by Ryan Casey
“Like you said—you’ve been suspended. And judging from some of the… well, more illegal activities you told me you involved yourself in during your work trips, I suspect that will be for a very long time. No job to provide. A strained marriage. A… A sick son. Like you said. Your words, not mine.”
Stuart was speechless. He knew Sarah had hinted at something else, too, with her “lose your family” threat. He’d slept with her last night. He’d gone back to her flat and he’d fucking slept with her. And now it was coming back to haunt him. To bite him on the ass.
“You’re blackmailing me?” Stuart said. “Well, how about this, sugar—how about I go to the police and report TCorps for harassment? How does that sound for your customer fucking satisfaction survey, or whatever you call it?”
Another pause. “You could do that. Or you could try this out. No risks. Potentially all reward. You could start a war—a war that would result in all the truth about your activities coming out; a war that will tear your family apart and leave you more skint than you could ever imagine. You could do that. Or you could at least try this. If not, then, well… I—We can always find somebody else to test on. But, like you said, you don’t want to lose your family, do you?”
Stuart was about to respond—what he was about to say exactly, he wasn’t sure—when the kitchen door opened. Denise walked out, smile still wide on her face. He stared at her. He knew he had those alarmed eyes. Those glassy eyes. Those “don’t ask me what I’m up to” eyes.
“So let’s just sit. You, me, your son. Let’s just sit and chat. That’s all it has to be. And if you refuse, then yeah. That’s okay. I understand. But please. Let’s just have a coffee and talk it over. Talk over the TCorps trials, procedure, things like that. Okay?”
“You okay?” Denise mouthed, as she headed towards the lounge.
Stuart swallowed phlegm down his dry throat and forced a smile and a nod. “I… Okay. How… How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Eager. I can do tomorrow. I’ll text you with the details.”
The phone cut out to silence.
Jonny walked through the kitchen door, playing around on his phone. Denise had disappeared into the lounge. Stuart still held his phone to his face, like he was frozen, completely frozen in time by the conversation he’d just had.
“You okay, Dad?” Jonny asked. He looked at him with shadowed, narrowed eyes. Sick eyes.
Stuart blinked and dropped his phone into his pocket. He took a sharp, deep breath. “About that day together. How does a trip to London tomorrow sound?”
Sarah cancelled the call and let out a shaky breath. She rested the edge of the phone against her head. Her flat was quiet, void of life. Rain pattered against the large window in the middle of the kitchen/living space. She hadn’t enjoyed making that call, but she’d been left with no choice, sat alone in her flat, suspended from work and pending further investigation. Harry had gone. Her job was gone. She was alone. Truly alone.
Except she still had the case.
She looked over at the brown leather suitcase, which rested against the back of the sofa. It stared back at her. Stared back at her, forcing her to push forward. The suitcase had possessed her to make that call to Stuart. Fuck—she didn’t have the strength to make a call like that to somebody. It was the suitcase’s decision.
Or more, the contents of the case.
She put the phone into her pocket and leaned back against her kitchen worktop. She stared up at the ceiling and listened to the rain growing heavier, car tyres splashing through puddles outside her window. She’d been told to leave TCorps immediately following her breach of conduct. She’d had her main keycard taken away, her work clothes taken away—even her office key had been taken away. She’d been told not to come anywhere near the place until further contact. The inevitable was looming. She’d seen it in Dr. Wilson’s eyes, in Donna Carter’s eyes.
She was losing her job. She was going to be fined for negligence. She was going to lose everything that had made Daddy so proud. She wasn’t a scientist anymore. She was a failed scientist.
The desire to discover was good until it came back to fuck you over.
She stood up and walked over to the case. She knew, at least, she still had the antidote. She had a small dose of it, and she had somebody who she was willing to test it on. What was to lose, anyway? She was going to be punished enough as it was. What harm would a little antidote test do? She’d tested it. The worst it could do is not work.
But the best it could do… Yes. She had to try. She had Stuart right where she wanted him and she had to try.
A part of her felt a slight flicker of guilt over her behaviour towards Stuart. He was an alright guy—really, he was. And sure, it was a shame that he’d been suspended from work.
Then again, he’d brought it on himself. He didn’t have to be out in a bar when his wife believed he was cooped up in some dingy hotel bed. He didn’t have to walk over to the most attractive woman in his eyeline and letch over her for a quick, forgettable shag. He didn’t have to open up to her about his son.
Funny how things worked out.
Yes. He was an “okay” guy. Perfectly adequate in bed. Good company, too. Witty. Understanding. All those things.
But she wasn’t really attracted to him. More to what he had. What he’d offered her. A chance. An opportunity. And in return, she was going to give him his son back. She was doing him a favour, after all. He might not have liked her methods, but he’d thank her for her actions some time in the future. Maybe, when all things passed over and his son was back to normal again, he’d realise his family was no good for him anyway and he’d finally take that decision to move out, and move in with her. Crazy thoughts to be having over somebody she’d only slept with—hell, only met—once? Perhaps. But she’d always had something of an… impulsive nature.
She picked up the brown leather case and took it over to the kitchen worktop. She might not be in the job for much longer—the supposed “job of her dreams”—but that didn’t mean she still couldn’t make Daddy proud. In fact, this was the opportunity she needed. She was standing at the top of a very high cliff staring down at the blue ocean beneath. She had been all her adult life. All her adult life, holding back from taking that leap—that one leap into the luscious blue water below.
She dangled a foot over the edge in her mind. She was that close. She just had to get Jonny to take the antidote somehow. She had to sit down with him and his dad and she had to get this formula inside of him, and then she just had to wait. Make them believe that they were in line for medical trials. Wait for the results. Wait for news from Stuart and Jonny of a sudden peculiar improvement in fortune and health.
Then, and only then, she would tell them both that Jonny had already taken the antidote, and they’d thank her forever and she’d be celebrated as a hero and her dreams would all come true.
She clicked open the bindings of the suitcase, stared at the little bag of white powder on the left; the vial of clear blue liquid; the clean syringes.
She was going to do this. Tomorrow, she was going to do this, and she was going to succeed. What else did she have to lose?
She’d tested it time and time again. The last rat eating its own flesh, it had just been hungry. She’d found the perfect formula. No doubt TCorps would be on to it in a matter of months if they pulled their heads out of their fat arses. No—no time to wait. She had to do this tomorrow. She had to do it.
She closed the lid of the suitcase.
What was the worst that could happen?
Staring out of the main window of her TCorps office, Donna Carter knew something was wrong.
It had started with the shivering. All day, since that incident with the rat, she just couldn’t stop shaking. She’d dismissed it as shock at first. Even the doctor had told her she was likely just a little riled up, as he’d dabbed some antiseptic on her finger and wrapped it in a plaster.
But she was still shivering. She could feel her teeth c
hattering.
Probably nothing more than a cold. She’d been concerned that the rat might have poisoned her, or something. But the doctor told her not to worry. He’d run a quick blood test, and she was fine, apparently. Just relax, he said. Just get some rest and you’ll be feeling fine in the morning.
She closed her eyes and thought back to that rat. Sharp little teeth plucking its own guts out, thick red blood matted in its greasy damp fur. And then its teeth, sinking into her finger as she tried to lift it out of the cage. Its eyes. Its bloodshot eyes.
The empty dinner tray.
The empty water flask.
Starved. Hungry. Crazed.
She gulped. She was starting to feel hot and nauseous just thinking about that rat. This was how she always felt when she was coming down with a cold, a part of her thought. This was how it always happened.
But another part of her spoke back. Another part of her disagreed.
Another part of her knew.
Something was happening inside Donna Carter. She didn’t know what it was, but something was changing.
She clenched her eyes together and tried to think of nice things, but she couldn’t shake away the thoughts of that bloodsoaked sawdust and cotton.
The rat’s teeth sinking into its own flesh, right through to the bone.
The empty dinner tray. The empty water flask.
Something was happening.
12.
Starting a genuine conversation with a twenty-three-year-old recluse was trickier than Stuart Ainsthwaite imagined.
They sat on the train together. Standard class, because of it being such a last-minute job. Still, the carriage on the Glasgow-London Euston train wasn’t so busy. One old fella with glasses reading a newspaper on a table-seat to himself. A couple of students with headphones on further down the carriage. Every now and then, a rubbish collector wandered past, hoovering up whatever he could find into his endless black bin bag.
Jonny sat staring at the table. He didn’t have any music playing. He’d brought along his Kindle, but it just sat in front of him, unopened. Come to think of it, Stuart couldn’t ever remember seeing his son reading to pass the time. He couldn’t remember him doing… well, anything, to pass the time.
“So I figured we could just go down, see the sights, grab some lunch.”
Jonny nodded. His eyes stayed focused on the table. The train smoothly swerved around a corner.
Stuart prepared to say something else but it was no use. There was no forcing his son into conversation. At least he was here, with him, at ten a.m on a Thursday morning. That was progress. A shitload of progress.
A twinge sparked up inside Stuart. A guilty twinge.
Was it progress, really? Was he taking his son to London because it was the right thing to do—because it got him out of the house?
Or was it because of what Sarah had told him about her HIV/AIDS antidote?
He looked at his phone. One new message, from Sarah. His stomach tensed up as he opened it, double-checking to see that Jonny wasn’t looking.
Caffe Nero at Euston okay? Won’t take long. Just a quick chat about things.
Stuart coughed inadvertently. Fuck. She wanted to meet at Euston. How were they going to play this? Was Sarah just expecting him to have briefed his son? Oh, Jonny, we’re not just going out for a nice fucking father-son day. We’re going to use you as a fucking lab rat. No. He had to think. He had to play it right.
11.30. Son doesn’t know yet. Still working it out. X
He hit “send.” He wasn’t sure about the kiss. Did it give him the upper hand in some way? The illusion that he’d got over everything she’d threatened him with—wrecking his career, his marriage? Had he got over everything? He just didn’t know anymore.
He put the phone away and looked back at his son. Jonny stared out of the window. His curly hair dangled down his forehead and around his ears, spongy and thick.
“Hey, son. About the… Well, the HIV.”
Jonny’s eyes locked on to his dad. “What about it?”
Stuart glanced away. What was he even going to say? “Well, I just… I was thinking. You know, all these scientific developments. Maybe… maybe someday soon. Maybe someday sooner than you think, they’ll—”
“It’s better just to accept things,” Jonny said. His tone was matter-of-fact and detached, like an unbiased newsreader retelling events. “If there is some kind of ‘cure’, then it’ll only be in wider distribution when I’m already too far gone. I’ll be too old, too progressed. So… yeah. Just got to accept it. That’s how it is.” He raised his eyebrows and, for the first time in the one-and-a-half-hour train journey, smiled.
What if that’s not true? Stuart wanted to ask. What if there’s a cure, right here in England, that you can take right now and start living a normal life again?
“I, er… I appreciate it, though,” Jonny said. His eyes wandered again. “I appreciate you trying to, y’know. Get your head round it. Makes a change.”
“Well, erm. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” Jonny’s eyes met his dad’s for a brief moment. A brief moment of warmth—of father-and-son bond. He wanted to save his boy. He wanted to save his boy, his job, and his entire family life. It had all seemed so irreparable, so beyond salvage, for so, so long.
Now he had a chance. A real chance to fix things. He could sort everything out, he really could.
The train pulled in to London Euston at four minutes to eleven, which was perfect timing. The pair of them stood on the cramped escalator, people with all sorts of bags of different shapes and sizes surrounding them. The smell of metallic mustiness was strong in the air, as bleeping noises and automated voices alerted the busy crowd of a train’s arrival, sending a flock sprinting out of the lobby and towards whatever platform it was at. Like animals, they were. Fucking cattle.
Stuart’s stomach sank when, at the other side of the crowded, high-ceilinged lobby, he saw Caffe Nero staring back at him.
“Say, I’m thirsty. Fancy a coffee?”
“But you just drank a coffee on the train. Maybe you should watch yourself. Coffee isn’t good for you.”
Stuart froze. Fuck. First hurdle and he’d failed. Salvage this situation. Salvage it…
“Yeah, truth is I… I have a bit of a ritual whenever I get into London. I always go in that Caffe Nero over there. Thought you’d like to be a part of that.”
Jonny frowned, as businessmen in suits, all so dark-haired and identical, buzzed past. “Okay. Okay, sure.”
Stuart sighed a breath of relief and walked in the direction of the Caffe Nero. He’d have to make sure he looked like he knew the place, because the truth was, he couldn’t fucking stand Caffe Nero. He might’ve even been kicked out of this particular branch once when he’d been drunk, so hopefully he wouldn’t bump into anyone… familiar.
Except Sarah.
He approached the brown wooden door and opened it for his son. As Jonny walked into the dimly lit cafe, Stuart scanned the windows for any sign of Sarah. Hopefully she’d got his text. He wanted to get this conversation done with. He couldn’t wait much longer.
They walked up to the counter. The place was much posher than it had to be, with its dark tiled floors and wooden surfaces. It resembled a decent restaurant or classy pub more than a fucking coffee shop. He looked over at the tables, which, admittedly, looked more like those from a diner. Men, on their own, reading newspapers. Suited men. A common sight.
Still no Sarah.
He looked at his phone again. The message had gone through. It had definitely gone through. Where was she? They only had one shot at this. Once they’d drunk their coffee, he couldn’t seriously convince Jonny to stay here with him any longer. It wouldn’t look right. His son was an inquisitive little bastard—he’d know something was off.
“Stuart!”
The female voice came from behind him. He looked around, and his heart simultaneously rose and sank when he saw Sarah walking tow
ards him, smile on her face.
“Oh, hey!” Stuart fought past the frog in his throat. His hands were clammy and shaking. He looked over at his son, who watched from the counter. “Fancy seeing you here. Jonny—this is Sarah. We… we work together.”
“Worked.” Sarah corrected Stuart as she offered a hand to Jonny. “Worked together a long time ago.”
Stuart’s throat tightened. Fuck. Hurdle number two and he’d fucked that up too. Of course they couldn’t still “work” together—she had to convince his son into these TCorps medical trials. Just cool it, Stu. Cool it.
“What are you two drinking, anyway? I’ll get these.”
“Oh, erm, that’s very generous of you,” Stuart said. Again, his eyes diverted to look at Jonny, who waited for his dad to speak.
“Don’t worry,” Sarah said. She flicked her hair out of her eyes. “I won’t tag along with you for too long. But seriously, it’s been ages. Let me get you a coffee.”
I won’t tag along with you for too long. Was she just being clever? Tactical? Only one way to find out.
“Sure,” Stuart said. “Sure. I’ll have a mocha. Jonny?”
“Um, yeah, same. Please.” His eyes wandered. He could barely focus on Sarah. Attractive professional woman, though. Couldn’t blame his boy for a bit of bashfulness.
“Well, I’ll bring them over,” Sarah said. She winked and smiled at Stuart, then started speaking to the woman behind the counter.
Stuart stood there for a few seconds, just staring at the woman behind the counter, staring at Sarah with her smile and her confidence. He was doing the right thing, wasn’t he? He was doing the right thing for his son—for his family?
“Dad?”
Stuart flicked out of his trance. Jonny was staring at him. He gestured his head at a free circular table a few feet away, by the window. He looked at Sarah again. Still engaged in conversation with the woman behind the counter. The same bubbly, positive conversation she’d lured him in with.
