by Linda Wright
*****
THE END
bonus stories #5
The Quantum Society
Book 1
She was the fourth one in a month. All the signs were there, the sunken eyes, the bemused expression, the crumpled party dress—plus the hallmark scars. Amari directed the dazed woman to the examination room, and indicated the chair beside her desk. Characteristically compliant, the woman obeyed without question. Amari guessed her to be mid-forties. Attractive and slim, she bore the same characteristics as the other victims, prey for someone with a very strange fetish.
“Mrs Francis?” Amari ventured, readying the blood pressure monitor.
“Ms. It’s Ms. Francis. Gillian?”
“You don’t sound too sure.” This is becoming textbook, Amari thought to herself. Memory loss, disorientation… She held up two fingers. “How many, Gillian?” The woman leaned forward and peered at Amari’s hand.
“Two? Yes, two. Two.” Possible myopia.
“Very good…” Amari murmured. She applied the cuff and inflated it, watching the reading. Unusually low, but not quite enough to cause medical panic. Unusual, that was, for a healthy woman. Gillian Francis had suffered something strange recently, something Amari had only seen three times before.
“Do you use drugs, Ms. Francis, Gillian?” Amari released the cuff, then turned her attention to the scars.
“What? No! Absolutely not! Never!”
“Ms. Francis, please calm down.” She turned Gillian’s hand over, and peered closely.
“Apart from some experimenting at college.”
“Dope?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Smoking a little weed won’t leave marks like these.” Two puncture wounds, about four inches apart, glowed red on Gillian’s wrist. The higher scar was directly over the radial artery, on the inner side of the wrist and directly behind the thumb. The second scar was higher, and toward the outer side, directly over the ulnar artery.
Coincidence? she thought. Not likely.
“I don’t suppose you keep wild animals?”
“What sort of wild animals?”
“Oh, bears, cougars, fully-grown lions.”
“No,” she laughed. “Of course not. What kind of doctor are you?”
“A doctor who would love to know what caused these marks.”
Gillian sighed. “You’re not the only one. How long will these take to heal?”
Top priority, same as the others. How bad will these scars look?
“Aren’t you at all concerned about where they came from?”
“I…” Gillian frowned. “No, I’m not to worry my pretty little head about them.” Amari leaned back, perplexed by the woman’s words. She sounded like a child who had been coached, or warned.
“So can you tell me where you’ve been for the past three days.”
“Of course. I…” Gillian frowned. “Three days? What day is it today?”
“Tuesday. Tuesday afternoon.”
“No, you’re wrong. It can’t be. Yesterday was Saturday.” She stared around the examination room, confused. The alarm was clear in her eyes.
“You’ve lost a few days, Gillian, but you’re back now.” Amari leaned over to catch the frightened woman’s eyes. “Let’s treat your wounds, then I’ll make an appointment for you to see Doctor Siddig. He’s an expert in recovering lost memory.”
As she applied a hydrocolloid dressing to the scarred wrist, Amari probed Gillian’s memories as gently as she could, hoping to trigger some clue as to her activities, without uncovering a nightmare. If a traumatic event had caused Gillian to suppress three days’ worth of memories, a clumsy unearthing of the event might result in acute mental stress.
Four women, all with similar small scars, and acute memory loss. What are the chances?
After the woman left, Amari leaned back, pressing her fingertips together. She’d never been the type to believe in coincidence. After a moment, she tapped her keyboard, then set about searching for the records of other three women she’d treated. If there was a common thread, she’d find it.
Somehow.
~
“Taking your work home again?” a man asked. Amari sighed as she slowed to a stop. She counted slowly up to three—her lucky number—then turned to face Ian Chamberlain.
“And I’m the only one who does?” She glanced at his briefcase.
He shrugged. “What say we both ditch the homework, and give ourselves a break?” Amari kept the trio of files close to her chest, shielding herself from his latest advance. Why had she said ‘maybe’ to him? He’d been pressing her for a date all year. Sure, he was tall, dark-haired and only a genuine smile short of handsome, but his manner irritated him. He carried an air of expectation, and treated everyone in the building as his inferior, expecting them to run around after him. The day he’d asked her to bring in coffee for him, because he was busy with a patient, that had irritated her beyond words.
The next morning, when she’d arrived at the hospital, latte in hand, he’d made snarky comments to the receptionists about her slovenly and selfish conduct. Fortunately, she was on good terms with them, and they told her everything. So a date with Ian was never going to happen, ever.
“A break?” She pretended to think about his proposal, then smiled. “You know,” she said slowly, as if the idea had just occurred to her. “You’re right. We should take some time to enjoy a break.”
“Really? So you’ll—”
“Definitely.” She turned on her heel and walked away. “I’ll let you know how it goes. Have fun!” She raised her hand and waved, hurrying away.
“Hey!” Ian’s irritated cry echoed from the walls as she exited, headed for the car park.
Putz…
The drive home gave her time to consider what she’d found in the files. Paul Siddig had been kind enough to report his findings back to her. His expertise in memory trauma had been taxed by Gillian Francis and the three related cases, although he admitted it was still early days with Gillian. All four women had demonstrated inexplicable memory loss, extending back between twelve and fourteen hours, except for Gillian, who had inexplicably lost three days. Hers was the case that bucked the trend. However, the other symptoms were consistent. All four women bore similar scars on their right wrists, although the distance between the puncture wounds varied by up to an inch.
Not a bite mark, then, unless more than one animal was involved. The one factor which proved to be the solid link was the time the memory losses began. All four women recalled their day perfectly, until Saturday evening. Yes, their experiences were separated by six weeks, but each of them had lost a Saturday night.
Hypnosis, Doctor Siddig had recorded, proved too distressing for the subjects. When asked to retrace their movements following memory loss, all three lapsed into a dangerous fit, which only ended when regression was terminated. Amari guessed Paul hadn’t yet attempted hypnosis on Gillian, patient number four.
“Saturday night…” she murmured to herself. “What could happen to four socialites on the same day, every two weeks?” The spacing had been consistent, she noted. Patient Two had been admitted two weeks after Patient One. Patient Three had appeared two weeks later, and then Gillian had shown up, having lost three days, taking her back to Saturday.
So I have eleven days before another one turns up—unless I figure this out first.
~
“I think I have it.” Amari rattled the patient’s files excitedly. Paul Siddig barely glanced up from his reader
“Take two days off and call me when you’re feeling better,” he murmured.
“No, I mean I have the answer—I think”
“Well, as long as you’re certain.” He quirked an eyebrow. Amari scowled, and he sighed. “Okay, get it off your chest.”
“It’s a party of some kind.”
“Pretty dull party.” Paul glanced at the files. Amari ignored him.
“They were all at parties, maybe even the same one. They go
t dressed up in their finest, went partying, and then forgot the entire night.”
“So you think they used recreationals? Or their drinks were spiked?”
“It would fit, wouldn’t it? Where’s the best place for drink and drugs?”
Paul leaned back in his chair. “Except their blood screening showed no drugs, and minimal trace alcohol.”
“Could we be looking at a new kind of drug? One that wears off quickly?”
“The effective time of the drug is irrelevant. The chemicals it leaves behind take a finite time to flush out. Some can leave traces for six months, showing up even in hair samples.”
Amari sighed and sank into the seat opposite Paul.
“There must be other clues,” she said. “We simply need to look for them.”
“The bite marks,” Paul began. “They—”
“They must have been made by at least four different animals.”
“The spacing?”
“Or they’re artificial.”
“Maybe it’s a delivery system for the drugs.”
“Puncture wounds of that size weren’t made by a needle. More like a hammer and chisel.”
“It’s crude, I’ll grant you.”
“Maybe…” Amari wagged a finger. “Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way. What if something was taken out of the body, rather than injected into it?”
“What? But why exsanguinate via the wrist? It’s inefficient.”
.”I’ve read that people can get high through blood loss.”
“Dangerous way to get high,” Paul muttered.
“More dangerous than flooding the bloodstream with unknown chemicals?”
“Hmm. I guess.”
“Which brings us back to our partygoers.”
“If that’s what they are. None of them remember anything.”
“Hear me out. Every two weeks, a party takes place at which one woman—”
“At least one woman,” Paul interjected.
“—is either attacked or coerced in some way, resulting in blood loss via the wrist, and subsequent memory loss, whether accidental or deliberate.”
Paul nodded. “It’s theory. Now prove it.”
“I will.”
“Oh? How, exactly?”
“I ordered a party dress on line.”
Paul frowned at her. “No, absolutely not.”
“What? I get to go out on my own time, don’t I?”
“Not on some crazy mission to track down a drug pusher, or a blood-letting psychopath.” He stopped, realizing his voice was carrying. But no-one in the staff canteen had noticed. Amari glanced at her hand, which Paul was holding. Self-conscious, he opened his fingers and she moved her hand away.
“I didn’t know you cared,” she said, adding a nervous laugh.
“We’re professionals, Amari, in the caring industry. Of course I care.” He waved a dismissive hand, but his eyes were lowered, fixed on the table top. “Maybe…” he began, then cut the thought short.
“Maybe?” She lowered her head and peered up into his face. “Maybe what?”
“I was thinking, maybe you wouldn’t want to do this crazy thing alone.”
“Are you suggesting we go to the party together?”
“Only so you wouldn’t be on your own.”
“That is so sweet.” She grinned.
“I’m thinking of your safety. Someone needs to watch your back.”
“Oh, is that what you’d be watching?”
“I…” His face flushed and he glanced away, looking out of the window. Amari stared at him in amazement. He’s blushing? “Okay, look, I appreciate you wanting to look out for me, but if I’m going to find these pushers, they’re more likely to target a lone woman than a couple, yeah?”
“I could watch you from afar.”
“That’s very poetic.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, I think it’s a great idea. We could ride there together and you could case the joint, keep an eye on the big picture.”
“Case the joint? Should I book us a Speakeasy while I’m at it? Pack a Tommy gun?”
“Funny guy.”
“Okay, so I’ll order a party dress.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help following suit. “But I need to know one thing.”
“Okay. What?”
“Where is this damn party being held?”
“Paul, I haven’t the faintest idea.”
~
Amari spent the next week researching social media, trying to glean clues as to where the best parties took place. Night clubs were out, she reasoned. All four victims were over thirty, and unlikely to spend the night raving. No, Gillian had been elegantly dressed, although she was a little worse for wear after three days away from home. Paul had reminded her of the other women’s state of dress. Glamorous, he said. They were all single, and had probably been attracted to parties where businessmen, and possibly millionaires hung out.
“Gold diggers?” Amari asked.
“Not necessarily. Probably women who wanted to improve their social status, and foresaw a comfortable lifestyle with a man of means.”
“Private parties?”
“Most likely.”
“That ought to narrow the field.”
“You’ll need an expensive suit.”
“I’m planning to go casual. Designer clothes, but within a doctor’s meagre budget.”
“Smart casual?”
“And will you be stepping out in a Louis Vuitton?”
“What? No, I bagged myself a pre-loved Erdem Moralioglu dress.”
“A… what?” Paul stared.
“Kate Middleton?”
He shook his head, bemused. “I never heard of—”
“She’s exclusive, okay? Mostly.”
“As long as you’re decent.”
“Aw, you care?”
“Like I said, we’re—”
“—in the caring profession.”
“Exactly.”
Her respect for Paul had grown over the past week. She’d seen a side of him she’d never suspected, and she liked it. In contrast to Ian Chamberlain, he was kind, considerate, charming, and funny. His frequent bouts of shyness only endeared him to her all the more. In the past, he’d maintained a respectful, professional distance, but now they were working closely together, he’d dropped his guard. She realized she was watching him closely as he spoke, more than was polite. He seemed to be doing the same. She wondered what was going through his mind.
A strange excitement grew within her as the idea of heading out together became real. They’d be tracking down the mysterious pusher and exposing him to the world. She’d spent more time with Paul than she had with any other man… although there was little competition. She’d had little time for men since she decided to become a doctor. The studying had been long and hard. A smirk touched her lips as the phrase conjured up an image that had nothing to do with study.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Don’t mind me. My mind was in the gutter.”
He grinned. “I like that in a woman.”
“Uh… what?”
“A sleazy side. The ability to admit she’s not all sweetness and innocence.”
“But I am.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, bringing out the easy laugh she’d begun to adore. This was going to be fun, she decided. Forget going out for a drink and socializing. This detective work was much more exciting.
~
“The blood tests came back.” Paul leafed through several sheets, frowning.
“Any traces of drug use?”
“Not a damn thing.” His eyes scanned the lines of text, searching for clues. “That’s odd.”
“Odd could be significant.”
“Trace amounts of neurotoxins…” he murmured.
“What? Where?” Amari tried to snatch the papers from his hands, but he held them high, smiling gently.
“Patience, dear one. Let me finish reading before you shred the evid
ence.”
Dear one? “Sorry. I was excited…”
“Similar in nature to snake venom…”
“A snake?” Amari shook her head. “Not from those bites.”
“Hush.”
“Sorry.”
“Closest database match is Canebrake venom. Wow.”
“It fits… kinda.”
“Opthalmplegia…” Paul said to himself. He counted the symptoms on his fingers.
“Uh-huh. Gillian had trouble focusing.”
“Diplopia…”
“Again with the focusing.”
“Peripheral neuropathy…”
“She wasn’t too steady on her feet, and her co-ordination was off.”
“Cerebellar ataxia.”
“Can we get her back in for an MRI? Her brain might be swollen.”
“Probably too late.” Paul sighed. “The symptoms would have worn off by now.”
“But snakebite?”
“Or snake venom… without the bite.”
She frowned. “What? Applied deliberately?”
He shrugged. “It fits.”
“But it wasn’t Canebrake venom?”
“Close…”
“…But no cigar. A new species, maybe?”
“If it is, we could name it. How about the Amari Siddig?” His open hand drew an arc through the air.
“Sounds like my married name.” A long moment of silence followed. When Amari spoke, her voice was tight and high. “If anyone will have me, that is…” Alone in the corridor, the pair gazed at each other. Then Paul stepped forward, and Amari threw herself against him. Their mouths met and they kissed hard, releasing their suppressed hunger for each other. Amari groaned as she pressed herself against him, admitting to herself that she’d wanted this for days, but she couldn’t have allowed herself the luxury of falling for a work colleague.
Now she couldn’t keep her hands off him. Maybe it was the building excitement, the intrigue, the puzzle of the four women. Or it could be the fact she hadn’t been laid in years. She’d spent enough time with Paul to know she wanted him against her, for him to hold her down and use her.
Very soon.
~
They retreated to an empty examination room and Paul locked the door as Amari closed the blinds. Moments later, they were back in each other’s arms, but the pause had given Amari time to think. Being impulsive excited her tremendously, but she knew they needed to be sensible. When he gathered her up in his arms, she put a hand on his chest to slow him.
