The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

by Sam Nash

  The woman’s mouth pursed, and she sucked noisy air across her teeth. “Any pre-existing conditions or allergies to medication that we ought to know about?”

  “None that I can think of.” Mary did not like this woman’s tone. Shouldn’t she be compassionate given the anguish of the people in her care? “Look, is there some way I can fill in the details later? I really need to be with my husband.”

  The admin woman slammed a clipboard containing documents onto the desk. It had a pen attached to the clip by a length of string.

  “Take that, fill it in and give it to the nurse assigned to your husband. Through there…bay three.”

  Mary grabbed the board and bolted without a backwards look. The paramedic held open the bay curtain for her to slip through. She thanked him for his kindness.

  Her path was blocked by a large black woman in a dark blue uniform. “Better to wait out here until they have finished their checks. Do you want to tell me what happened?” Her mellow voice and gentle empathy unravelled the restraint Mary had forged in the ambulance. Control over her speech patterns collapsed into tremulous shaking and a flood of tears.

  The long comforting arms of the nurse surrounded Mary’s fragile body. She flinched at the touch.

  “You have been in the wars too, it seems.” The nurse said, adjusting her hold and steering Mary to the nearest empty bay. “I think we should take a look under the hood.”

  Struggling out of her blouse, Mary stood in her underwear and revealed the expanse of bruising across the left side of her ribs. The nurse nodded, her features passive and calm. “I’ll get the On-Call to examine you, and then you can tell me all about it.” She disappeared through a gap in the thick plastic curtains and shut them tight behind her.

  The noises coming from Parth’s examination bay were frightening. Muffled choking, gurgling and low volume commands from the medical team, as they fought to keep his airways functioning. Mary could see the feet of the doctors beneath the hanging drapes, shuffling around the metal structure beneath Parth’s bed. Mary stepped closer to the curtain to listen.

  “No response from any of the limbs now, pupils are dilated, no significant hypotension.” A female voice whispered and unmodulated.

  “First responder notes suggest paralytic shellfish poisoning, but I have never seen a case this severe before, especially in this country.” Male this time, less quiet. “By all accounts, only two oysters were consumed, from the same catch as the rest of the diners, who are all unaffected.” More noises, rustling and shuffling.

  “Should we prep for gastric lavage?” The woman again.

  “Not worth the risk. He could asphyxiate. Increase oxygen percentage and fluids until he stabilises. I need a urine sample and analysis prioritised upstairs.”

  The nurse returned to Mary’s bay, with a gown and a young medic in her pristine white coat. The plastic tubing of her stethoscope still kinked from the box in which it was purchased. She prodded and tapped, while Mary winced and shuddered, between explanations of her injuries. Her tears lessened, momentarily diverted into bearing the pain from inexperienced hands.

  The young doctor completed her checks and turned to the nurse. “Can you arrange for her to be taken to x-ray, please?”

  Before the nurse could leave, Mary said, “I can’t have an x-ray. I’m pregnant.” It was as though the whole room had frozen. Her voice echoed, carried across the bays during the timely lull in operational commotion. Had everyone heard her confession? Was Parth conscious within his paralysis? Was he lying there, in an extreme state of breathless anxiety, hearing the news that he was to become a father? Her tears resumed their former intensity, prompting the nurse to return to her side with her reassuring arms.

  “Well you don’t have a temperature and your elevated heart rate is understandable under the circumstances.” The doctor announced. “I suspect you have at least one cracked rib.”

  “I have been assigned to her husband’s care.” The nurse said. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

  “Thank you.” Mary sniffed. “Is he going to be alright?”

  The doctor and nurse exchanged glances. The young medic looked down at her feet.

  The nurse said, “they are moving him to a separate room and have called a specialist. He is in the best hands imaginable.” She told Mary to get dressed, fill in the medical forms and wait to be collected and taken to Parth’s Critical Care Room.

  ***

  In the early hours of the morning, the specialist arrived, reviewed the extensive results from the samples taken and examined Parth’s responses to light and touch. None of the conclusions were positive. The kind black nurse ended her shift and completed the verbal handoff to a woman wearing a crucifix just visible beneath the collar of her uniform.

  The specialist sat next to Mary, introducing himself as Tendai, although she could see the ID on his shirt pocket read Dr. T. Harper. His delicate features were arresting. Pale blue irises against the warm coffee tone of his perfect skin. His movements were like liquid, his voice smooth and deep. “I will not give you false hope, Mrs Smith. This is like nothing else I have ever seen.” He hesitated, judging her reaction. Mary held her breath for confirmation of the prognosis, steeling herself for the worst.

  Tendai continued. “Most of the symptoms are consistent with Saxitoxin, a relatively common shellfish poison. Fluid therapy generally speeds recovery, but Parth is deteriorating despite our best efforts. His paralysis appears to be spreading from skeletal muscle to more critical areas, which is most unusual.”

  “Critical areas?” Mary was still. Her stark stare reaching into the doctor’s eyes. She did not need to read his thoughts. His inference was clear. “You mean his heart. If the paralysis stops his heart, you won’t be able to start it again.” Her lower lip quivered, making her words slur.

  Tendai nodded. “I’m afraid so. Hopefully, the blood tests will show us which toxins we can eliminate. That could help us to find a therapy to alleviate his suffering.”

  Mary gasped. Parth’s physical inactivity led her to believe that he was beyond pain, beyond suffering. Surely, he was not consciously aware of his body and mind shutting down around him? The specialist seemed to comprehend her misunderstanding and said; “I wish I could give him a sedative, something to ease his awareness, but it could exacerbate his problems.”

  The floodgates opened. The tears consumed her. In her dark moments, upon discovering Parth’s betrayal, she had once flirted with vengeful thoughts. Scenarios played out in her mind that had him crawling on his knees for forgiveness, but she had tempered them with reason. Her lust for revenge was short-lived, choosing instead to cut him from her life. A plan that failed within a few short weeks.

  Tendai rose from his chair, moved the box of tissues closer to Mary and glided through the glass of the automatic door into the nurses’ station. On his return, he handed Mary a plastic cup of water.

  “Here, it’s filtered. From the machine, just over there.” His compassion seemed endless. His patience, unmeasured. He was in no hurry to leave her side and bustle away like all the other overworked staff she had ever met. His presence alone was soothing, content to let Mary cry out her anguish as though he knew that release was her best therapy. More tissues and a jug of water appeared by her side. When the pool of Mary’s sorrow had dried, Tendai did another round of checks on Parth, then excused himself from the room.

  ***

  It was less than an hour between sending her brother, Dan, a telepathic message that she needed his help, and his arrival at the Intensive Care nurse’s desk. A further quarter of an hour, during which she related the details of their escape from the crash site with Connie and their new-found media infamy.

  Dan listened to her tale with concern etched on his two-day bearded features. “What name did you register Parth under when you arrived?” He asked, trying to sound less grave than the situation required.

  “Parth Smith. That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?” Mary’s mind refocused on
her prior dilemma. “They couldn’t find us using false names, could they?”

  “I don’t know, Mary. It all sounds a bit…”

  “What?”

  “Contrived. What are the chances of Parth eating the only two contaminated shellfish in the entire restaurant, one that was intended for you?” Dan watched his little sister as she relived the moment when the dish was delivered to their table in her mind. The memory of the clumsy waitress wearing inappropriate boots as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

  “You think she was sent to poison us both?” Her voice no more than a whisper, the colour leeched from her face.

  “I do, and I don’t think it will be long before Yelena’s techie chap uses facial recognition on the security feed to find you. There can’t be many Parths, Smith or otherwise, checked into London hospitals.”

  “But we can’t leave. We are trapped.”

  “Parth is, you are not.” Dan reached for his holdall, dragging it from the floor onto his lap. “I’ve brought a few essentials from Connie. If we leave now, we can slip out of the fire exit at the end of the corridor.”

  “What if he dies? I could never forgive myself.”

  “He has lied, used and deceived you at every turn. How can you still feel any loyalty towards him? Mary, the medical team will do their best. Save yourself, there is nothing you can do here.” He grasped her forearm and gave it a tender squeeze. “Please.”

  The television was showing the top of the hour news bulletin once more. The image of her wearing Hugo’s spare lab coat filled the screen, the caption below it, a plausible hoax. She thought about the shrivelling glare received earlier from the Christian nurse. Even if Yelena’s tech could not find her, there was a chance that nurse would report her whereabouts to the media outlets.

  “Perhaps you are right. I should at least call his family and let them know. It could take them some time to fly over here from Mumbai.” Mary wandered from Parth’s room to the nurse’s desk, and asked permission to use the land line telephone. She positioned her thumb over the keypad, hoping that muscle memory would help to provide her with the start of her in-law’s telephone number.

  Dr Tendai Harper approached from behind, tapping her lightly on the shoulder. “Forgive me, Mrs Arora. May we speak?”

  At first, his use of her real name did not register as important. In the subsequent milliseconds, panic took hold. “I’m…um…not. Please don’t…”

  “I recognised you from the news. I have an idea that might help your husband. Can we speak in my office?”

  Cornered, there was little she could do but comply. They walked the few metres to his office, where the monitor of his computer showed a paused video of Mary’s miraculous water conversion.

  Mary sighed, framing apologies and explanations inside her head, ready to release to the kind doctor, but he cut to the quick of the matter.

  “Are you really able to exert an electromagnetic conduction?” He said. Those blue eyes unnerved her. Was he offended or intrigued? She could not tell. In the seconds before relaying her answer, she locked onto to his thought processes, synchronising with the whirlpool of events connecting in logical matrices behind his intense stare. Images of iron rich chemicals combining at a molecular level to noxious compounds in the tissues of her husband. Not a hint of contempt or disapproval for her actions could be found. Her anxious state lessened.

  “Yes, Dr. Harper. I can exert an electromagnetic force at will.”

  His facial muscles lifted, revealing a flawless smile to underline those dramatic azure eyes. “It is a long shot, but I believe it is worth a try. There are reports, with limited success, of using ferrous binding compounds in the treatment of toxic overload. In theory, the binding agent neutralises some of the effects of the toxin and is then excreted in the urine of the patient. If the process of excretion is sped up with your assistance, I believe we can reverse the paralysis before it reaches the heart muscle.”

  “My assistance? I’m not sure I follow?”

  “Your electromagnetic abilities could direct the iron based compounds directly to the bladder, thus flushing out the poison more efficiently.” His smile was infectious, encouraging her own, but all she could think of was that Tendai’s treatment regime, clashed with her brother’s plan to escape from the hospital. Perhaps Parth would survive without the use of her gifts.

  “Could you not just use some magnets to do that?” She said, in hope of a positive response.

  “Not all over his body. It would disrupt the equipment keeping him alive, the respirator and such.”

  “Oh, I see. You need a directed and metred force. And without the treatment?” She already knew the answer. Rubbing her temples, she peered at an oblique angle at him.

  “Honestly, I don’t think he will make it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  All hope of implementing Dan’s escape plan was lost. The likelihood of being trapped by the minister’s men rose with each minute. Spurred into action, Mary said; “We should begin the procedure immediately. Sooner the better.”

  Dr Tendai Harper rose from his desk chair and escorted Mary to the door. “I will go and get the compounds formulated. I will call you when everything is set up.”

  Mary wandered back to the Intensive Care room where Dan waited, the strap of the holdall slung over his shoulder. He took one look at Mary’s face, and his own fell into a resigned configuration.

  “We are not leaving, are we?” He said, taking the bag by the handles and lowering it to the floor. Mary shook her head then returned to the chair in which she had spent the night.

  “They want me to use my gifts on Parth in an experimental procedure.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t just delay tactics? Maybe the doctor has been tasked with keeping you here until the Minister’s men arrive.”

  “That is a possibility. I read the specialist’s mind. He was genuine about the procedure, but he might not have been thinking about any ulterior motives at the time of reading. Anyway, I can’t go until Parth is no longer critical.”

  The nurse entered the room with a fresh bag of saline. Her perpetually puckered sneer at Mary transformed into wide-eyed delight for Dan. He did not notice. Looking down at the deep shadows and swollen eyes in his little sister’s face, he sighed. “At least let me get you something to eat. You must be starving.”

  Mary reached up and connected with his long fingers. She opened her mouth to speak, then remembering the presence of the nurse, chose to send her message internally. “I am hungry, Dan. I’m eating for two.” A hint of a smile formed on her lips, then bloomed into a glorious beam in response to her brother’s elation.

  Dan was unable to continue their discussion telepathically. He plonked himself down on the chair beside her and flung his arms around Mary. “That’s fantastic news. I’m gonna be an uncle.” Mary shushed him. He loosened his grip, his joy waning to concern. “It is good news, isn’t it? I mean, is that what you want?” Dan stuck his thumb out in a backwards trajectory towards Parth’s bed. “Does he know?”

  Mary shrugged, then whispered. “I’m not sure. It’s my decision anyway.”

  “Absolutely. You can rely on me, you know that, don’t you?” The earnest tenor in his voice caught Mary off guard. He meant every word of it.

  Her tear ducts began leaking once more. “Sorry.” She said, in a half-giggle, half-embarrassed snort. “Once the flood gates are open, it’s so bloody hard to get them to shut.”

  “Aww. Come here.” Those strong arms wrapped around her once more. “Right then. I’ll get you some food, you fix Parth, and then we will scarper. Does that sound like a plan?”

  “It’s a plan.” Neither she nor her brother believed that it was a feasible strategy, but she felt marginally better for it nonetheless.

  The inaction of waiting was most deadly. Sitting facing the glum Christian nurse, listening to Parth’s respirator keeping him alive, while everyone else in the place had a purpose. A place to be, a life to save, instead of
just sitting and waiting for a heart to fail from unknown toxins.

  The nurse performed her checks, recorded the results and scowled at Mary on her way out of the door. There seemed no end to the hatred she exuded. The television footage painted Mary as a Christian heretic. A hater of faith. Someone who used their saviour to launch themselves into fame. None of the reporters mentioned the flip side of the story. They were content with presenting only Hugo’s version of events. Mary knew that none of the channels could get in touch to ask for her comments, but then, a biased story often yields higher viewing figures.

  Mary’s mouth dried. Reaching across to the nightstand, she poured water from the jug into her cup, and swilled it around her dry throat.

  “Don’t drink water… very bad.”

  Mary dropped the cup, the water splashing across the industrial linoleum. That voice, that accent resonated inside her brain, awakening a deep-seated mortal fear. Her head flicked around to the man dressed in combat fatigues, standing in the doorway. The panic started in her chest and spiralled out towards her limbs.

  “I not hurt you. No worry.” It was Alexi. He held his hands aloft and took slow steps closer. Mary shoved her chair back, but Parth’s bed frame blocked her escape.

  “You tried to shoot me.” She spat the words at him. “Don’t come any closer or I will scream.”

  “I not shoot you. I save you. Look…” Alexi dipped his head, fingering the raw and bloodied marks that tracked along the parting of his soviet military styled haircut. “I stopped her killing you.” He stepped closer again, head bowed low.

  “I mean it, Alexi, one more step. You know how much damage I can do.”

  “Okay, okay. I go, but do not drink water. Not safe.” He turned to leave, picking up the jug as he went. As much as she wanted him to go, Mary could not help herself from having the final word.

  “It’s filtered.”

  “I checked machine. No filter inside.” Alexi sauntered out, shaking his head. Then, as the automatic door closed behind him, he turned and wagged his finger over the jug, pursing his lips.