head. “I thought about telling the head of the department, but that seemed a bit much. And I wanted to tell you, but you’ve had so much going on with you lately. I didn’t know how to bring it up.”
I don’t answer.
“Is it about the pen?” he asks.
“Don’t, no…It isn’t that. It isn’t even about Serena at all.”
“Oh.” He looks perplexed. “Then what is it?”
“I got another text.” I pull out my phone and show him.
He leans over me, his lips moving while he reads it. “I don’t get it. Do you?”
I take a fortifying sip of tea, then try to talk, but the words won’t come out.
“This is getting crazy,” he says, determination in his voice. “We should call the detective right now.” But I shake my head and take another sip. “What, what is it?”
I nod but still can’t speak.
“What’s wrong, Zoe?” He puts his hand on my knee. “Tell me, please. You’re scaring me.”
“I’m…” I take another swallow of tea while he watches me intently. “I’m pregnant.”
Mike looks at me, his jaw actually fallen open so that I can see his uvula. “Pregnant?”
“Yes, pregnant. We’re pregnant, I guess is the vernacular these days.”
“Pregnant?”
I don’t answer the now-rhetorical question, and it seems to dawn on him. “So the riddle is about the baby?”
“It must be.”
“I’m…I can’t even…Who else knows about this?”
“Two people,” I say, trying to ignore his look of hurt. “Jack. And it was kind of a mistake. I was asking about our family history, and he guessed it.”
“Okay, Jack. And who else?”
“Jason…I…I don’t know. We were eating lunch, and I just started crying, and it just came out. I didn’t mean to tell him either.”
It’s utterly silent then as Mike scratches his head, awkwardly. “How long have you known?”
“A couple weeks.”
He nods, still looking shocked. “How far along?”
“Twelve weeks. I think it’s thirteen weeks now.”
He looks down at his lap. “And have you seen your…”
“Yes. I saw Dr. Marchand.”
“And?” He swallows. I don’t answer, fixing my gaze on Arthur, who has settled back to sleep at my feet. “Are we keeping it, Zoe?”
I put the tea down. “I don’t know. That’s the best answer I can give you right now. I was giving myself two more weeks to decide. Giving us two weeks, I should say. I…I just don’t know.”
“Two weeks,” he repeats softly. He is quiet again when his forehead wrinkles up. “Are you still on your meds?”
“No,” I answer, right away. “I mean, I was up until I found out. But I’m off them now.” I watch him watching me. “Why, can you tell?”
He bites his lip. “I think I’ll plead the Fifth on that one.”
I smile, but it turns shaky, threatening to become a smile-cry, so I lean back on the couch, and he puts his arm around me. “I’m here,” he says. I lay my head on his thick, warm chest. “I’m here, Zoe. No matter what. No matter what we decide to do.”
“What about you?” I pick my head up and look squarely at him. “Do you want to keep it?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, seeming to weigh his words. “I want to do whatever you want to do. If it were only up to me, yes, I would keep it. But it’s your decision. And if you need two weeks to decide, I can handle that. We’re in this together, either way.” We don’t speak for a moment, and I stand up from the couch. “But what are you going to do about the text?” he asks.
“I already called Detective Adams. He didn’t answer yet.”
“Jack and Jason are the only ones who know?”
“Yes. I mean, my ob-gyn. But she wouldn’t have any reason to do this, and I can’t believe Jason would be involved.” I rub my temples to ward off a headache. “You think Jack is the one texting me?”
He shrugs. “How well do we really know him?”
“Well enough. He’s my brother.”
Mike raps his fingers on the coffee table. “Sort of.”
Then I have a sick feeling. “
Unless he told…” I’m already dialing his number, but I get his voice mail. “Call me as soon as you get this, Jack. Please. It’s important.” Then I add, “It’s about Sofia.”
Chapter Forty
This was my life before you. Eat, kill time, sleep, repeat. This would be my life, day after day, year after year. Then I met you, and everything changed.
I can’t lose you. I can’t go back to what I was before you.
So I made the decision. I would do it.
If I didn’t, you would leave me. Just like my mother left me, and my sister. And I couldn’t take that. I pretended that I had a choice. But I had no choice. This was a test, my final test. I said I would do anything for you, and I meant that. Anything.
When I told you, your sullen look vanished. Your face lit up. You will?
But I’m afraid, I said.
It’ll be fine, you said, smiling now, reaching over to caress me.
I told you how the warden’s been talking, and that I didn’t want to get caught. You told me I wouldn’t get caught, and pulled me in close, so close, in that aching, smothering way. So close that I forget everything else. Enveloped by you. Lost, even to myself.
You promised it would be over quick, just like Janaya. But I know it won’t be quick. I can’t lie to myself. You said you would be there for me when it was done. You promised me. Then you lifted up my shirt, and your lips were running over my skin, sending chills through me.
And that’s what I try to think of now. Your lips, your hands, your voice, you.
As I sit here, wanting to retch, trembling on the cot, my hands slick with sweat. My head screaming against what I’m about to do.
The cold, sharp metal in my hands.
Waiting.
Chapter Forty-One
Detective Adams stares at the phone in puzzlement. “I don’t get the baby part.”
“Who knows?” I shrug. “Maybe he thinks I’m pregnant or something.”
“Right,” he says, and doesn’t ask. “You sent me the snapshot, right?”
“I did,” I say. “You think it’s a burner phone again?”
“Most likely, but we’ll look into it.” He furrows his brows, thinking. “It’s very unsettling. But we’ve still got no direct threat to you. It would be hard to arrest based on this.”