November 8
CHAPTER 41
Three days after Emmett killed him, Justin Matthews’s body was found putrefying in his apartment after neighbors complained of a smell. Police forced entry to the unit, which Emmett had locked behind him, taking Justin’s bloody clothes, phone, and as much of the murder weapon as he could find, before weighing the bag down with rocks and flinging it into the San Diego River.
Emmett, at work when the news story found him, had a panic attack in the bathroom. After all, he’d covered his tracks only enough to delay the inevitable. His blood was in the carpet. Someone might have heard something, seen him come or go. According to the article, a neighbor’s doorbell camera had captured video of an “average-weight Caucasian male” fleeing the complex. Fortunately the footage was too dark and blurry for anyone to make Emmett out. He was just happy to be considered average.
Still, it was probably a matter of time before they connected Justin’s murder to Marco Jiménez’s, and the car in which he’d been found to Emmett. Part of him was surprised they hadn’t already. Was removing the VIN, license plates, and registration all it took to reduce a vehicle to total anonymity, or were the police in this town just that unmotivated?
Perhaps he ought to turn himself in, explain that he’d acted under the influence of Obexity. They’d investigate. The truth would come out, and Obexity would be over. No one else would be hurt, by him or anyone.
It was the right thing to do.
But would anyone believe him? Would he be breaking his NDA for nothing, putting himself at even greater legal risk?
Not to mention that if he stopped taking Obexity, he’d gain the weight back and lose everything else. Aaron, the museum job, his coaching business—the truth was, all that he could probably live without. It was the loss of the little things that scared him most. How much better he felt in his skin. Being able to shop for clothes at the store. The straysmiles and small kindnesses of strangers. The warm hug of validation he felt opening Instagram to a blossom of red hearts.
Maybe the drug was turning him into a monster, but how could he be expected to give it up when for the first time people were treating him like a human being?
Emmett feared it was a moot point anyway, when a few days later he received an email from Dr. Saito’s new intern.
Good morning Mr. Truesdale,
Jenni urgently needs to speak with you regarding your clinical trial participation. Due to the confidential nature of the discussion, a meeting at our offices is mandatory. Please advise of your earliest availability.
Somehow they knew he had flouted the trial protocol. Halleck had tipped them off, or they could tell from the weight gain recorded in his health journals. Maybe it was something even worse. What if Monstera, even before the police, had caught wind of his murder spree? Would they help him or throw him to the coyotes?
Emmett barely had time to delay his response. Less than an hour after the first email was sent, another landed in his inbox.
Given your lack of response and Jenni’s limited availability, I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling this meeting for 9 a.m. Friday, November 17. We look forward to seeing you then.
CHAPTER 42
By this point Aaron had grown tired of approving time off for Emmett’s frequent “medical appointments.” Feigning no interest or concern for his well-being, he replied to Emmett’s text,Just do what you need to do.
He arrived at the Monstera offices at ten minutes to nine and was escorted upstairs by the waiflike intern who’d emailed him.
She delivered him to the open door of a conference room. Four tables had been pushed together to form a larger one, where Dr. Saito sat with three colleagues. Emmett’s stomach clenched; the presence of so many seemed foreboding.
“Emmett, so nice to see you again,” Saito said, walking around the table to shake his hand. “Thank you for coming in.” Her grip was weak, but her eyes gleamed with hard light.
In turn, she introduced her colleagues: Pamela Clemmons Dixon, VP of public affairs; Donald Cohrs, director of regulatory affairs; and Rachael Witzens, Monstera’s “comms and social media wizard.”
Emmett puzzled at the mix of titles; he’d been expecting legal counsel.
“Please, have a seat,” Saito said, walking back around the table. “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here.”
Emmett sat. “The email said it was urgent?”
“Timely perhaps, but nothing serious. Hope we didn’t worry you.”
His tension was easing, but still.
“How’ve you been finding the trial since the last time we spoke? I know you were experiencing some side effects. Have the memory issues resolved?”
Emmett answered honestly: “They have.”
Everyone on Saito’s side of the table seemed relieved. “That’s great. I have to say, Emmett, we are all so impressed with your progress. You’re truly a star participant in our eyes, and we’re delighted to see how well Obexity’s been working for you.”
