by D. B. Goodin
Natasha headed for the nurses’ station with John, Milo, and Cassidy in tow. The nurses, their heads buried in their phones or computers, didn’t even acknowledge her existence.
“Excuse me,” Natasha said. “I’m here to see Ellen Watson.”
“Are you a blood relative?” a nurse asked.
Natasha froze for a moment. The nurse had a skeptical look on her face. “Can I see my sister?” Natasha said in her perfect American accent.
The nurse handed her a badge with a blue “V” on it. “Wear this at all times. Your sister is in Room 4D,” the nurse said.
“Right, thank you.”
“You guys wait here. I will come back with an update,” Natasha told the others.
Milo and Cassidy turned and left to find the waiting room.
“You too, John.”
“I . . . just want to see if she’s okay. I feel responsible. She was talking to me when it happened.”
Natasha nodded.
Her phone erupted with a series of alerts. Nigel again!
“Silence your phone, please,” the nurse said in a disapproving tone.
Natasha ignored the nurse, and then proceeded down the hall.
The hospital was a confusing maze. When Natasha entered Room 4D, her breath caught in her throat. A woman in the first bed was in a full body cast, and only her bruised face was visible. Natasha didn’t recognize her. The bed nearest the window had its curtain drawn, but no one appeared to be in there with her. Natasha proceeded to the bed next to the window and pulled back the curtain. Ellen was lying motionless in the bed. Natasha examined the medical equipment that monitored her pulse; she clocked in at fifty-one beats per minute. She appeared to be sleeping. Natasha examined her right arm, which was wrapped up in a harness that looped around her right shoulder.
“Hello, I’m Doctor Rogers,” said a voice behind her. “I understand you’re family—”
Natasha cut him off. “What’s wrong with her?”
“In addition to several broken bones and a concussion, your sister has suffered a punctured lung. We managed to slow the internal bleeding, and she’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Have you given her a blood transfusion?”
“Not yet—the pileup on the highway has brought an influx of patients. It has stretched our blood supply to the point of exhaustion. We cannot operate on Ellen until we can find a donor,” Rogers said.
“How long does she have?” Natasha asked. “I’ll donate.”
“As you may already know, her blood type is B negative. We need to test whether you are a compatible donor.” The doctor led Natasha and John into another room. “I will test both of you for compatible blood types.”
I hate needles! Natasha thought. Natasha shook off the apprehension as she sat down in the donor chair and extended her arm. He collected her blood, tested it, and frowned as he examined the results.
“I thought you were sisters?” he said.
For a moment, Natasha panicked. “I’m adopted,” Natasha said.
“Oh, that explains it, then. You are type A negative—not a compatible donor.”
Then the doctor tested John and confirmed he wasn’t a donor.
“Do you know of any other possible compatible donors?”
“Nigel—her son.”
“I suggest that you get him here now,” Dr. Rogers said.
As Natasha hurried down the hall, several more texts came in from Nigel, who was looking for updates.
Nigel, your mother’s been in a car accident. We are at the hospital with her, Natasha texted back.
Is she okay? Nigel asked.
She needs a blood transfusion. They need your blood. I’m coming to pick you up now!
Jony had stepped outside the barn to clear his head. He hadn’t expected spending his evening torturing someone, and he had no appetite for wet work. Dahlia, however, seemed to be enjoying herself. He could hear the captive’s screams thirty yards away.
I’ve been out here long enough. She probably misses me, Jony thought.
He turned toward the direction of the barn, but then stopped when he noticed a black silhouette approaching; it was Dahlia, whom he could barely see in the darkness.
“Mum?” Jony asked.
Dahlia came close and caressed the side of Jony’s face with her fingers.
Jony’s heart raced, and his body tensed.
She was so close that her lips were almost touching his ear.
“He knows nothing. Take care of him, and see me when you’re finished,” Dahlia whispered.
Jony felt excited and sick simultaneously.
This is a test, he thought. If I’m going to stay in her good graces, I need to eliminate this man.
Jony walked into the barn, dreading his next move.
Nearly an hour later, Jony returned to Dahlia’s cottage. She was dressed in a silk robe, sitting in front of the fireplace and drinking a glass of red wine. Jony sat in the chair next to her.
“Is it done?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jony said.
“How do you feel?”
“A little sick to my stomach, and—”
“And what?” Dahlia asked.
“Ashamed,” Jony said.
“That feeling will pass. Have a drink with me. There is much to discuss.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Why do you call me that?” Dahlia gave Jony a critical look. “‘Mum,’ that is. We’re less than twenty years apart.”
Jony gave Dahlia a coy look. She crept closer, put her hand on his shoulder. Her robe shifted, and Jony could see more cleavage than ever before. His hormones were racing, but he kept them under control. He did his best to slow his breathing.
“Respect. You take care of us better than our own mothers,” Jony said.
Dahlia smiled as she unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a muscular chest.
Jony has better definition than I realized, she thought.
Jony jumped as Dahlia touched his chest.
“What’s the matter, Jony?”
Jony got up and paced around the room.
“It doesn’t feel right, Mum.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Me killing . . . you touching me like . . . the way you did,” Jony said.
Dahlia could see that he was shaken.
“Come, let’s just sit together,” Dahlia said.
Jony put his head on her shoulder. She felt the warmth of his contact, the wetness of his tears, and fed on it as he let it all out.
She gave him some time to compose himself before she spoke.
Jony is loyal but weak! she thought bitterly.
“Our recent breach in security has caused several problems for me . . . for us!” she said. “I don’t know whom to trust. By taking care of our friend in the barn, you have more than proved your loyalty.”
“Thanks for saying that. It means the world to me,” Jony said.
Dahlia sensed that he was sincere, and she wanted to reward his sincerity.
“I’m promoting you to first lieutenant. You will be my right hand in the organization.”
“Thank you, Mum. I don’t know what to say.”
“Your first assignment is delicate. I need you to assess the commitment of the remaining Black Iris chiefs. Someone is working with Gregor. We have a mole that must be found.”
Jony nodded.
“You will only report to me, now. I will inform the chiefs. I will post small classified ads in the Sun and the London C-List classified site.”
Dahlia got up and retrieved something from an end table. She tossed Jony a flip phone that looked new. “This is your direct line to me. We will use it only in emergencies.”
“Understood. If there is nothing else, I will take my leave.”
Dahlia dismissed him. She watched him go, and she was glad that he’d passed all of tonight’s tests. I’m glad he cannot be swayed by the charms of a woman, Dahlia thought.
The light in Freeman’s room was fading. His
connection ended too soon, and he wanted to eliminate the guardian of that microcosm. It disappointed him that he didn’t get to use the exploit that transferred a victim’s life force into his. The exploit was a zero-day, meaning it had not yet been discovered by the developers and patched. He was saving it for a special occasion and had been preparing to use it when his connection ended. The battery on his antenna was low and needed to be recharged; Freeman pulled the battery out and inserted it into the charger. He hoped to meet the Magi again. She was a worthy opponent, and he looked forward draining her life force, which would render her to a level one “noob” in an instant. Just as he was shutting down the computer, his idiot parents arrived home.
“You missed a great day at the beach,” Robert said. “We saw some turtles.”
“Turtles! That’s so cool—not!” Freeman said. His father picked up on his condescending tone and walked away.
“Don’t be so hard on him, sweetheart,” Susan said to Robert as he left.
“Dad’s on my case all the time now,” Freeman grumbled. “I have better things to do than go to the beach.”
“Your father works hard, and this is a good opportunity for him, and us.”
“What’s wrong with our internet connection? Doesn’t he know I need it for school?” Freeman asked.
“Yes, he knows. The cable guy is coming over tomorrow. You should be able to access it when you get home from school.”
“Great,” Freeman mumbled as he returned to his room.
It took Natasha more than an hour to get to Nigel’s house due to the icy conditions. Natasha was annoyed that Nigel wasn’t ready to go; he was on a computer and appeared to be working on something.
“We have to go, Nigel. Your mother is waiting.”
Nigel didn’t respond.
Ralphie was playing Kenny Kart: a console game that he loved. Cassidy and Milo sat on either side of him.
“How you doing, buddy?” Milo asked.
“Good,” Ralphie answered. “You guys here to hang out again?”
Cassidy put her arm around Ralphie. She was trying to find the words to explain why his mother wasn’t home. Cassidy waited until Ralphie finished the level he was on. He was about to start another game when Cassidy put her hand over the game controller.
“Ralphie, your mother was in an accident,” Cassidy said.
Ralphie looked alarmed. “Is she okay?”
“I hope so. But we need to leave now. We will help you get your stuff ready,” Milo said.
“I don’t need anything. I just want to see Mama!”
“You might need a change of clothes. We don’t know how long your mother will be there,” Cassidy said.
Ralphie was silent for a moment.
“Okay! Let’s hurry,” Ralphie said.
While Milo, Cassidy, and John were getting Ralphie’s stuff together, Nigel was still typing away. Soon Ralphie was all packed, and he and Natasha went to see Nigel.
“We need to go, Nige,” Ralphie insisted.
“Nigel, we should go,” Natasha said.
It’s almost if he doesn’t want to go, she thought.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Nigel said.
Natasha stared at Nigel. “You can speak!”
“Oh, this?” Nigel pulled down his turtleneck to expose Dane’s invention. Natasha came close. She wanted to inspect the device.
“Who made this?”
“Dane, Mr. Henry’s son.”
“Clever boy.”
Nigel gathered his laptop and accessories and headed for the door.
Natasha led her motley crew into the hospital. The nurse recognized her. She picked up the phone and rang the doctor. “The sister is here with Mrs. Watson’s immediate family,” the nurse said. She eyed the group of kids and smiled. Moments later, the doctor arrived.
“All of you follow me, please,” Dr. Rogers said. Natasha’s crew followed in silence. Natasha gave Nigel a sideways glance. He was fidgeting with the apparatus that Dane had fashioned for him.
“How you holding up, Nige?”
Nigel just nodded. He looked upset.
A few seconds later, the doctor led them into Ellen’s room. “Just immediate family,” he said, pointing to a small group of chairs just outside the room. “The rest of you, please wait here.”
Dr. Rogers led Nigel, Ralphie, and Natasha into Ellen’s room. The patient nearest the door now had the curtains drawn. The doctor walked to the second bed and pulled the curtain back, revealing several tubes and a ventilator connected to Ellen.
“Mom?” Ralphie said in a hesitant voice.
“She is resting. We shouldn’t disturb her. I wanted you to see her before we started the testing process,” Dr. Rogers said.
“What testinz procezz?” Nigel said in his robotic voice.
Dr. Rogers looked confused.
“Nigel was in an accident. His vocal cords still need to heal,” Natasha said.
“Where did you get that vocal enhancement?” the doctor asked.
“A friendz,” Nigel said.
Dr. Rogers pointed and urged the group out of the room. Nigel, Ralphie, and Natasha followed the doctor to an unoccupied room with laboratory supplies.
“Nigel, do you know your blood type?” Dr. Rogers asked.
Nigel shook his head.
“Nigel, take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve,” Dr. Rogers said.
Nigel did as he was asked, and the doctor performed some tests on the vial of blood.
“Ahh, finally, a compatible blood type,” Dr. Rogers said.
After extracting blood from Nigel, Dr. Rogers pointed at Ralphie. “Need to test you, too, chief.”
Ralphie looked alarmed.
Natasha put a hand on Ralphie and said, “It’s okay. This will help your mother.”
Ralphie reluctantly removed his jacket and followed the doctor’s orders.
The Sultan’s yacht was taking a beating; the eight-foot waves were taking their toll.
“We need to find a port,” the captain said.
Seymour couldn’t see anything out of the port window. “How far until the next suitable port?” he asked.
“Four to six hours at least.”
“I don’t want to be late delivering the Sultan’s prize.”
“If his prize is dead, then it doesn’t make any difference, anyway.”
Seymour agreed to the change in course. “Where is the nearest suitable port?”
The captain took out a small waterproof notebook and referred to his notes for several seconds.
“I was planning for St. John’s, Newfoundland, because I have friends there, but because of the bad weather, we are looking at something much closer, like Shag Harbour or The Hawk,” the captain said.
“Are they safe enough for our cargo?”
“They are small ports. The harbormaster and I go way back at The Hawk, so that is our best bet.”
Seymour nodded.
The boat rocked as the captain attempted to steer the vessel into a suitable port. The captain was able, barely, to steer the vessel into a slip just north of The Hawk, a community located on an island in Nova Scotia, Canada. They would need to wait out the storm there.
Jet awoke in pain. The medication she’d been given had worn off, and she felt flushed. Do I have a fever? It had been hours since anyone had bothered to check on her. No sign of that creepy old guy, the doctor, or anyone else. She had to use the restroom, and her arm was on fire. White-hot stabs of pain shot through her arm as soon as she tried moving it, even just a little. Jet screamed as loud as she could.
Several seconds later, a young boy entered the cabin. He was dark-skinned and wore a cap on his head. His outfit looked familiar, like a peasant out of a Middle Eastern spy show. He spoke in a language she couldn’t identify. She thought it sounded like Arabic. Jet tried to move her arms and legs but couldn’t.
“Help me!” Jet pleaded.
The kid didn’t move, frozen in indecision. A moment later, an older man came
in. Jet recognized him immediately.
It’s the creep! The guy with his bullshit story about his daughter in college.
The boy spoke to the man in Arabic. The man replied, and the boy left in a hurry.
“Untie me. I need to use the restroom,” Jet said.
The man just walked over and began stroking her blond hair.
Is he enjoying this? Jet thought.
“You remind me of my daughter,” Seymour said. “How I wish I could have saved her.” A tear rolled down the man’s cheek. A second or two later, he grinned.
Jet moaned and cried in pain. Seymour reached into his inside coat pocket and produced a rubber device that looked like a ball with a strap attached and then placed it in her mouth. He lifted her head as he snapped the elastic strap over it.
“Ummph,” Jet said.
She tried screaming, but only mumbled noises echoed.
“Stop this!” another man demanded.
Jet opened her eyes. He was a middle-aged man with dark hair and a goatee. He also had a British accent. She figured this was the doctor the creepy had mentioned earlier.
“I thought you didn’t want the Sultan’s prize damaged,” the doctor said to Seymour.
“I—was only—” Seymour said. He couldn’t get the words out.
“You sick bastard,” the doctor said as he shoved Seymour out of the way.
Seymour exited the cabin. Jet thought she could hear the man sobbing.
Where am I? Jet thought as her eyes darted around the cabin. The doctor took the gag out, and then threw it across the room. Jet thought his expression was that of disgust.
“I’m Dr. Randy,” he said.
“I—have to go—” Jet said in a defeated voice.
“To the restroom?” the doctor said.
Jet nodded.
The doctor loosened Jet’s bonds. Jet uttered small cries of pain, grasping her bad left arm.
“Go. When you return, we will have lunch,” the doctor said. The doctor pointed to a dark, narrow hallway just off the room they were in. “Go down the hall. The lavatory is at the end of the hall, last door on the left.”
“What is your name?” asked Jet.
“My name is Randolph, but you may call me Dr. Randy,” the doctor said with a broad smile on his face.
