Infected

by Alana Terry

  Kennedy’s plan of placating Brian wasn’t working. She had to calm him down. “I remember my grandma wondering if it was worth going through another round of treatments.” Her voice was shaky, but she ignored the fear in her gut. “By that point, the doctors said it wouldn’t do much other than buy her a few more months. But she was so uncomfortable the whole time. I think she did it for her kids though. They wanted her to hold on a little longer.”

  Brian nodded. “That’s pretty common. That’s because doctors can’t heal. No offense to you, but you may as well accept it right now. Doctors don’t cure. They treat a few symptoms, rack up the big bucks, and that’s it. You believe in God?” he asked.

  She nodded, thankful to see his shoulders relax slightly even though she wasn’t equipped to jump into the middle of a theological debate. That was a calling for someone like Dominic, someone who’d studied up on the issues and had all the right answers to offer. She was ready to change the subject when Brian asked, “What religion are you?”

  “Oh.” She felt her face heat up and hated herself for it. Didn’t the Bible tell her to be ready at any moment to explain her faith to those who asked? Of course, she’d never expected to be asked by someone who’d been pointing a gun at her face just a few minutes earlier. “I’m a Christian.” She tried to slow down her breathing. Why did that make her so nervous to admit?

  He nodded. “Born again, Bible believing, all that stuff?”

  She nodded. “I guess so.”

  “So you know exactly what I’m talking about. How our Savior healed people by faith. How faith — believing the Holy Spirit dwells inside you — can cure even the most fatal diseases. That’s what we’ve been trying to teach Timmy. He’s young, of course, but sometimes it’s that childlike faith that makes the difference. You know what I mean? Jesus talks about it all the time. The faith of a child, it’s strong enough to move mountains.”

  Kennedy wasn’t sure he was quoting the passage right, but she didn’t have it memorized and wouldn’t have had the guts to correct him even if she did.

  Brian’s voice was animated. “The Bible talks about it all over the place. Call on the elders, and the prayers offered up in faith will raise the sick to life.”

  Another reference Kennedy wasn’t sure if he was botching or not. It sounded slightly familiar, but she wouldn’t have even known where to look it up in the Bible if she had one with her.

  “That’s what it is my wife and I were trying to get that judge to understand. It’s not only the fact that these treatments are harmful to our son. It’s that it undermines whatever faith we’re hoping to instill in him. We took him to meet Cameron Hopewell at two different crusades. The bishop told us Timmy would be cured, but we couldn’t go back to the oncologists. That’s what he said. God wanted to cure our son, but he wanted to be the one who got the glory for it. And by bringing him back here, by accepting the drugs and radiation and all that, it’s like spitting in God’s face after the healing he promised us.”

  Kennedy was lost on a theological level, but at least Brian sounded sincere. Or was that the cognitive dissonance playing tricks with her head? The Stockholm syndrome. Making her believe he was sympathetic since being trapped with a loving, wise father who just wanted what was best for his child was easier to accept than being trapped with a desperate, armed criminal who was also a raving lunatic.

  In the end, it didn’t matter what Kennedy thought of Brian or his son Timothy or the family court’s order to submit to chemotherapy or relinquish parental rights.

  It didn’t matter because in the end, it was still Brian who had that gun, and it was Kennedy who was sitting beside him, praying to God and hoping to heaven that he wouldn’t decide to use it.

  CHAPTER 17

  “You ever watch faith healers on TV?” Brian asked after a few moments.

  The question startled her. “Faith healers?”

  “You know, Bishop Hopewell, others like him. Praying for the sick, curing them right there in front of thousands of witnesses.”

  “No. I’ve never watched them do that.”

  “They get a bad rap because they charge money for their events. As if any other Christian minister doesn’t have the right to earn their living by their work. I don’t see them complaining about Christian authors charging a fair price for their books, do you? Or pastors asking their congregations for a monthly paycheck. But Cameron Hopewell charges a hundred dollars for one of his healing handkerchiefs that he’s personally prayed over, and people throw a fit. Say he’s a charlatan. You know why he charges that much money, don’t you?”

  Kennedy figured greed and gullibility had quite a bit to do with it, but Brian was ready with an answer of his own.

  “Faith. Just like Jesus turned out the crowds who didn’t have enough faith to see Jairus’s daughter raised up to life. The only people he wanted around were the people he knew actually expected the miracle to happen. So you ask someone to believe that God will use a healing handkerchief to cure their disease, and if they’re willing to pay that hundred dollars, it shows they have enough faith for that healing to work. You go around sending free handkerchiefs to everybody, you get all the folks who don’t have enough faith, so of course they aren’t going to get the same results. Not to mention you go bankrupt and can’t continue on in your work for the Lord.

  “It’s scientific fact. You can appreciate that. That’s why patients receiving a placebo still show signs of improvement. Because they believe the medicine’s going to help them, and that faith is what brings them healing. They’ve done experiments on it, you know. If the patient has to pay for a placebo, or even if they’re simply told that the drug is expensive, there’s a higher chance of recovery. Just from a sugar pill. It’s not wacky science. It’s faith, pure and simple. You have faith, you find your healing. Just like Jesus talks about in the New Testament.”

  Kennedy didn’t know what to say. She’d read some of those same studies about placebos, but she’d never thought about it in the context of Christian faith or miraculous healings.

  “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Brian asked.

  Kennedy forced herself to shake her head. Reminded herself that in this situation it was perfectly acceptable to lie to keep herself out of danger. “You’re not crazy. You’re just a father trying to look out for his son.”

  He sighed. “I never expected it to come to this. Look at me. A year ago, I was bringing in three hundred grand a year. Three hundred stinking grand. Does that sound like the kind of father who would lose his son to state custody? Does that sound like the kind of father who would bring a gun into a crowded hospital, who would risk ...” His voice caught.

  Kennedy tried to steer the conversation away from his schemes. She tried to think of something to say. Anything that would get Brian’s mind off of his gun or any other plans he’d made. “How is your son doing right now? I mean, how is his health?”

  Brian let out his breath in a controlled hiss. “They started the chemo yesterday. He’s been puking all morning and is too sick to eat. Doctors are talking about surgery to put in a feeding tube right into his intestine. Bypass the stomach entirely.”

  “I’m sorry. What’s your wife think of all this?”

  “Shannon? She tried to be strong, but the devil knew where she was weakest and attacked her the hardest. She idolizes that child. Couldn’t think of the state taking him away, even when I told her this was all just a test from God. A test I just hope I’m strong enough to pass ...”

  Kennedy realized the conversation was still veering too close to Brian and whatever plans he’d conceived to rescue his child. But what else could she talk about? It’s not like she could strike up a conversation about the weather.

  Brian scowled at the floor for several seconds. Kennedy glanced surreptitiously at his wristwatch, but she didn’t know what time it had been when Dominic left her here. Didn’t know how long they’d already been waiting.

  “You got Internet on your phone?” he ask
ed. “I wonder if the news has already picked up the story.”

  “No, my batteries are dead.”

  “Just as well. Otherwise, you’d probably have found a way to call the cops on me by now, right?”

  Kennedy still wanted to keep him placated. “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Oh, yes you would. Don’t be afraid to admit it. I’m not saying I’m doing the right thing here. But what choice do I have? God told me through the bishop that the only way my son would be cured was if we deny the chemotherapy. It’s a hard road, but it’s the one he’s called me to walk. And my son’s worth it.”

  Kennedy didn’t want to hear any more excuses. She glanced at the screen on the wall. “There’s a TV over there. Maybe you could watch the news on that.” She tried to keep her voice steady while she planned how fast she’d have to act to move the loveseat, unlock the door, and escape while he fiddled with the television controls. She was pretty sure after talking to him that he wouldn’t shoot her in the back while she ran.

  But what if she was wrong?

  Brian tilted his head toward the small shelf. “Go over there and hand me that remote.”

  So much for attempting to flee. For a second, Kennedy thought about simply asking him to let her leave. Promising she wouldn’t tell the guards where he was if he just unlocked that door. Instead, she walked slowly over to the far wall, keenly aware of his eyes on her. She handed him the remote.

  “Thank you.” So polite. So gallant.

  “You’re welcome.” She couldn’t make herself speak in anything more than a whisper.

  “Please don’t think I’m a monster.” His voice was so earnest. Kennedy forced herself to look straight at him.

  “No,” she lied. “I don’t think that at all.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Providence Hospital was the first image that popped onto the television screen. A news anchor stood out front of the entrance, and the camera panned wide to get a shot of all the police cars stationed outside.

  “I’m here in front of Providence Hospital, where the general director has issued a hospital-wide lockdown. At this point, it’s only speculation what the problem is or whether or not it has anything to do with the Nipah scare that’s now blown to full pandemic proportions. With New York in a state of emergency and Florida expected to follow suit, it’s anyone’s guess right now whether Massachusetts will be the next state to shut its borders in hopes of stopping the spread of the disease. Meanwhile, in Medford ...”

  Brian shut off the volume and swore.

  “Not what you wanted to hear?” Kennedy asked.

  “It just makes me so sick. Here we are in the middle of a pandemic, and my son’s dragged out of his home where we could have kept him isolated, free from exposure, and instead he’s brought here. I swear, if he doesn’t die from the chemo, it’ll be the Nipah next, and his precious soul is going to be on the consciences of all the lawyers and all the attorneys and all the stinking politicians in this whole mess of a country. God will hold them accountable, I tell you that much.”

  “It’s not going to come to that.” Kennedy forced conviction into her voice even though all she could focus on was escape. Out of all the rooms Dominic could have led her to, he picked the hiding spot of a murderous father.

  No, not murderous. He hadn’t hurt anybody yet. And hadn’t he promised her several times, assured her he didn’t want to harm her? Was that the truth or was that just what he told Kennedy to keep her in line?

  Brian shook his head. “I just wish ...”

  Kennedy’s breath caught in her throat. “Wait,” she interrupted. “Wait. Turn the volume back up.” She stared at the familiar face on the television screen while Diane Fiddlestein, one of Channel 2’s studio reporters, talked into the camera. “Turn it up,” she told him again and reached out for the remote.

  “I got it,” he said and unmuted the TV.

  “... admitted to the ER with a fever and swelling of the brain.”

  Kennedy’s lungs were paralyzed. Brian could have pulled out his gun and held it to her temple right then and she couldn’t have been more surprised.

  “The patient’s symptoms came on suddenly this afternoon, and he is currently being treated in an isolation room at Providence.”

  “Do you know him?” Brian asked.

  “Shh.”

  “The patient’s family has included this photograph so that anyone who’s come into contact can take necessary precautions.”

  Kennedy leaned forward as if that would keep her from missing any of the words. “Turn it up.”

  “Doctors have sent lab samples to the CDC. They can’t confirm Nipah at this stage, however they are recommending that anyone who’s had exposure to the patient in the past two days monitor their temperature every hour, avoid crowded areas, and seek medical attention immediately if symptoms appear.”

  Kennedy probably hadn’t blinked during the entire segment. They still hadn’t taken the picture off the screen. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. He’d been perfectly healthy ...

  “Who is that?”

  Kennedy couldn’t answer. She shook her head, disbelief coursing through her system. He’d said something about a headache, but that didn’t mean ...

  “Who is that kid?” Brian asked again.

  The news anchor continued her report, even though Kennedy’s brain did its best to shut out every word.

  She lowered her head. “His name is Woong.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Breathe. She couldn’t breathe. Her counselor had given her an assignment. There was something she was supposed to do when she felt the start of a panic attack. She was supposed to look around. Find... Find what? What was there to find while she was stuck in a cramped conference room with a deranged father who was ready to blow the brains out of anyone who got between him and his son? What was there to listen for when all she could hear was the droning on of Diane Fiddlestein’s nasally voice as she talked about Woong Lindgren as if he was some nameless patient and not the spunky, mischievous little boy Kennedy had been watching for the past two days?

  Woong. Too curious for his own good, asking more questions than Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men, but sweet enough to work his way into the hardest of hearts.

  Woong. He couldn’t be sick. Kennedy tried to remember what time it’d been when they first arrived at the hospital. He’d been fine. Complained a little bit about his legs aching in the morning, and that was all. That and a little headache. Otherwise, he was totally normal. He wasn’t sick. He couldn’t be sick.

  Brian swore and turned off the TV. “Nothing. Not a single word about my son.”

  Kennedy wasn’t sure what he’d expected.

  “If it weren’t for that outbreak ...”

  Someone knocked on the door. “Kennedy?”

  Air rushed back into her lungs. She glutted herself on the influx of oxygen.

  “Kennedy?”

  “Who’s that?” Brian stared at the barricaded door and then at her. “You know that guy? Who is he?”

  “It’s the chaplain,” she told him.

  “The one you were talking to earlier?”

  She nodded.

  “Kennedy! It’s me. You can unlock the door. Kennedy?”

  Brian grabbed her by the upper arm, his fingers pinching into her bicep. “Not a word,” he snarled in her ear. “Got that? Not a cough, not a hiccup, don’t even think of breathing loud.”

  “Kennedy!”

  Brian jerked her by the arm off the couch. “Come on.”

  She didn’t ask where he was taking her. Didn’t dare make a noise. She tripped over one of her stupid sandals as he yanked her toward the broom closet. Dumb heels. She kicked them off. She had to be ready to run when she got the chance.

  “Kennedy!” Dominic’s voice was strained. Tense. Did he have any idea what was happening? Had he put enough of the pieces together to figure out what was going on?

  Brian shoved Kennedy into the closet while Dominic jostled the doorknob
. Brian pulled out his gun. No! She had to warn Dominic about the weapon. But how can you scream when you don’t have any breath? How can you warn your boyfriend away from imminent danger when you can’t even control your own lungs?

  Brian hefted her up. She was in his arms now, her bare feet dangling a foot off the ground. “Get up there,” he grumbled. Kennedy reached up into an open air vent. Did he expect her to crawl through? “Get up,” he repeated and pushed her higher, his hands on the back pockets of her pants as he tried to force her through the narrow opening.

  Now she wished she’d kept her sandals on. “No!” she screamed and kicked. She’d been aiming for his nose but ended up with her heel smashing into his eye socket instead. She gave him one more sturdy kick to knock him off his balance and jumped down. Pain raced up both ankles when she landed.

  He grabbed her by the wrist as she tried to run past him. She kicked his shin without causing any harm. Why hadn’t she thought to bring better shoes? She’d trade in her GPA for a pair of spiked cleats right about now.

  He had both arms wrapped around her, and she felt something hard across his chest. A bullet-proof vest, maybe? She’d have to warn Dominic and the security officers when they got into the room.

  “Stop struggling, will you?” His breath was hot against her ear. She flailed in his grip, fighting to be set free but causing about as much damage as Simba the lion cub wrestling with his dad.

  She snapped her head back. Controlled, forceful, like she’d practiced so many times in her self-defense class. She heard the snap of cartilage, Brian’s angry curse as he bent over. It was the chance she needed. With a grunt of exertion, she freed herself from his hold and ran to the door. She flung back the deadbolt as she strained to push the barricade aside. “Dominic!” she shouted. “He’s got a gun! Be careful!”

  The door opened a few inches before hitting the loveseat. Kennedy was stuck between the couch and the wall.

  “Kennedy!” Dominic’s voice flooded her senses with relief. It was ok. Everything was going to be ok.