Disturb (9 page)

“Is that normal?”

“For Jim, no. I keep wondering if he had some kind of accident.”

Theena ushered Bill into a conference room. It was a moderate size, the walls adorned with motivational posters with sayings like “All answers began as problems.” The lighting was softer than the harsh neon of the hallways, and the air smelled faintly of tobacco. A large oval table was surrounded by a dozen chairs, only three of which were taken.

“This is Dr. Bill May, from CDER. I’m sure you all remember him from the other day. Bill, this is Dr. Mason O’Neil, our MD.”

Bill shook his hand. Mason was about ten years older than him, short and stout. He had furry gray sideburns that seemed to swallow his ears, an obvious attempt to make up for the lack of hair on his head.

“Next to him is our chemist, Dr. Julia Myrnowski.”

Julia was young, chubby, with short blonde hair. She smiled shyly at Bill and offered a moist, limp hand.

“And this is Dr. Robert Fletcher, our psychiatrist.”

“Call me Red.”

Bill couldn’t imagine why—the doctor’s hair was pure white. Red seemed to read Bill’s mind.

“Nothing to do with my hair. I was a bookworm when I was younger. Nickname stuck.”

“Nice to meet all of you.” Bill glanced at Theena, unsure if he was supposed to tell the day’s events. She pushed on without acknowledging him.

“I’d like everyone to state a brief overview of their work here, to give Bill an idea of how we’re running this project. Can you start, Mason?”

“Of course.” Mason had a school teacher voice, the friendly kind. “I’m basically Manny’s doctor. I oversee all of the testing. Tissue work ups, serum samples, vitals, lab tests, that sort of thing.”

“And how is his health?”

“Remarkable. Every possible stat has improved since he began using N-Som. Blood pressure, cholesterol, body fat, endurance, you name it. You’re an MD yourself, correct? I’d be thrilled to go over his charts with you.”

Bill had seen many of them already. Mason did thorough work.

Theena smiled, comfortable playing group leader. “Julia? Can you tell Bill about your job?”

“Well, I work in the lab a lot. Sometimes with Mason doing testing, but my specialty is NMRs and mass spec.”

“Julia is the one that mapped the atomic make-up of the N-Som molecule.”

“Three molecules, actually.” Julia blushed. “It’s a beautiful drug, on an atomic level. I’ve built several models.”

“I’d like to see them.”

“Sure.”

Julia blushed. She was so shy Bill felt an urge to pat her head.

Red coughed into his hand and cleared his throat.

“And I assess Manny’s mental state, along with providing needed therapy.”

“Does he need therapy?”

“We all need therapy, Bill. Perhaps Manny needs a bit more than others.”

Bill had gone over some of Manny’s physical reports, but hadn’t been privy to any of his psych evaluations other than a brief bio.

“I’ve read a little about his past. He grew up in a foster home.”

“Yes, with his brother, David. Their mother was a drug user, neglectful. The state took over custody.”

“Can you give me your personal assessment of him?”

Red smiled, apparently delighted by the question.

“Complicated man. He has a grounded sense of right and wrong, yet many times in the past he chose the wrong. Burglaries, car theft. We got him through the CIRP, you know.”

Bill hadn’t known that. The Correctional Institution Reform Project offered prisoners reduced sentences by allowing them opportunities to volunteer in scientific programs.

“What was he in for?”

“Assault. He started a fight in a restaurant, hit another man with a beer mug. When the police arrived, he fought with them as well.”

“So he’s temperamental.”

“When I first got him, yes. I’d like to say that my guiding hand has made him a calmer person, but I don’t think I’m the cause in this instance.”

“N-Som?”

“I think so. Besides his many physical improvements, Manny has become calmer, more at ease with himself, and even a nicer person.”

“Is he ever paranoid? Delusional?”

Something passed behind Red’s eyes.

“Manny has some unresolved issues involving his childhood, and has resulting ego problems. I’m sure you know how hard self acceptance can be, especially if you’ve made some big mistakes.”

Bill was taken aback. Did Red know? Was this talk of self acceptance and big mistakes a reflection on Bill’s past?

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m sure you do. I read about you in the paper last year, Dr. May. You and your wife. But obviously, with therapy, a person recovers. You did seek professional help, right?”

Bill felt it build inside him. He tried to repress the bottled emotion.

“The topic is Manny, Red.”

“Surely you can talk about it after all this time.”

The memories came flooding back, and Bill couldn’t stop the switch from being flipped. With them came pain, guilt, and self-hatred.

“Whether I can or I can’t isn’t your goddamn business.”

Red stared at him without expression.

“I apologize, Dr. May. If you need an ear, I’m here. It’s almost impossible to get over things like that without help.”

Bill tried to swallow, couldn’t. All eyes were on him, watching him while he cracked. He stood up to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Bill fought to keep his voice even. “The last thing I want to do is tell a group of complete strangers about how I murdered my wife.”

T
heena watched Bill storm out of the conference room, his face ablaze with pain. Against the advice of Red, she followed, somewhat surprised by the degree of her own concern.

Bill was leaning against the wall, his thumb and index finger pressing his eyes closed. Theena touched his shoulder and discovered he was trembling.

“Bill? What happened in there?”

When he took his hand away from his face, his eyes were red.

“I’m not sure I can talk about it.”

“Have you ever talked about it?”

Bill said nothing. Theena waited, watching him wrestle with some inner demon. When he finally spoke it was flat and without emotion.

“My wife Kristen had an inoperable brain tumor. It didn’t respond to conventional therapy. I knew there was an experimental drug that looked promising, but it was still in pre clinical development—it hadn’t been tested on humans.”

His mouth twisted in a sour smile.

“I pushed the application through the Investigational New Drug process, even though the sponsor wasn’t prepared for clinical testing. The FDA can do that for emergency cases; allow a treatment IND even if the drug hasn’t been approved.

Theena could guess where this was going. Her stomach clenched with pity.

“The tumor was slow growing, but I didn’t want to waste any time. I rushed her into treatment. I can remember promising her it was going to be okay.”

His red eyes glassed over. His voice was a pain-filled whisper.

“The first dose killed her.”

Theena tried to touch his cheek, but Bill turned away.

“I shouldn’t have pushed it through. If I had more thoroughly investigated the drug…”

“She was going to die anyway, Bill.”

He laughed, a harsh expletive sound.

“The very next month, a doctor in Europe perfected a new procedure for mid-brain tumorectomy. If I’d waited a few weeks, Kristen would still be alive.”

There was nothing Theena could say, but she tried.

“You did it to save her.”

“I killed her. It was no different than putting a gun to her head.”

Bill walked off in the direction of the elevator. Theena could imagine trying to live with that guilt, and she felt terrible for him. She also felt something else; a tenderness inside her that had been missing for a long time.

Theena followed, grabbing his sleeve.

“Don’t go.”

He shook his arm free. She grabbed him again, harder, yanking him around to face her. Bill’s face was vulnerable, but there was also inner strength there. He was hurt, and for some reason this hurt her too. It was impossible to bring his wife back, and almost as impossible to make him forgive himself.

But maybe, for just a moment, she could help.

Before he could object, she had her fist locked around his tie and her mouth pressed to his.

Bill resisted for the briefest of moments, and then kissed her back.

It wasn’t tender or tentative, as first kisses usually were. This was hard, frantic. He gripped her tight, both hands pressing into her lower back, and she wrapped her fingers in his hair and tried to pull him even closer.

It didn’t take much effort to lead him to Manny’s room. The passion continued to grow in Theena until it drowned out all other thoughts. Bill’s wife, N-Som, her father’s death, Manny’s disappearance; nothing mattered except sensation, and she gave herself to it fully.

They got as far as the sofa before the clothes came off. She didn’t expect Bill to last long—it had been a while for him. But he surprised her, and when the rhythm she liked began he was able to maintain it until she found release, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

He came while she was riding the wave, and for those few precious seconds, everything in life was perfect and pleasant and real.

Theena luxuriated in the post-glow, his weight on top of her, their sweaty bodies, the feeling of his heart beating against her breast. Sex with a new man was often awkward, but this was as good a start as she could remember.

She whispered in his ear, giving it a tiny nibble and tasting salt. “I really needed that.”

Bill pulled away and grinned at her. “It sure beats psychotherapy.”

“Cheaper, too.”

He kissed her, tenderly this time, and then maneuvered so he was sitting on the sofa. She curled up next to him, hooking one leg over his knee.

“Are you okay?”

He thought about it for a moment, and nodded.

“I’ve got a lot on my plate, but I’ll manage.”

“Can I be forward?”

Bill laughed. “I think you already were.”

“My father’s funeral is tomorrow. I’d like you to take me.”

“Of course.”

Theena had been putting off mourning. When she saw Dad in that casket, she knew she’d break down. Having Bill with her would help.

“So it’s really been over a year?”

He nodded.

Theena found the remote control and aimed it at the fake window. After a few sunsets, the porno channel came on.

“After that long, I bet you have a shortened refractory period.”

Her hand found him, and she proved herself correct.

They took it slower this time, now that the urgency was gone. Theena enjoyed the change of pace, almost as much as she enjoyed the change of partner.

She wondered, idly, what Manny was doing at that moment. She’d never said they were exclusive, even though the poor dope proposed marriage every time they made love. He would probably fly into a jealous rage if he found out.

But as she approached orgasm, it wasn’t Manny she was thinking about. Nor was it Bill.

In her mind’s eye, she saw someone completely different.

The only man she’d ever truly loved.

A
fter sitting in the conference room for several minutes, Dr. Red Fletcher knew that Theena and Bill weren’t coming back. He assumed that they were in Manny’s room—it was obvious they had the hots for each other, even if you weren’t a trained psychoanalyst. Under the guise of testing his assumption, he bid good-bye to his colleagues and went to his office, located a few doors down.

The room was an intentional replica of the office at his practice downtown, with the same style Victorian desk, the same leather couch, many of the same books on the shelves. There was no view, naturally, but he compensated with several landscape paintings and soft track lighting. A place for thinking, a place for healing.

The main difference between his two offices was the secret place, as he liked to call it. The brown door in the corner was always locked, and Red had the only key.

Red went into the secret place and switched on the light. The Mac on the desk hummed; it was always on. The space was small, cramped, the size of a large closet. He sat down at the keyboard.