Virtuous Deception 2

by Leiann B. Wrytes

  “Can I get you some water? I can call for something,” he said.

  “No, I am . . . good. Thank you,” Brianna stated, offering a half-smile. She was not good, but resting her hand on her stomach gave her some peace, calmed her nerves.

  “I need to say something to you,” he stated.

  “I’m listening. Please.”

  “Look, it’s obvious to me that you’re still upset with me. The last thing I remember you telling me was that you were done with us, with me.”

  “Micah, I’d rather not—” Brianna’s nerves had just barely settled, and she did not see the direction of their conversation being very beneficial.

  “Just . . . I was not a nice person then.”

  Brianna relaxed again.

  “Whatever I did to make you feel that way about us . . . I apologize, sincerely. I am not that person anymore. I am a different man.”

  “Micah . . .” She did not need or require an apology. She only wanted to share this news and go back to her life.

  “Brianna, please. I am going to share something with you that I have not said aloud to anyone in my adult life.”

  Her interest was piqued. “Oooo . . . kay.”

  “I have bipolar disorder. Diagnosed at boarding school when I was a teen.” Micah stared at his feet as he spoke, glancing up every few words or so. “Never really consistent with taking my medication. Ashamed to have . . . needed it. Thought it made me weak, worthless.” With that, he met her eyes and held them. “A few months had passed without them when I met you. You made me incredibly happy, and I thought . . . maybe you could cure me, could save me. I wanted that so badly, Brianna. I am so very sorry. You were never responsible for me, and if you . . . felt pressure . . . I was wrong. I was wrong.”

  Brianna had never seen him so vulnerable. Perhaps something within had truly changed for the better. “Micah, you could have told me.” She had sat with the reality of his disorder for a few days. It was one of the things that Dr. Baxter had made it a point to share with her prior to their visit.

  “I couldn’t even admit it to myself.”

  Brianna believed him. She believed every word.

  “But it’s different. The accident, Ms. Vida . . . my perspective and approach to living is not like it was. I am working on many things, but my mind is clear. I am regularly taking my medication, and I know for certain that I am a better man for doing so.”

  “I don’t know what to say, honestly. I am very happy to see that you are doing as well as you are. When I first heard of your accident, I wasn’t sure of what to expect.”

  “I hoped every day that you would come, and here you are. I am glad that I could at least get the opportunity to apologize to you for my behavior. Maybe if you’re willing to allow me to prove to you that I am better . . . that we could give us another shot. We had something very special, Brianna, and I don’t want my—”

  “Micah, we’re having a child,” Brianna blurted.

  Micah’s eyes opened wide. “What?”

  “I am pregnant with your child.”

  “Uh . . . how? I mean . . . when? Wow. A baby?”

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Ms. Vida poked her head in the door. “Is everything okay in here?”

  “Yes! I mean . . . we are fine. Just a few more minutes please.”

  “Sure.” Ms. Vida closed the door to give them more time to finish the conversation.

  “Brianna?”

  “I haven’t known very long, but it’s why I needed to find you,” Brianna explained.

  Micah looked slightly dejected with that comment, but it was the truth.

  “I wanted give you a chance to be a part of our child’s life. I have to live knowing my father was not given a choice. I did not want that for our child.”

  Micah still stared on in his disbelief. “This is unbelievable.”

  “If this is too much and you need time to think, I understand.”

  “I don’t. I don’t need any time to think. I want to be there for my child, and for you . . . if you’ll let me. I know what it feels like to grow up without a father. I won’t abandon my child. This just gives me more motivation to get better and stay better.”

  Brianna was taken aback by his eagerness. Given all that he was dealing with, she had not been sure how he would respond. “I am not sure how I feel about . . . us, but I am encouraged by the probability of our child having us both. That means a lot to me.”

  “Take all the time you need. I am not going anywhere.”

  The corners of her mouth curved up into a genuine full smile. This Micah showed restraint, unlike the Javan of old. “Good. So, what were you doing before the accident? We have not spoken in nearly two months.”

  “Really?” Micah’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything about the last few months, I think.”

  “But you remember my telling you that I wanted a break from us?”

  Micah nodded in agreement. “That is all I remember, and I don’t even have a timeframe for it. It’s strange and uncomfortable to have a memory floating in space like that.”

  “Well, I told you that about two months ago. Right before I left for—” Brianna hesitated to mention Cancun, not only because of the pain it triggered, but because she was not sure if she wanted him to remember any of that time, if she ever wanted to discuss it with him at all. He seemed to be a different person, and maybe this clean slate was a cosmic gift to their family. “Right before I left for . . . a convention . . . in California.” She lied, but she didn’t want to risk triggering a memory. She felt good about her decision to keep that horrible tale to herself. For once, it could live in her mind as the nightmare it truly was. This, this was reality.

  “Two months? Well, that gives me some sort of timeframe. Thank you. I am sure Mayesha, my cognitive therapist, will appreciate that.”

  “No problem.”

  Micah slid toward her again, but Brianna did not shrink away or try to stop him. He put a hand over her tummy. “I cannot believe my child is in there. This is amazing.”

  Brianna closed her eyes, covered his hand with hers, permitting the love she’d sought to suppress to bloom and live in this moment. She had missed him more than she wanted to admit. She had been grappling with the truth of her situation ever since she confessed to Dr. Shepherd that she loved him despite all that had transpired.

  WonderBra thought she might be suffering a bit from Stockholm syndrome, but Brianna disagreed. She had always loved Micah, but her familial issues would not allow her to do anything with those feelings. She simply did not trust them, but things had changed. Her family was a sham, and her life nearly ruined by lies. She needed to be honest with herself about everything, including this. Their child fluttered in her belly to consecrate the reunion. This felt right. The monster she saw for a moment that night was a psychosis; it was not who he truly was, and he had it under control now. She deserved this and wanted it more than anything else.

  “I love you.”

  He looked up into her eyes. “I love you, too.”

  Knock, knock, knock.

  “Come in!” Micah screamed, briefly checking her eyes for permission. Brianna smiled. “We’re having a baby!”

  Ms. Vida squealed in delight and rushed toward Brianna. “Congratulations, child!”

  Dr. Baxter grabbed Brianna’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. As she looked around at the smiling faces, a joyous energy filled the room.

  This just might work, she thought. This just might work out after all.

  Chapter 44

  “Everything is fine. I don’t want to go into any details right now, but I am handling the situation. This is a non-issue.”

  Beep . . . beep.

  Frank pulled the phone away from his ear, glancing at the number flashing across the screen. “I need to go, but keep this between us. Speak to no one about this. Trust me.” He abruptly ended the call, switching to the incoming call before it rolled to voicemail.
>
  “This is Frank Mason.”

  “Mr. Mason, this is Dr. Brunti of the Hôpital Louis-Constant Fleming in Saint-Martin. You left several messages for me. I would normally delegate this type of thing to a nurse, but your matter seemed urgent in nature. What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Thank you so much for returning my call, Dr. Brunti. I won’t keep you long, but this situation is delicate and time-sensitive. For those reasons, I am hoping that you can handle this personally, for a nominal fee, of course.”

  “I am not sure what this is concerning, Mr. Mason, but as a medical professional, I can assure you that money is no guarantor of favorable results.”

  “It isn’t anything like that. My wife, Lisa Mason, was a patient under your care. She was released from the hospital about a week ago. Knife victim.”

  “I did not operate on anyone.”

  “No, I know that. You checked on her frequently during her post-op care. I only spoke with her surgeon once, but I saw you nearly every day until . . . I just had hoped that since you were familiar with us, you could assist me.”

  “I apologize, Mr. Mason, but I am not sure of what you are referring, sir.”

  “I imagine you have direct access to her medical records from her stay at your hospital. Her condition has gotten worse, and for security reasons, I have chosen to hire a private doctor for her. We are back home in the States and so, for obvious reasons, I cannot just swing by the hospital, but I need her medical information to give to the doctor.”

  “Well, Mr. Mason, any medical records can be retrieved through the proper channels, sir.”

  “I reached out to you specifically so that you could send them to me. My wife is dying. I don’t have time to surf channels. It was just last week. I am sure you remember us. She was a knife victim, needed a blood transfusion during surgery. I sat by her bed every day. I spoke with you every day she was there. You commented about her beauty, her resilience. Stated that she was lucky compared to others who had been in a similar situation, died under similar circumstances.”

  “Mr. Mason, I am afraid there has been some misunderstanding, sir.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have only returned to work this morning from vacation. Nearly a month I was gone. I have not seen you nor your wife or any patients during that time.”

  The room lost its color as Frank struggled to process Dr. Brunti’s statement. Nothing in his world moved for several seconds. “That is not possible. I met you.”

  “I am afraid that is incorrect. I have never met you or your wife, sir.”

  Dr. Brunti’s words ricocheted off the walls of his mind, causing a series of mini-explosions as they tumbled around. The room began a slow spin, whirling around him until he felt sick inside. Stumbling toward his desk, he tried to maintain some control over his body.

  “How is . . . this . . . po–possible?”

  “It is a very serious security matter for our hospital. If what you say is true, this person, whoever it was, will be caught and punished. I will have our security team look into this immediately.”

  Frank was not listening to Dr. Brunti. Lisa was his only concern, and none of what he rambled about had anything to do with saving her. Suddenly, Frank started coughing uncontrollably, so hard his stomach ached with the movement. Gasping for air, he leaned over his desk, looking for something to distract his mind. He needed to focus. His eyes landed on a photo of Lisa and Brianna. The picture took him back a decade, permitting him to visit a simpler time, before it all began to fall apart. His heart rate regressed, leveling out at a pace typical for him. His coughing ceased.

  “Listen, I couldn’t care less about any of what you’re talking about. My wife is in trouble. Someone is trying to kill her, and you are telling me that your hospital gave this person access to her. I want—”

  “Mr. Mason, I can—”

  “Don’t interrupt me.”

  “Mr. Mason, I apologize. If this thing happened, I can understand how upsetting it is.”

  “What do you mean, if it happened? I am telling you that someone disguised as you pumped my wife full of who knows what. If you aren’t going to do anything about this, put someone on the phone who will. My wife is very sick and—”

  “I am only saying that the hospital has a procedure in place to verify such things. It is a very serious accusation. Believe me, I will personally look into this. Other patients may have been at risk as well.”

  Frank restrained himself. He could not afford to lose his patience. Plopping down in his chair, he massaged his temple with his free hand. “My wife has gotten worse since she was deemed well enough to leave. What am I supposed to do here? How can I help her?”

  Dr. Brunti audibly sighed over the phone. “Mr. Mason, I would advise you to have your wife screened for toxins as soon as possible. I don’t know anything beyond what they show in movies about killers, but I know medicine. Sometimes medicines can be killers themselves. If your wife was released, then it is likely that whatever was given to her by this person took longer to affect her. Do you remember when she started feeling worse? Any particular time?”

  Frank thought back, mentally combing through the days before they left the island. “Maybe after she first took her pain medication? We had a bit of a scare a few days after she was discharged, and it delayed our leaving for about a week, but she got better and was cleared to fly.”

  “Ah, so I would think that perhaps whatever was given to her interacted negatively with her medication. Maybe the break from it allowed her system to recover, but once you started administering it again regularly, it resumed its original course.”

  “This is insane. She is in pain. There is nothing else to give her.”

  “Sir, that prescription may be killing her. I cannot tell you what to do with your wife, but if it were my Rhonda, I would seek medical advice.”

  “That is what I’m doing now.”

  “From someone who can tend to her. I am not knowledgeable enough about her to be of any further use to you.”

  “Fine. What about her medical records?”

  “I will do what I can to fast track getting the records to you. I have your written request here, along with the required identification. I don’t anticipate that being a problem, but as an insurance, I suggest you contact the police. An officer has scissors to cut political tape that I do not.”

  “I cannot believe this.”

  “I am very sorry, Mr. Mason. Good luck to you and your wife. I hope that she gets better.”

  Frank was angry, dejected, but this Dr. Brunti was not at fault. “Thank you. A detective will be in touch.”

  “I don’t know how helpful I can be, but I’ll expect the call. Good day.”

  “Yep.” Frank ended the call, chucking his cell phone across the room. “Fuck! Son of a bitch!”

  Simmy came barreling through the door. “Frank, yo . . . is you cool, bro?”

  Frank stood, ramming his chair into the wall behind him. “Close the door!”

  Simmy closed the door behind him. “Yo, bro. A’ight. You good?”

  Frank clenched his fists until his knuckles turned red. “No, I am not cool.”

  “Tell me what to do, yo.”

  “My cell is on the floor over there.” He gestured with his hand in the general vicinity of where he thought his phone had landed.

  Simmy walked to the wall farthest from them. He bent his knees to inspect the damage. “Yo, this phone is smashed to shit.”

  “Then just pick a phone in the house, Simmy.”

  With six steps, Simmy reached Frank’s desk, placing a hand on his office phone. Frank rolled his eyes.

  “Not that one.”

  Simmy shuffled back, awaiting further instruction.

  “Pick some other phone in the house. Contact the Saint-Martin Police Department, ask for Detective Baptiste. Tell him that Frank Mason said to get his ass on the first flight here.”

  “Saint-Martin? Like the island where the good rum is?
”

  Frank’s mind whirled as he came to grips with the magnitude of this problem. This person, trying to kill his wife, was not some random hire. This person was a professional.

  “Yo, what’s going on?”

  “What in the fuck did I tell you about asking so many got-damn questions, Simmy?”

  “No disrespect. I’m just sayin’, what kind of shit you into that you need to fly in police? You already got the Men in Black patrolling like this house is Fort Knox or something.”

  “Simmy.”

  “Yo, it’s like twenty dudes. You got four bedrooms in this house. . . .” Squinting, Simmy stared at the ceiling while he did the math. “That’s like five dudes per room. We can’t even breathe in here at the same time.”

  “Make the fuckin’ call, Simmy.”

  “I’m sayin’, don’t you think I need to know?”

  “Simmy, now is not the fuckin’ time for this!”

  “When is the time, yo? I followed you from New York, yo. You ain’t told me shit. First you runnin’ from trench coats in the Apple, your wife in there sick as fuck. Now you flying in cops from other countries? What the fuck, yo?”

  “How long have we been here, Simmy?”

  “Like four or five days.”

  “So, for four or five days, you’ve been safe.”

  Simmy twisted his face in confusion. “What are you talking about, yo?”

  Frank turned to him, fire in his eyes. “I know, Simmy. I know who you are. I know what you did. I know why you were so anxious to come with me.”

  Simmy straightened up, shifting his wiry frame into a defensive posture. “Oh, yeah?”

  Frank nodded.

  “So, what you sayin’, yo?”

  “Shut the fuck up. Find a got-damn phone and call Baptiste. Stop talkin’ like you’re doin’ me some fuckin’ favor by bein’ here.”

  “I’m not even sayin’ all that—”

  “Stop fuckin’ talkin’ and go do what I’m tellin’ you to do.”

  “My life is in danger, too, yo.”

  Frank lost it. He rushed at Simmy, slamming him hard into the door. “I don’t care about you, or me. Understand? We don’t matter. She does. I thought I was clear at the airport.”