by M. A. George
CHAPTER 9
As the cramped little shed began to fall into total darkness, I rose to my feet and stepped out into the alley. I was scarcely aware of my surroundings as I made my way to the parking garage. Realizing I had left all my belongings in my office, I hesitated for a moment before deciding to just get in the car and head home without them.
The dashboard clock finally caught my attention as I drove down the highway leading to my turnoff—it was just past nine o’clock. Granted, the past half hour had been spent driving. But even so, there was a substantial gap between the time I had first left the clinic and now.
I was certain the length of time spent in putting out the fire and dragging Eric to safety must have taken a matter of minutes at most. And though the seconds dragged by as my healing hands struggled to maintain their contact with his body, I knew the process had taken thirty or forty seconds, tops. I was left with the conclusion that my time unconscious was longer than I had realized.
I pulled my car into the garage and shut the door behind me. Still mentally and physically exhausted—both from dragging Eric’s unconscious body through the alley, and also from the healing that sapped away the last of my remaining strength—I trudged into the house and headed for the stairs that led to my bedroom. I undressed to shower, pausing a moment to inspect the dried blood stain on my blouse, with a curious sadness coming over me at the sight of it. Tossing it on the floor next to the laundry hamper, I stepped into the shower and cranked the water as hot as I could stand it.
Bleary-eyed, I dressed for bed and practically passed out before I could even lay down. I propped my head up off the pillow just long enough to check that my alarm was set, then closed my eyes and instantly sank into comatose sleep.
That night I dreamed that I had run after Eric into the alley, my legs burning as I called out his name. He only sped away faster, never once looking back my way, as the alleyway extended out infinitely in front of him. I was still trapped in this endless chase when my alarm buzzed to herald the new day.
Even though my body told me a sick day was clearly in order, my mind was eager to get to work. I peeled myself out of the bed and began a condensed version of my usual morning routine. I arrived at the medical center a little earlier than was necessary, so I couldn’t help but fill the time by swinging past the microbiology lab. The door was propped open, as a maintenance crew was already set to work cleaning up the mess inside. The lab had clearly been vacated, so I stepped a little further down the hall to peer in the window of the adjacent lab. I recognized several of Eric’s colleagues, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I went on about my morning, reminding myself that his absence was just what I had expected. The morning clinic schedule was packed, so before I knew it lunch had arrived. I made my way to the lecture hall for the usual noon educational conference. I stopped at the long table just inside the entrance, picking up the familiar white Styrofoam takeout box marked “Turkey”. Grabbing a bottle of water, I proceeded to my usual seat in the second row amid the other faculty. I opened the box and eyed the soggy sandwich, chalky sugar cookie, and rumpled bag of chips wedged in between. I closed the box, pushing it away to the edge of the desk, and opened my water bottle.
Two missed meals in less than a month…This was definitely going for my record.
The lecture hall began to fill to capacity as the crowd of students and residents filed through the doorway. Madeleine took her place next to me just as the lights were lowering. The chief resident stepped to the podium to announce the guest lecturer, a nephrologist out of north Texas. In no mood for another rousing lecture on acid-base disorders, I folded my arms on the desk in front of me and looked up at the projector screen in a halfhearted attempt to feign interest.
Just a few minutes into the lecture, I glanced over to Madeleine to see an equally bored look on her face. She leaned my way, whispering, “Did you hear about the fire in the micro lab?”
“No,” I lied, “Was anyone hurt?”
“Thankfully, no…Everyone had already gone home for the day.”
“Was there much damage?” I tried to think of the typical questions you should ask in this situation.
“Nothing structural, just made a huge mess of the place,” she whispered back.
“Do they know how it started?” Surely the piled-up debris on the floor would not have been construed as accidental.
“Evidently someone ransacked the place, then tried to set the evidence on fire,” she answered. “For some reason, Eric Moran’s station took the brunt of it.”
“Why? Who would do such a thing?” This time I was legitimately curious.
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe they wanted to sabotage his work…Didn’t like the competition.”
“Does Eric have any theories on the matter?” I found myself questioning if he would ever consider pointing the finger in my direction…Surely not. It would be too much of a risk of exposing himself.
“Nobody has talked to him. Apparently he showed up early this morning, took one look at the mess, threw a few of his things in a box, and stalked out without saying a word.”
“He didn’t say anything to anyone?” I mentally breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m sure he just needed to go somewhere and blow off steam,” she reasoned. “A couple of months’ research down the drain, I’d be pissed off too.”
Madeleine does have a tiny temper, although her reaction would not typically be silence. She can deliver a pretty impressive tongue lashing when she wants to—not that I’ve ever been on the receiving end. Usually it’s one of a selection of pompous male physicians we’ve known over the years, the ones who act like they own the place. They can certainly get under my skin, but I’ve never really been pushed to the point of harsh words—it actually takes a lot to make me lose my temper.
“I’m sure he’ll be back in a few days,” Madeleine continued, “once they get the lab back in order.”
“Yeah…probably,” I responded flatly, knowing full well there wasn’t a chance in hell. On that note, I turned my head back in the direction of the projector screen—maybe if I actually tried to pay attention to the presentation, I would have better luck pushing Eric out of my mind.
