He would have seen glimpses of the scene in Dad’s kitchen from my thoughts.
That had been what I’d considered my worst-case scenario. Until they’d drugged me and had me sent to the psych ward, which gave a whole new meaning to worst.
He stopped in a drive-through for coffee and ordered tea for me before the conversation resumed.
“Was it because of your mother?”
I tipped my hand back and forth. Partly. From the outside, I might not look like the picture of mental health but I was stable. Sure, I couldn’t speak, but I wasn’t dangerous. I needed to work harder to find my voice.
“The house is fine. The alarm company didn’t call and the windows, doors, and locks are intact. Before I went to get the rental car, I checked when I changed. I’d called the company, and they said you hadn’t returned the SUV. I thought perhaps you’d stayed with your family to be safe. No sign of Horace and Jasper.”
We’d named our watchers Horace and Jasper, after the secondary antagonists in 101 Dalmatians. We called their unknown boss Cruella. Giving them Disney names made them seem less frightening.
“They may have been thrown by the unfamiliar vehicle or spooked by the police if they were watching your family. The upside of you being in the hospital is that Eric was stymied.”
That was true, but I couldn’t forgive Meghan, even if she’d disrupted Eric’s plan. My whole family was complicit, but she’d been the driving force. I’d noticed the looks back and forth between her and the others. She had them under her thumb.
Christopher joked about his time in jail, trying to show the humorous side of the situation. “I can’t wait for actual food. I’ll find something for us in the freezer, so we can shop tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to be home with you.”
He stopped at the post office to check the post box. After Real Tech had hung around, we hadn’t wanted our mail searched and had rented the box. He ran inside and came back with a yellow packet, which he tossed to me as he got back in the car. I tore open the end and removed a small white box.
“The antivenom?” he said.
At my nod, he said, “I called the hospital about Brandon. There’s been no change. He won’t notice if I don’t visit tonight. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning. Today’s Wednesday, and we both have work tomorrow and Friday after unplanned absences. Saturday, we can stay all day. Let’s try then?”
I nodded. What would they say at work about our absences?
“I got my lawyer to call the Museum,” he said. “Said we had car trouble in the mountains and needed a couple more days.”
I wondered if the hospital was required to tell my sister that they had released me, though she might have seen for herself. Dr. Maeve wouldn’t say anything, but Chloe would’ve called right after I left. If Meghan phoned, I wasn’t planning to answer.
Chapter 17
Saturday morning, Christopher and I prepared ourselves for both positive and negative outcomes. We subscribed to my theory that Brandon’s coma wasn’t caused by the serum he’d created, but by an allergic reaction. We weren’t sure what Serum A’s intended effects were, but had determined it was phase one of the experimental treatment he’d developed. We learned that Serum B was supposed to be the second phase, the pain-blocking formula, and Serum C was the antidote for both A and B. Both serums and the antidote required either real or synthetic venom to create.
The doctors said that Brandon hadn’t suffered neurological damage, other than the coma itself. Brandon’s sense organs and nerves appeared to function and his body reacted normally to physical stimuli. But as long as he was unconscious, we had no way of knowing the extent to which he felt pain.
We gambled on the antivenom as our first treatment. After our research, we’d concluded that it wouldn’t cause additional harm. At worst, it caused nausea. Injecting Brandon’s concoctions came with more risk. That would only be undertaken if our first trial failed. Without a source of venom, we couldn’t make more of the antidote.
We hadn’t been able to replicate Brandon’s experiments. His written reports left out too many details and the practical aspects were beyond our realm of expertise. His notes documented things for himself, leaving out key pieces of procedure that were a given. We suspected he’d been vague deliberately to keep others from stealing his research. It made him indispensable, an incentive for his boss to keep him unharmed. Smart thinking, but annoying.
At the hospital, the surveillance vehicle used by the Real Tech henchmen sat in the lot with a single occupant, Horace, again. He was easier to spot, as his profile was more distinctive than Jasper, who watched less often.
Christopher and I entered the building hand in hand. The entire way across the lot, I’d felt everyone watching, like we were conspicuous. But when I looked around, no one had paid attention to us, except Horace. Christopher was a frequent visitor and the girl at the front desk smiled at him.
All the way to the eighth floor, I worried about breaking the hospital rules. My mouth was dry and sweat gathered on my palms. Christopher seemed cooler, though he’d mentioned he had qualms about potential complications. After my recent stint in the psych ward, I liked the hospital even less than before. Its combination of smells of disinfectant, stale coffee, and underlying tangy scents of copper and urine reminded me of sickness, disappointment, and pain.
Was this nervousness how it felt to do a heist?
“We aren’t doing a bank job,” said Christopher as the elevator stopped on Brandon’s floor. He wore an amused smile and his eyes crinkled at the corners. If it had been anyone else, I’d have felt mocked or laughed at, but Christopher had a way of making me feel part of the fun. He enjoyed my company and made me laugh. I couldn’t believe I’d ever tried to convince myself that what I felt for him was dislike. More like denial about our mutual attraction.
We waved to the nurses and continued to Brandon’s room at the end of the hall. Christopher was well-known here too. My heart rate sped up. We were about to try something illicit. We needed to give Brandon the injection of antivenom with no one knowing or there would be consequences. The medical staff wouldn’t understand and we’d never be allowed to inject a patient with their knowledge. They still believed he’d suffered a drug overdose.
Christopher would inject him, and I would be the lookout. I seldom entered Brandon’s room, so it wouldn’t be unusual for me to stand in the hall. Being in the hospital dredged up old memories that made my stomach churn.
We’d timed our visit just before lunch to avoid the bustle of rounds in the morning and the probability of running into Brandon’s doctor. Because it was Saturday, we had time to wait nearby in case it worked. If Brandon woke, the first call from the hospital would be to Christopher. We’d go for lunch and a walk in the neighborhood.
Brandon’s room was the same, sterile and quiet, except for the sound of the machines. I stood in the doorway, my body blocking the view of Brandon’s IV stand from the hallway. It was best to do it right away. If there was an immediate reaction, we could call for help.
