Bargains and Betrayals (7 page)

I bent down, searching for her signature shoes. Yep. Bright red heels. I straightened again. I’d overheard a conversation between Harnek and Derek at school that cemented her connection to some company he was part of—something tied in with what we’d presumed was the CIA. Having her here—the nurse dodged around the cart to help and my view cleared—with Dr. Jones—connected them all.

On a stretcher between two EMTs a girl was strapped down. “We appreciate you opening your doors to the hospital’s overflow,” one man said to Jones as they moved down the hall slowly. “I never would have thought we’d have so many kids rolling in with so many weird symptoms.”

Jones shook her head. “Yes. Who would have ever imagined?” She shot a look at Harnek.

I dodged around the cart and followed, nearly keeping pace with them and not worried they’d notice me because of the way Harnek and Jones focused on each other across the stretcher.

Harnek’s hand clutched the girl’s as she writhed. “Really, sweetie, you need to relax. You’re swelling up because you’re freaking out.”

The EMTs exchanged a glance.

The girl looked at them both, noting their confusion.

“Relax. Trust me. No,” Harnek urged. “There’s no reason to panic.…”

Her hand fell away from the girl’s, no longer able to hold it as it swelled so large.

Jones stepped back from the stretcher. So did the nurse.

“What the—” The EMT struggled to disconnect the fluids bag he held above his head and stared at his partner.

“Relax,” Harnek soothed the girl, patting her hand. “Count backward with me from twenty. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…”

Her head swollen to an impossible size, the girl’s bloated lips moved, but the sound was more of a hiss than a word and with a final fearful thrash came a noise like fabric ripping. Pieces of her flew free in a bloody spatter.

Harnek and the EMTs were slick with gore and blood.

I covered my mouth and shook back the trembling terror that rattled through me.

Leaning away at a more comfortable distance, Jones flicked something unrecognizable off her shoulder and withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket to dab at the blood freckling her face.

Harnek wiped at her eyes as the EMTs cursed and slipped backward in gore.

“We need decontamination!” one exclaimed, panic edging into his voice.

“No,” Harnek insisted. “Breathe. The girl was clean—there’s no contagion.”

“Like the others—the symptoms don’t transmit?”

“Exactly. Everything’s self-contained.” Harnek sighed, a shudder shaking through her as she slid her hands across her dripping face to clear it. “God, poor girl … What am I going to tell her parents?” Her body shook with a sob before she straightened and noted the distance Jones and the nurse had managed to keep between themselves and the exploding girl. “You
knew
…”

Jones’s hands rose. “No. How could we possibly
know
?”

But Harnek’s eyes grew small. Although I was no longer sure I could trust Harnek, I knew
she
didn’t trust Jones, so I wouldn’t, either. “Point us toward the showers.” She dug keys out of her pocket and threw them at Jones. “Get my overnight bag out of my car. I was going to stay with her.…” she said, strangling on the sentence. “I guess I’ll need my clothes, anyhow.”

Jones flipped the keys to the nurse and pointed down the hall, away from me. Quietly I turned, heading back toward the common room. But not before I realized someone was watching me.

Looking up, I caught the eyes of a new addition to Pecan Place—a guy a few years older than me, with brown hair and hazel eyes. He smiled as I dodged past to reclaim my seat at the round white table. But there was no warmth in his smile, just a cool slide of lips and the mimicry of a friendly expression that got lost somewhere between his mouth and his eyes.

Silent and still except for the anxious drumming of my fingers on the tabletop, I sat with my back to the common room’s doors, waiting until I thought it was safe to head back to my room. A glance over my shoulder proved the hall was clean, the stretcher and EMTs gone, the dead girl just a grim memory.

“Back to my room,” I instructed the Things.

Nearly there I heard arguing as Jones and Harnek rounded the corner and stepped into view in the hall not far ahead of me. Hair still damp from her shower, Harnek startled when she spotted me.

“Jessie,” she breathed. “That’s right. You’re here now.” Her face fell.

“Not for long, I hope,” I replied.

She nodded and faced Jones. “You do know how special this girl is, don’t you?”

Jones’s expression stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “I’m aware there are unique things that caused Jessica to be under my care.”

Harnek nodded. “So you’ll take very good care of her. I won’t have to worry about her having trouble while she’s here.”

Jones licked her lips. “As long as she doesn’t create any trouble, she won’t get into any trouble.”

Nodding again, Harnek placed her hand on my shoulder. “You hear that, Jessie? Do the right thing and you won’t have any trouble.”

Watching the two leave before I slipped into my room, I got the sinking feeling I’d just been warned.

But really. What were the odds I’d stumble into some sort of trouble? An unexpected sob bubbled out of me, and I collapsed on my bed, trying to forget the exploding girl and the strange new guy who watched me with such open interest.

Jessie

Sleep was hard to come by, and I woke exhausted and began my day doing everything by habit. It was as I loitered by the nurses’ station, shadowed by the Things and waiting for the laundry checklist that the newspaper on the counter rustled. Goose bumps rose on my arms and I realized there was no draft to cause the movement. The smell of fresh hay washed over me and I shivered, thinking of Mom. I focused on the headlines:

VISITING WRESTLERS STILL MISSING

THANKSGIVING BREAK SIGNALS MORE TESTS FOR JUNCTION STUDENTS

But the one that made my heart jump was:

LOCAL FOOTBALL STAR DIES

My stomach did a little flop and for a moment both hope and fear fought in me, tightening my throat around my suddenly misplaced heart as I briefly hoped the headline was about Derek.

Guilt swamped me. To hope someone was dead … even after he’d done so much …

That wasn’t who I wanted to be.

I adjusted my position to get a better view as the nurse rearranged pages on the laundry clipboard.

Jack Jacobsen of Junction High School died tragically Saturday afternoon on the train tracks outside Farthington. Deemed another in the growing rash of Train Track Suicides, the local community is stunned.

“Jack had so many things going for him,” Mr. Richard Maloy, head guidance counselor for the high school, reported. “The football team has been really shaken up by these last two suicides,” Maloy admitted. “We’ve brought in additional counselors like Dr. Sarissa Jones to help handle any questions the students may have.”

Junction Jackrabbits quarterback and team captain, Derek Jamieson refused to comment, though friends have mentioned their concern over his recent absences.

“It’s obvious we’re all very shaken up,” Sarah Luxom, the recently returned captain of the cheerleading squad, said.

The clipboard slapped down on top of the newspaper. “Here,” the nurse said. “New day, same concept. Now made even simpler for your safety.”

“You make it sound like I was to blame. I was
attacked
.”

She wheeled the cart over to me. “You shouldn’t waste your time reading that stuff. The news can be disturbing.”

“Ignorance may be bliss, but I’d rather be aware than blindly blissful.”

“Whatever. Go on, the laundry doesn’t do itself.”

Pushing the cart along, I let its wheels chatter, fighting me a few minutes. Things One and Two paid no attention. I finally relented, turned the cart correctly, and headed down the hall.

Laundry detail was blessedly uneventful, giving me plenty of time to add to my ever-growing list of questions.

Jessie

Again under guard, I headed to the common room for visitation.

I was spotted by the strange guy a moment before I noticed my father. Hazel eyes followed me as I entered the room.

“Dad,” I said, careful not to shout. If something like chess or laundry delivery could upset the regularly maintained balance at Pecan Place, what would an exclamation of relief do?

Things One and Two led me to the table where Dad waited.

He eyed them warily. “Jessie,” he said, wrapping me in his arms and choking me with a bear hug. He glared up at my hulking guards and said, “Dr. Jones said I’d be allowed the privilege of speaking to my daughter in private because Jessie has done such a good job recently.”

I waited until my guards backed away before I raised an eyebrow at my father in question. He pulled out chairs for us and winked.

“You’ve been good, but not that good.”

“Yeah.” I agreed, not bold enough to mention the sedation. Or the fight. How bad would Dad feel knowing he’d sentenced me to spend time in a place I got attacked delivering clothes?

“That boy of yours is drivin’ himself crazy with guilt.”

I stared at my hands resting loose on the table between us. Dad reached out for them. “I don’t want him doing anything stupid.”

“Love makes you do all sorts of stupid things, Jessie,” Dad muttered. “He says he loves you. Makes no bones about it.”

“Dad, you saw what they did to him when he tried to keep me from coming here.” Leaning in, I whispered. “He’s showing up here, outside my window every night.”

Dad let out a low whistle. “I don’t know what to make of him, Jessie,” he admitted. “He’s really worried about you. And…” He licked his lips and looked around the room.

“And what?”

His gaze settled on me again. “Nothin’. Nope,” he assured me. “I’m really worried about you.”

“Then get me out of here.”

He glanced away. “I wish it was that simple. I’ve spoken to Dr. Jones. But the paperwork I signed … it’s for one solid month of treatment. Here.” He looked at me, his eyes dark. “I don’t know how to get around that. Legally.”

My fingers twitched under the warm weight of his hands. I doubted we had money for a lawyer to combat someone as savvy as Dr. Jones and I hated even bringing it up. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything that wasn’t legal.”

“Well, you’re the only one,” Dad said, pulling his hands away from mine to drum on the table with his fingers. “Pietr’s already made some interesting suggestions. And Wanda? She’s almost of the same frame of mind as that boy.”

“Wanda and Pietr, agreeing?”

“Yep. He’s a little weird … don’t you think?”

I snorted. “How, Dad?”

“Well, he’s been hanging around the house a bit. I figured it was a good idea, you know, so I could rub off on him a little. Talk to him about this issue with fightin’ he has—”

Yeah, he gets into rumbles whenever somebody attacks his girlfriend.

“… you know, give him some sort of strong moral influence since he’s dropped that Sarah and is
crazy
for you.”

I glared at him.

“Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t say the ‘c-word’ here.” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t want some guy who’s constantly in trouble being around you. So he’s helpin’ out. A lot.”

“And?”

“And…” He leaned forward until our noses nearly touched. “You should see him throw hay bales. Not like any other guy who’s helped out on the farm. This boy can throw hay. And he’s fast doin’ chores,” he marveled. “And.” Dad glanced away.

“And?” I bit the inside of my cheek, remembering the other things Pietr excelled at when
we
were in the barn alone.

“And that’s not nearly the oddest thing about him, Jessie.”

Time to steer the conversation away from the absolute weirdness of my boyfriend. “He’s really something, Dad. Has he taken Rio out for a ride?”

“Nope. That’s weird, too,” Dad muttered. “Rio’s okay with him—shy at first, but he refuses to take her out. I offered to teach him a bit, get him up to snuff, but he said you’d teach him everything he needs to know.”

“And he told you he loves me?”

“In no uncertain terms. I think—”

“Please don’t tell me we’re too young to feel that sort of way about each other.”

Dad shook his head. “I don’t think it’d matter if I tried. The boy lives and breathes everything about you. He’s full of questions. All the time.” He paused, scrunching his eyes up and searching my face. “He stops by—every night?”

“Yes.”

“Should I be worried he’s … a stalker?”

I’d only worry about Pietr stalking me if I was some small forest creature out late. “No, Dad. He’s no stalker. He just…” I heaved in a long breath. “He just…”

“Loves you.”

“I guess.” Resting my head in my hands, I stared at the table.

“Jessie, if you don’t love him—”

I dropped my head to the table.

“You should let him know.”

“I
do
love him. That’s why I wish he didn’t love
me
so much.”

Dad leaned back and studied his hands a moment. “Your mother always said we’d have problems understanding teenage girls. This was easier when she handled it.”

“Pietr could get into huge trouble sneaking around here. They’ve got dogs. He could get hurt.”

Dad started to open his mouth and then shut it again.

“Pietr needs to keep clear of here.”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can say that’ll keep that boy away from you. Even if it puts him in danger.”

“Tell him I
want
him to stay away. Tell him it’s…” My face heated. I wanted to tell Pietr in person, not pass my message through Dad.

“What?”

“Tell him—oh, crap. It’s so cheesy.”

Dad chuckled. “Love is cheesy sometimes. Give me the message.”

“Tell him it’s—it’s not like he’s not with me every moment of every day, because he is. He’s in my heart. I don’t have to
see
him.” I closed my eyes and shook my head. “See? Cheesy.”

Dad put his hand on my shoulder and gave me a gentle shake. “I’m sure he’ll understand,” he assured me in the same tone he used when he tried to bolster my spirits before a math exam. He was just as convincing about the odds of success.