“It will make Ben happy. I’ll get you a private flight, the best hotel, admission to the parks, a driver … everything you need. Stay as long as you like.” Abra looked down, breaking the eye contact. “It’s all I can do. I’m sorry.”
Damn Mickey Mouse! She was throwing the boy to the white-cell wolves, yet what else could she do?
“I don’t want to go Disney World!” the mother shouted.
“I do,” Ben whispered in the shadow of his mother’s scream. “It’s all right, Mom. I know I’m going to die. But I really would like to go. I can tell the kids in Heaven all about it.”
Silence from the adults.
Abra opened her mouth, tempted to say the hell with it. Save the child. Make the mother sign a confidentiality agreement. No one would have to know.
She wiped her eyes with her twisted hands.
No! She couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t. Not for just one boy. Someday Proteus would save millions of children, but not this boy. Not now
What must he think about her, this tiny broken woman offering him a trip in exchange for his life? She couldn’t bring herself to look at Emma.
Abra knew Ben would probably come home wearing a Mickey Mouse T-shirt in a coffin.
“Please, Mama,” he said. “Please can we go?” His dull eyes showed a spark. “Please?”
The mother gave a weary nod. “Yes, Ben. We’ll go. We’ll go today. Right away. And you’ll have more fun than you ever had in your whole life.”
Emma seemed to have aged since she came in. Tethys had been her last hope, and now that hope was gone.
Abra showed them out and left a message for Billy to make the arrangements.
“God bless that little boy—and forgive me for what I had to do.”
But what about her? Would God bless her for Proteus, or damn her?
Abra wondered if hell could be any worse than this afternoon.
BILL
Bill and the kids walked out of the movie, talking about their favorite parts. April was running around Robbie, singing the theme song. Just seeing her with such lung capacity thrilled Bill. His little miracle.
Whenever he saw her it affirmed the choices he’d made. Sure, he’d love to come home every day, share dinner with them, watch TV, ask them about school. On weekends go camping with them or to ball games. But if he’d done all that, April would be a different child. A very sick child.
If he could have told Elise, then she wouldn’t nag him so. Then she’d understand.
But he’d never tell her. Because then she’d be like all others. Asking, “Why is her blood different from ours? Where did that nose come from?” or about other superficial traits. Who cared?
At the end of the day, if the kid you gave birth to or fathered was healthy and happy with no physical suffering, who wouldn’t opt for that?
These thoughts prompted him to turn on his cell phone and check his voicemail. He stiffened when he heard Abra’s message. He called her right away.
“Abra, what is it? I didn’t understand your message. Please stop crying, just tell me.”
Bill handed the kids a handful of quarters and told them to play some games. He felt like someone had sucker punched him in the gut as Abra told him about the little boy.
Why did he always have to be the strong one? Just once, why couldn’t she be the heavy? The one to do the dirty work? Because she couldn’t. Wasn’t in her. Saying no tore her apart. That was why she was pushing for public disclosure, to help more people.
“Abra, you did what you had to do, so please calm down. I’ll go see them right now and take care of it … send them to Florida.”
He hung up. Killing a child. That’s what this amounted to. Looking that little boy and his mother in the face and then refusing to help. Killing him.
April giggled on a carousel horse. Such a picture of health. He pictured the little boy. It wasn’t fair. Someday this wouldn’t be an issue, but for now he had to deal with the harsh realities of the clinical trial.
“Come on kids, Daddy has to go back to work. It’s an emergency.”
Robbie walked over with his sister who got off the sculpted horse.
“But you said we were going for dinner at the Roadhouse with Mom remember?”
This was what it always boiled down to. Quality time with his kids, or saving lives.
•
Bill introduced himself to the mother and son.
“I’m Ben,” the boy said and put out his pale hand to shake Bill’s. “Thanks, Doctor Gilchrist.”
Thanks for what? Letting you die when I could easily help?
Marge sat at her desk, teary eyed. “Bill, Abra said to set them up for Disney. I made some calls and booked them a flight for tonight.”
“Thank you, Marge.”
“I bought Disney Park Hopper passes and tickets to Universal and put them in a hotel where everything’s included. Oh, and a rental car.”
He nodded to Marge and then asked Emma, “Is there anyone else you’d like to bring?”
Ben jumped up but Emma pulled him back.
“No, we’re fine.” She didn’t look fine. She was having her life ripped out too. “You’ve already been very generous. I could never afford to—.”
Bill crouched before the boy. “What were you going to say, Ben?”
“My sister. I can’t go without my little sister, Amy. She’s only four.”
Bill had to wipe the tears from his own eyes. “Marge?” His voice cracked. “Can you get Amy on that flight too? Oh and plenty of spending money so they can do whatever they want.”
He was amazed Abra had been able to turn them away. She had more resolve than he’d given her credit for.
“Thank you,” the woman said, twirling her hair and wiping her eyes.
Bill wondered how April would carry on if she lost her older brother.
“Emma, Ben looks a little dehydrated. I’d like to just give him some fluids, keep him here a few hours. He’ll be better able to travel then. Why don’t you give Marge your daughter’s information, then go home and pack and get your little girl. You can go to the airport from here.”
She nodded but couldn’t speak.
“Come on, Ben, let’s get you ready to fly.”
Ben had a lilt in his step, the only one now who was happy.
Bill led the boy down the hall and through the tunnels to the hospital. He set him up in a private room and then went into an empty restroom to call Abra.
She answered in a sleepy voice.
He said, “Abra, I can’t do it. Go to the lab and grab me a brown-haired, blue-eyed, Caucasian stem. His mother thinks we’re rehydrating him so we’ve got just a few hours. When he begins to improve, she’ll assume it was a miracle brought on by his joy.”
“But we decided—”
“I know, but I can’t look in that kid’s eyes and write him off. No one will know. I need you down at the hospital to help me.”
She hung up without saying anything. Bill had to smile.
This was why Sheila had to stop, why he had to make her drop it.
Even if he had to kill her with his bare hands.
SHEILA
There, Sheila thought as she surveyed her front room. Ready.
She should have been ready for a nap, considering the amount of sleep she’d had, but was too wired to be tired.
Lust.
It had kept her tossing and turning all night. How long had it been?
Too long. Not since Dek. This longing to touch Paul gave her a light, frothy feeling. She’d lusted for Bill in a way, but that was different. She’d never lain awake nights thinking of touching unattainable Bill.
But Paul … the other day when he had kissed her … if Coog hadn’t been in the house, who knew what might have happened? Something long-buried had started bubbling. She might have lost it … ripped his clothes off …
She sighed and mentally threw cold water on her face.
If nothing else, lust trumped paranoia hands down, pushing
her fears to the periphery.
She’d have liked to have seen Paul first thing this morning, but he’d wanted some father-son time with Coogan. So she invited him over for dinner and some Internet surfing. She didn’t actually tell him she was going to cook him dinner, so she didn’t feel guilty about ordering from Joseph’s
Serving takeout was for Paul’s own good. Anyone would prefer Joseph’s cooking to hers.
The official reason for his visit might be more detective work, this time trying to find Lee Swann. But she figured they both knew it could be something more. God, she hoped so.
She’d spent most of the day cleaning her house and setting candles. Nothing more romantic than candlelight.
She looked at her watch. Paul would be walking in soon. She ran and checked herself in the bathroom mirror.
•
When she heard Paul’s car pulling in, she started toward the door but stopped, forcing herself to wait until he knocked. An eternity. Finally …
“Hi, Paul. Come on in.”
He wore a brown crew neck sweater, cotton, not wool. Not itchy. It looked soft and she had to restrain herself from reaching out to touch it.
“Hey, Sheila. Nice place. You look nice too. That color is good on you.”
Sheila smiled, glad she opted for the green blouse. “Want a tour?”
“Sure. Here, I brought some wine. I wasn’t sure what you were making so I brought a bottle of red and one of white.”
“It’s Italian food. Actually, Joseph’s restaurant made it. I just need to cook the ravioli and heat the sauce.” She struck a dramatic pose with the back of a hand against her forehead. “A daunting task, but I’ll endure.”
“I love Joseph’s. Ever had their lobster ravioli?”
Sheila smirked. This was too perfect. “It’s the main course.”
“A woman after my own heart. Okay, let’s see this place.”
She walked him around the open kitchen / living room area. She had white appliances but vowed to buy all stainless steel as soon as the student loans were paid off. As if. How old would she be when that happened?
She reached for his hand, planning to walk him upstairs, but stopped herself. The way she was feeling she knew they might just jump into bed. Better leave upstairs for later.
“Here’s the plan,” she said. “We’ll have some wine and dinner, then look up Swann on the computer and see what we can find.”
Paul nodded. “Sounds great.” He brushed her face with the side of his hand and looked into her eyes. “But what do we do after that?”
She smiled. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
By seven they were finishing their Tiramisu. Two glasses of wine had relaxed Sheila.
She reached over and touched his hand. “Why don’t you go over and boot up my computer while I get these dishes.”
“I’ll get the dishes.”
“Hey, I invited you. When I come to your house you can do the dishes.”
Paul rose and turned on the computer while Sheila loaded the dishwasher. Minutes later she logged onto the Internet. Paul pulled up a kitchen chair and sat beside her.
She said, “This site, CEOexpress.com, searches for company execs. If Swann bought up all the assets, he’s probably the head of something.”
She typed in his name and waited.
No results found.
Undaunted, she said, “That’s all right, I’ve got lots of sites to try. I’ll look up his personal information. We can track him down and speak to him if he’s local.”
The screen read, “Did you mean Lynn Swan?”
“That’s the football player, right? From the seventies?”
“Yeah. Steelers. I doubt he’s our guy.”
“Let’s check out some media searches. Bizjournals.com should yield something.”
Sheila scanned field to field, unable to believe nothing was coming up.
“Besides the football hero, there’s no one out there named Swann who’s done anything newsworthy. Where the heck is this guy? Let me try virtualchase.com.”
She waited, flying through screen after useless screen.
“Here. In the public records search. I’ve got his purchase of the Kaplan assets, but we already knew that. It lists that same damn address on Milk Street.”
She checked the handwritten list of snoop sites Dek had made for her years ago. Some no longer valid but most still up. She squinted to see the pencil-written notes on the yellow lined paper.
“This is stretching but let me try crimetime.com.”
“What’s that?”
“It will show if he’s ever been convicted of anything.” Though she was looking at the screen, she noticed Paul stiffen out of the corner of her eye. “What?”
“I doubt he’s ever been arrested. Come on, that would have shown up somewhere else.”
“Maybe not. There are still other sites, but let’s just go with this one. Maybe he’s locked up right now. It happens.”
No results found.
Paul rose and turned away. “Okay, that’s enough searching. We can’t find him.”
She wondered why he was so eager to stop when she still had half a page of sites left.
“Well, there others,” she said, “but you might be right. Something should have turned up somewhere by now. Crimetime.com is fun though. Every once in a while I’ll look up the names of old boyfriends or rivals, hoping to see they’ve landed in jail. We could look up Rose—just for kicks.”
Paul shook his head. “There’s nothing fun about jail, Sheila.”
“Paul, I’m just searching the net. Of course crime isn’t fun. You’re right. I’m sorry. But don’t you wonder where Rose is?”
“No, and I don’t want to know.”
“Okay.” She sat and looked at him, trying to figure out the sudden cold tone. To lighten things up she said, “Well here, we’ll type in your name on Crimetime, see if you’ve—“
Without warning Paul spun her chair and kissed her hard on the mouth.
“Forget the Internet.” He began kissing her neck, raising gooseflesh all over her. “Show me the upstairs instead.”
Breathless, she rose and started toward the stairs as he continued to kiss her. They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Barely made it as far as the living room couch. Paul kissed the base of her throat and started to unbutton her blouse. She reached down to his jeans and the feel of the hard bulge within sent a wave of heat through her. It had been too long. She fumbled for the zipper but found only buttons. She hated button flies.
“Paul, you have to help me with these. I can’t manage with one hand.”
By now he was on top of her. She glanced to the window and noticed her curtains were drawn. Good. She smiled when she saw all the candles. But there was too much light. She wanted this to be perfect.
“Wait. Let me shut off the lights. I want just candlelight.”
“I’ll get them, you stay right here.”
He carefully rose and reached for the wall switch. His other hand worked on his pants, then he took off his sweater. The sight of his chiseled stomach and chest sent a delicious tingle through her pelvis. Her heart was taching like mad. He was so arousing in the candlelight.
He smiled and crawled back on top of her. “I’ve been dreaming about this. You have no idea how I’ve wanted you.”
“Oh, I think I do. I think we’ve been having the same dreams.”
He managed another two buttons on her blouse and Sheila was squirming in anticipation. His stubble against her neck shot electricity though her.
Then the phone rang. Paul stopped and raised his head.
“Let the machine get it,” she pleaded.
He started kissing her again as the outgoing message came on. Sheila heard her own recorded voice, and then Coogan’s.
“Dad, dad are you there?” He sounded desperate.
Paul jumped up and tried to find the cordless. It wasn’t in its cradle so he turned on the lights as Sheila ran for the kitchen phone
.
“Dad, someone was outside, looking in our window. I think he’s trying to break in. Dad? You there?”
Sheila handed Paul the phone.
“I’m here, Coog. Take it easy.” Paul’s voice had turned cold. Sheila could see he was shaking. “Are you okay? Where is he now? Okay, calm down. You call nine-one-one and I’ll be there in five minutes. Got that? Nine-one-one, then me, okay? And don’t move. I love you too, buddy.” He hung up and turned to her. “Sheila, I have to go.”
“Want me to come?”
“No, you stay here.” He looked her in the eyes. “You understand, right?”
“Absolutely.”
He tried a smile but she could see he wanted to be home now.
“Call me as soon as you know anything, okay?” she called after him just before the storm door closed.
Sheila watched him race off, then shut the inner door, sat on her couch, and let her jumping insides calm. The unfulfilled passion left her feeling chilled and jumpy. It had to be the same for Paul.
Poor guy. With everything else going on—his worries about paternity and the changes in Coog, plus their dead-end investigation—the last thing he needed was someone trying to break into his house.
She stiffened, remembering her own break-in. Was this connected?
Suddenly the glow of the candles wasn’t enough. She hurried through the house turning on all the lights.
PAUL
Paul called Coog as he backed out of Sheila’s driveway.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I called the police. They said they’d send someone over.”
“Good. I’m on my way. Stay on the phone while I drive.”
Paul could feel the rage growing as he raced along residential streets at speeds he knew were unsafe. Some perv, some would-be burglar, some son of a bitch could still be outside the house.
His rage approached murderous when he came up behind a panel truck doing the speed limit. High beams and honking couldn’t get the turtle to pull over. Paul pounded on his steering wheel and screamed for it to get out of his way until he found an opening and swerved past.
The guy honked and high-beamed in retaliation but Paul didn’t give a shit.
The Proteus Cure Page 20
