by Ginger Scott
The nurse at the desk leaves her station with a tray, and heads down the corridor to the main bank of elevators. The only other person on right now is in Dom’s room, taking readings. That means if someone were to call the desk, this lady would be the only one around to answer. I feel in my pocket for my phone, hoping I guess right and dial the desk instead of my dad. I’ve called it a few times to ask for blankets and pillows. They respond faster that way than if I hit the alert by my bed. I press the area that I think is my call button, and I wait, little prayers on rote in my head that the phone rings any second now.
I smile when it does.
She’s about to usher him to his room when the ring sounds. She looks over to the desk, then back to him.
“Real quick,” he says. “No more than a few seconds, just to check the view.”
Her head bobs back and forth, torn between duty and annoyance, and she finally sighs and pulls a ring of keys from her pocket to unlock the door.
“I’ll lock it up as soon as I’m off this call. Don’t touch anything. We have to clean whatever you touch,” she says, backing away and rushing to grab the ringing phone.
“Hurry,” I whisper loudly, holding my phone up for him to see. I move around a little, stepping just inside the door so I can talk without her realizing this call is coming from me.
“I need to speak with Ron Ronalds. He’s a patient. I think in room . . . Four . . . Oh . . . Four?” Justin looks at me with a wrinkled face and quirked smile.
“What the hell was that?” he whispers. I twirl my finger in the air, signaling for him to hurry.
“He’s not on this floor. Let me see if I can find him in the system. One minute.” I hear her clicking on the computer, both over the phone and over my shoulder. Ron Ronalds is a really dumb name, but I was working on the fly. I’m still a better liar than Justin.
I stand in the doorway to conceal any view of inside while he scans the room, looking high and low, pulling open drawers that hold extra soap and packets of towels.
He stops for a breath and rubs his hands over his pale face, beads of sweat collecting above his brow. He’s always so calm, so methodical. I didn’t think pressure was a thing he felt.
I lower my phone to whisper to Justin.
“Bathroom,” I say, nodding toward the open door.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not seeing him.” She did that fast because Ron Ronalds is a really dumb name to give.
“Two Ns,” I add, wincing at my own bad lie. “I know, weird spelling. It makes it a pain to find him sometimes. R-O-N-N.” As if I have to spell that out.
I hold my breath while Justin slips though the bathroom door. The nurse has finished typing, and she’s humming in preparation to disappoint me.
“Still not here,” she says.
“You’re positive?” Of course she is. I made up double-N Ron . . . Ronn.
“Are you sure you meant Morpheus Brain and Bio? We’re a specialized unit, so . . .” I tilt my head at her question, zoning out on the rest of her words. Morpheus. Morpheus.
Justin steps from the bathroom with a tablet in his hand, flashing it at me just long enough to communicate that he’s got it. He tucks it inside his gown, and I move out of the way so he can make his way out of the room. I glance inside, noting that every drawer he opened has been closed, then I pull the door shut and end my call about Ronn.
“I think you’re right. I’m so sorry for the trouble.” I’m suspiciously quiet when I talk, so when I tuck my phone back in my pocket and pass the nurse’s station—and the nurse—I feel a rush of guilty heat. Part of me anticipates her pouncing on me and forcing out the truth. She walks right by instead, and asks if we’re done.
“Yeah, he didn’t like it, I guess. Thanks,” I say, catching her last-second glare. I’m pretty sure she recognizes my voice from the call she got a second ago. Before she can ask, I follow Justin into his room, giddy and scared shitless all at once.
“Dude,” I say, sitting back in the comfortable chair. I am pretty sure if they took my pulse right now, they’d tear up any discharge papers that might be coming. That was close.
“Nice work with the Ron thing, man.” He smirks, and a short laugh breaks through his tight lips.
“Fuck off. I was trying to think fast and Ron came out.” I pull my phone out, double checking that the call is gone. I’m super paranoid now that this tablet is in Justin’s room.
“You hear any of that?” I ask him.
“Just your end,” he says, rolling to his side and testing the power on the tablet. “Hey, you have any charging cords or whatever? This thing’s at like ten percent.”
“Maybe,” I say. He reaches toward his phone charger, barely snagging the end of the cord from the wall near his bed. The input doesn’t match, so I’m not sure we’ll have better luck with mine. “Maybe Sal can bring one?” I suggest.
“Maybe,” he says, turning the brightness down on the screen and flipping through a few things to see if he can find what he needs. “Shit,” he says.
I lean forward, trying to see without having to speak about it. He tilts the screen enough to show me a password section.
Shit.
“Maybe it will still work. You’re a pretty good bluffer,” I say, admitting that after Ronn, he might be a better liar after all.
“Why do you want to know if I heard your call?” He brings me back. I shake my head awake and sit up, bringing my phone into my palms to see if I can find anything helpful online while I fill him in.
“She said this place is the Morpheus Brain Unit, or something like that. She used that name, though—”
“Morpheus?” He tilts his head.
I nod and glance up as the website for the neurological pharmaceutical testing lab appears. “Lab rats.”
I hold my phone screen toward him and his eyes scan the page. “Yep,” he says. Anger creeps into his jaw and cheeks. “Lab rats.”
38
Villain
(Justin)
I forward a few screenshots of what I really need from the tablet, the truly incriminating stuff, in case the chargers Sal brings are all failures. This isn’t some off-the-rack tablet. It’s special, made for whatever kind of business this place is—does. Pharma, which really . . . Esher never lied about that part to us. In our dreams, she was pretty straight about this all being a test. I’m not so sure our families got that same story, though.
Kellen went home, officially. I can’t lie, there’s a sting of envy in my gut. A little bit over the idea of leaving this place, but mostly because he has a home to go to. I’m eighteen—my own problem.
I’m going to stay with Sal while I figure things out. But first, I need to play this all just right. I’ve been waiting for Dr. Esher’s visit for hours. I have just enough battery remaining to flash the screen at her and then put on the performance of my life. If my timing works out, Dominica’s dad should hear it all right from the mad scientist’s mouth.
I’m never nervous. It’s both my gift and my flaw. It’s as if fear is an emotion I lack, or have always lacked, until now. I’m scared. I think the only reason is because of what’s riding on this. The only thing that’s ever made my heart beat with passion, with love, with concern and worry, is breathing with the help of a machine while her body is kept in a medically induced coma. If I don’t do this just the way I practiced, that kiss from our dream will be the last time I taste her, hear her. It will be the last time I feel her warm skin and smell her hair. It will be the last of her warm eyes seeing behind my brick-wall bravado, and it will be a stain that I carry on my heart for the rest of my life. If I fail, I won’t only be breaking my heart, I’ll be breaking her family’s and the hearts of all of the people who will never get to meet her.
The knock startles me even though I see it coming. I lift myself up on my elbows, the hard edge of the tablet digging into my side under the covers.
“How are we feeling today, Justin?” Her perfect smile tells me she probably doesn’t see this co
ming. I hedge my certainty, just in case, because so far, she’s always been a step ahead.
“About the same,” I say, using the rehearsed lines I worked through with Kellen before he left. I’m going to keep it vague, read her reactions, and find my in.
“Well, I guess that’s good. You’ve been sleeping normally, doing well with fluids, and your . . .” She trails off as she flips through a few pages on her clipboard, pages about me—pages that she probably printed from this fucking device digging into my side. “Yes, your heart looks good.”
She lifts her chin and pulls the reading glasses from her face, tucking them into her side pocket along with the pen she clicks. She steps close and reaches for my wrist. I hand it to her and she feels for my pulse. I’m pretty sure she’s reading my behavior more than my actual biology. She wants a sense of what I know. Kellen pulled off the act. He smiled big and hugged his dad and thanked every person on staff for getting him to a point that he could leave. He looked fully bought-in and unsuspecting.
But I’ve been visiting Dom. She knows it, though she doesn’t like it. I think it ranks me higher on her distrust scale. Because of this, I’m careful to count slowly with every breath, keeping my pulse right where it is.
“You seem good,” she says, letting go of my hand and stepping back when she’s satisfied.
I keep my eyes on hers and nod. I know he’s here, and I’m sure he’ll see the note. Dom’s dad has been around most of the day. He takes off for lunch at the same time each day, like clockwork, and comes back punctually. It’s the only way this will work. Everyone shows up when they’re supposed to. I hid the note for him to find under her medical bracelet, rolled up against the skin on her wrist. He takes that hand and kisses it every time he visits, multiple times each day. He won’t miss it. He can’t.
“I think, Justin, that you may be able to get out of here soon. What do you think about that?” She puts her glasses back on and writes a few notes on my chart. She’s nonchalant, as if this is a regular check-up, or a physical. I look over her shoulder, hoping that any moment, Mr. Salaya strolls on up. I can’t be too early with the boom, but I can’t be too late, either.
“Justin?” She looks over her shoulder to see what I’m looking for. I’m glad the pulse is over because, shit, I missed a beat with that.
“Sorry, I thought I saw Nicole. She sneaks me burgers,” I whisper. I wink too, making it playful, redirecting the suspicion to my poor diet.
Dr. Esher leans forward a little and cups her mouth so she can whisper.
“I know. I approved them,” she says, winking back at me.
Huh. Always one step ahead.
“I was saying . . . home. Looks like it might be in your cards soon,” she continues. She writes again, so I take the opportunity to scan the halls one more time, taking in a solid, satisfying breath when Dom’s dad enters the main area. I have maybe a minute at most before he arrives. It’s time to get this started.
“About that. I’m sure you tried contacting my parents. They aren’t really, well, very good at being parents. And I’m eighteen, so—” She holds up a hand and smiles as she stops me.
“Yes, we’re aware. There are a lot of options, so I don’t want you to worry about the finances right now.”
A figure appears near the doorway behind her. I’m careful not to look his way, to do anything to tip off his presence. I told him what he needed to know in that note I wrote. I warned him I wouldn’t look at him. I told him to wait and listen, that I had a huge concern and this was the only way I could be sure. His love for his daughter is deep, so he will stay and play along. He’ll wait until I’ve drained every possible chance for information.
“Oh, I’m not really worried about finances.” I enjoy being smug.
She stops her pen cold and tips her head to peer at me over the rim of her glasses. She probably expects me to threaten her, which I guess, in a way, I’m about to. Just not quite in the way she predicts.
“Yeah, see, I found this here tablet thing.” I channel Kellen’s cowboy charm as I pull the device from my side and flip on the screen, dragging my hand over a few pages so she knows that I know. I warned Dom’s dad about this. I told him he would see it all in the end, that he had to trust me.
I hold her stare with a faint smile on my lips until her neck tenses and her throat gulps. Her eyes blink rapidly around the room for a few seconds, then stop as her gaze meets mine. Her nostrils flare. Her balance is rattled. This is good.
“Thank you for finding it. I’m not sure how it got in here.” She is so good at double speak. I tilt my head.
“Oh, I think you do.” I’m pretty good at it, too.
Her mouth tightens, and I recognize the way her eyes work, glancing down a little while she thinks. This is her buying herself time. I won’t give her any.
“Before you can think of a lie, I’m just going to dive right in. You can pry this out of my dead hands. You can bring in security and take it away from me, have me hauled off in handcuffs. I don’t care how or what, but you should know that I’ve already sent what needs to be sent to the people who need to know about the content of this thing.”
I haven’t sent shit to anyone, but here’s to testing the peak of my lying skills.
“And who needs to know?” Her lips pucker with a smile. She’s calling me on it, but I’m prepared.
“The Post. They got their own copy. And the Iowa State Medical Board. And that one government agency in charge of approving medication and food—what’s it called again?”
“FDA,” Dom’s dad says, stepping in right on cue. She jumps at the sound of his voice, and it is a pleasure to watch.
“Why don’t you tell Mr. Salaya why his daughter hasn’t woken up yet. Maybe we can show him her charts, and the dose of pentobarbital you approved that kept her down when she was about to wake up. Funny how that spike correlates with a cardiac arrest. But look at all of this data you got out of it,” I say, holding the pad up one more time, flipping through the pages I know are the sword through her heart.
I’m not as smart as Dom, but I have street savvy. I’m resourceful, and I’m good on my feet. I knew there was a thread to pull, so I stared at these charts and numbers until it made enough sense to make me dangerous.
“You all signed consent forms,” she begins. She sways on her feet though, so I know it’s bullshit.
“Consent to treat,” Dom’s dad interjects. He moves toward me for the tablet, and I hand it to him so he can see things for himself.
“This is our treatment. It’s what we do, and we’re the best in the country.” She’s got her spin down. Only thing is, hard to be the best at something when you’re testing it for the very first time.
“Yeah, I read that on your website. But these,” I say, gesturing toward Mr. Salaya. He hands me the tablet and I move the screen to the list of treatments we have been given, which includes the small camera computer that records data from inside our bodies. “These things aren’t part of your treatment. They’re all in the testing phase, part of trials. Not approved. And while my parents would probably sign anything to clear their hands of me, I’m pretty sure Dom’s dad wouldn’t. And I’m pretty sure Mr. McCoy wouldn’t either. Good thing I got his email from Kellen before they left.” The screen blacks out during my presentation, and I catch the little “gotcha” moment that flickers in Dr. Esher’s eyes.
“Oh, don’t think this matters. I took pictures, and as I said, everyone who needs to know has their hands on this.” It’s a partial truth, so I’m able to sell it hard. I pull my phone out and hand it to Dom’s dad so he can continue to study.
I sit back and wait for her move. I expect a battle, some twisted happening that proves this too is a dream, in a dream of a dream of a dream. Christ! But that’s not what I get. Instead, she folds her arms over her chest, over the chart that contains notes about me going home, and looks down to the floor. Her teeth gnash so hard I hear them crack in her closed mouth. She’s caught. And bigger than that, M
orpheus is caught.
“This isn’t good,” I say.
“I think at this point, legal will have to handle the rest of your questions,” she says, moving to leave the room. Before she can breach the door, Dom’s dad steps in her path. He draws in a long breath, a thing he’s done with me in the past when he wants to scare me shitless. It’s been fairly effective, even for a kid who doesn’t scare much. I do get daunted though, and this man—he’s six-foot-six and pure intimidation.
“I think at this point, I will have my legal team ask your legal team some serious questions. I also think we’ll be getting some different doctors involved, and I would like my daughter moved to a new facility. Now.” He doesn’t mince words. And though she never verbally acknowledges any of it, the speed and power with which the heels of her shoes spike into the hard floor indicate a pretty resounding “Yes, sir.”
39
Damsel
(Dominica)
He hasn’t left my side for eleven days.
Justin’s made friends with everyone in this place, from the custodians to the neurologist who made sure my wires were firing. I’m pretty sure he hugged the cardiologist.
I haven’t been awake for any of it. I merely listen from this strange twilight land I’ve been trapped in.
“She will wake up. Give it time.” That’s what everyone keeps saying.
Justin vowed not to leave until I do, and those friends he made have helped him by delivering food and bringing him extra pillows and blankets. He has a bed in here. It’s a cot, or so they’ve said. I wouldn’t know because I haven’t seen it.
I’m about to, though.
I’ve been focusing on the rhythm of Justin’s breathing while he sleeps. I’m not sure whether it’s the middle of the day, or night. The number of people who come in and out of this room doesn’t seem to change, and until now, it’s all been dark to me.
