The Iron Quill (9 page)

The two officers looked at each other and spoke softly, then Officer Wright turned to me. “Five minutes, Ms. Slone.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

I don’t know how many times I repeated it while they made the call authorizing the exception. Filling my brain with the constant repetition seemed to settle my nerves. At least until I was sitting in the visitation hall at a mini-desk with Plexiglas separating me from the other side.

The thank-yous finally stopped, and I quickly started trying to think of something to say.
What was I doing?

I was pulled from my thoughts when the door to the left swung open and there he was, decked out in a short-sleeved orange jumpsuit, escorted by a uniformed officer. It definitely looked like he was staying awhile, making me wonder exactly what evidence they had corroborated from Chase’s video to spark such a quick arrest.

By then, he was standing in front of me and my curiosity faded. All that mattered now was the hatred flowing between us as I looked up at his icy blue eyes and chiseled face. Despite the intimidating buzz cut, tattoos, and flexed jaw, his smirk told me the most. That he wasn’t planning on giving me anything.

The officer broke our silence, “Five minutes.” His words were low enough to prompt me to look toward the phone hanging on the wall.

Once the officer walked away, it was just me and Tim, who was still standing.

I cleared my throat and pointed toward the phone.

He shook his head, giving me a no.

I frowned. “Okay. Are you going to sit?”

A clear shake of his head told me no again.

“Okay.” After a precious twenty seconds, I decided to stand and in doing so, courage rose from a deep, hidden place and peaked at my throat.

“Alright,” I announced. “I get it. It’s clear you don’t want to talk to me. But I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say, and I don’t think you want me shouting it.” I grabbed the phone and then pointed to the veins on the inside of my elbow. If nothing else would get his attention, maybe the idea of drugs would.

Once his gaze fixed on my arm, his smirk transformed into a frown, and I knew I had him.

I motioned back to the phone.

Reluctantly he picked it up, and I knew this was my chance.

“Andy told me about what you guys want. And you win. Okay. I give in. I’ll give you what you need.”

His frown turned back into a smirk as he chuckled and my brows furrowed as I tried to read his thoughts. After a long silent moment, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the glass. In a voice that eerily mimicked Andy’s, he said, “Too late.”

A sharp jab shot through my chest. What did that mean? Had they already gotten the information out of Wes?

I started to think this was hopeless until he put his hand on the glass exposing his bare arm. An arm that had enough needle marks in it to play Connect the Dots.

I leaned closer trying to return an intimidating stare, “That’s not what your arm says.”

As he jerked it down, I sensed he was about to hang up the phone, so I started reeling off thoughts as they popped into my head.

“We both know why they took Wes, but it’s not helping you. You’re going to need a hit. Soon! And they won’t come to help you. They won’t. Just like Chase was disposable, so are you. Wes is your only hope. Wes’ doctors can write you a legitimate prescription for it.”

I had his attention, but it wasn’t enough. Quickly, I thought of more and spoke even faster hoping he wouldn’t catch the lies in my words. “And the drug Wes uses doesn’t have withdrawals. And I know he won’t give it up to those military goons. He’d rather die than give it to them.”

Clearly wanting to walk away or punch me through the glass, he pressed his narrow lips together and flared his nostrils to twice the size I would’ve thought possible. “Fine. You bring me some “medication,” and I’ll give you a name.”

“He’ll be dead tomorrow.” The shock of what I said hit me like a ton of bricks. I had refused to believe it before, but saying it made me realize the possibility of it. “And you’ll be one screwed-up druggy if he is, because then I wouldn’t help you if my life depended on it. I slammed the phone into the Plexiglas barrier and let it dangle.

Tears threatened to betray my attempt to appear that I had the upper hand, but I fought back and returned his fuming stare.

After what felt like a whole minute of silence, he motioned his head toward the phone.

I picked it back up, heart pounding.

“I’ll give you
one
name. One name and if you can’t figure it out from there, then that’s your problem.”

I nodded like a bobble head. “My grandfather mentioned a doctor who was working with soldiers who suffered like he once did. At one of my rendezvous, I heard one of the guys mention his name on the phone.”

I wanted to shout, “What is it already?” But kept my calm. The less desperate I appeared, the better.

“What’s his name?” I asked quietly.

Holding back for a minute, he gathered his breath. “His name is Dr. Carter. My grandfather told me he lived in Virginia.”

I felt my heart swell for Wes and wasted no time hanging up the phone. Then I thanked him through the glass and turned to leave. My desperation no longer hidden. Upon my second or third step, I heard him shout through the glass. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow!”

Not if I could help it.

By the time I got the name from Tim, it was almost 10:30, but I called Dr. Lyon anyway.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Dr. Lyon, but—”

“I’m not sleeping, Sophie. It’s all right. I’m actually researching leads.”

“
I
have a lead,” I breathed out.

“You do? How?”

I gave him the quick rundown and told him the name.

“Sophie, I’ve heard that name before. You did it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I need to go. Thank you. I’ll find him.”

The last thing I heard was a click and then a hand touched my shoulder.

“Did you get what you needed?”

I jumped before turning to find Officer Petty. “Um, sort of. He gave me information I already knew about his grandfather, but he can’t help me find Wes.”

He jerked his head back and gave me that I-don’t-believe-the-suspect look. And then suggested I file a missing persons report so they could help.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said.

Suspicion filled his eyes, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t think he’s missing anymore. I just need to check one more place. Thanks.” I headed toward the door, hoping to finalize my communication with him.

Even though I wanted to be far away from the cops and the police station, a sense of gratitude took over, so I turned back and expressed my appreciation.

“Thank you,” I repeated. “For catching him . . . Mrs. Mary deserves it.” Then I smiled and headed straight home to wait to hear from Dr. Lyon.

I
couldn’t sleep or concentrate. In addition to my guilt and frustration for not having found a way to end this insanity, I’d had two calls from Dr. Peyton to inform me Weston was being difficult. Not only was he neither eating nor accepting anything to drink, he was intimidating the staff. Not physically, but psychologically. Something about the aura he was giving off.

“Is he threatening anyone?” I asked.

“No, he’s just asking to leave, but I think he needs to be restrained. He’s very agitated.”

“Well, can you blame him?”

“I think we should give him a sedative.”

“Absolutely
not
,” I barked. “Do not touch him.” Fear of another injection attempt had me grabbing for my clothes though it was one o’clock in the morning. “I’ll be right there.”

Although I wanted to help the kid, I really didn’t want to face him anymore. Some barrier seemed to be keeping me from wanting to accept the full truth of what was happening. Of who he was, of what part I played in his capture. Even though I was the “good doctor” in my head, I was a coward. What could I do? Making phone calls, buying time—it was all weak, and quite frankly, I didn’t like myself right now.

Just as I surmised that only a miracle could fix this, my phone rang. At first, I assumed it was Dr. Peyton again, considering the late hour.

“What is it?”

“Dr. Carter?”

“Yes?” I answered, pressing my ear to the phone, not recognizing the voice.

“This is Dr. Lyon. I’m the lead doctor on board at the California Blood Research Lab.”

My senses heightened.

“How can I help you at this hour, Doctor?”

“Well, I have recently been given the knowledge that Weston Wilson is visiting your facility. Against his will.”

My first instinct was to tell him the truth and urge him to call the police, but I hesitated, bound to my responsibility. Fearing my lab, patients, and life’s work would not only be compromised, but ruined with scandal.

Despite the recent horrible lapse in the judgment of my superiors, I still believed in sheltering patients and opposed media attention of any kind.

“I’m sorry, but it is not our policy to hold anyone against their will.”

“Save it, Doctor. I’m too old and too impatient to play games. We know you have him, and I promise to bring down the wrath of God on you and your facility if I do not bring Mr. Wilson home unharmed. Do you understand?”

His threats only spoke of the value of Weston. I wasn’t sure what it was about him, but I knew he was important. Different, special. I quickly thought of a way to end this peacefully, yet remain able to pass a polygraph to maintain my security clearance.

“Dr. Lyon, you are more than welcome to come to my lab; ask for me and I’ll check my records. But one particular patient will no longer be in my care at 0600 hours, so I’d arrive before 6 a.m. for any transfer requests if I were you.”

“It’s already after 1:00 your time. There is no way I can be there by six, Doctor.”

He was right. It was an unreasonable request, but the sergeant major would be coming, and once he arrived, I would lose what little control I still had. If we had any chance of this coming to a reasonable end, then he’d
have
to arrive before 0600. Period.

“Dr. Lyon, I’m being relieved of patient care at six a.m. I will not be able to offer assistance after that.”

Take the hint.

“Very well. Mr. Wilson has a private jet on contract with his lab. I’ll see what I can do, but I may not make it by then, even if I leave now.”

“As I said, Doctor. Now if you don’t mind. I have to be going.”

I wanted him off the phone. The longer he talked with me, the less able he’d be to get here in time.

“Understood.”

He hung up, and I was surprised that he already knew the location of our facility.

Officially, I was on record as one of the staff physicians working in the civilian hospital, but only a select few with special clearance knew what occurred on the top floor.

Even so, I had to believe he knew where Weston was being held or we would both be sorry come 0600 hours. It was a thought I shifted to the back of my consciousness while making the short journey to the hospital.

The entire drive, I was thinking only of the best scenario. If Dr. Lyon arrived in time, he would approach the front desk and ask for me. They would call up to alert me to a visitor, and normally, I would come down to the main level to meet them, but how was I going to get him
upstairs
?

The fact that I was considering how to breach security was making me anxious, but I kept reminding myself of the situation. The life of an innocent civilian—a young man with a bright future—was on the line. I arrived at the back elevator but made a detour around to the civilian information desk.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Doctor.” The young man looked like he was just now waking up, which was a good thing for us.

“Listen, I was just notified that I’ll be relieved around 0600 of a patient that’s giving me a real headache. Can you make sure I’m notified right away if anyone asks for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” I nodded and quickly turned toward the elevator. Once upstairs, I put my coat and gloves in my dark, empty office. Then I made my way toward the patient wing and past the half-dozen privates that the sergeant major had left guarding it.

I was barely through the door when Dr. Peyton bombarded me with Weston’s chart. “He’s all yours, Doc.”

“What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you tell me? Your patient is losing it and if you don’t okay the sedatives, then you can manage him.”

He handed me the clipboard and one look at the notes explained it all. Dr. Peyton had assumed he was a regular patient, hot off the drug high, and he was being prevented from following any of the standard courses of action we normally follow, including restraints and drugs.

Instead, his hands were tied, with no explanation. “I’ll take it from here Carl, thanks.”

“Why don’t you tell me what is going on? Why is the sergeant major so interested in this patient, and why are you leaving him in there to suffer the withdrawal? Help him,” he urged.

At that point I looked through the small window and saw Weston pacing angrily from one corner to the next. He was definitely acting the part
very well.
If he had only been sweating, he would look exactly like one of our patients suffering from withdrawals.

“I will, but give me a minute with him.”

My colleague looked like he wanted to protest, but he knew I’ve never been afraid of a patient, so he nodded reluctantly.

I knocked, and then entered, expecting Weston to relax. Instead he glanced over long enough to acknowledge my entrance and then kept pacing, arms crossed.

“You can stop now. It’s just me.”

I expected him to cease the act, but he didn’t. And that’s when I realized he wasn’t acting. He turned and rushed straight at me.

“Are you kidding me, Doc?” he asked looking down at me.

“Weston, please.” I went to guide him toward a chair, but he shoved me off.

“No. And keep your hands off me. I’m done with this playing patient nonsense. Your games aren’t working. I’ve been here for three days without a shower or a single phone call, and now you’re turning me over to them again! Do you have any idea what I’m going to have to do to get myself out of here?”