The Iron Quill

  Doubting me, he looked at his watch. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

  “He’s taking a private jet that you keep on call for your medical staff.”

  He was still on edge, but his shoulders relaxed and he finally took a seat.

  “Does that mean you’ll wait?” I asked, needing his cooperation.

  Giving me a sharp look, he said, “I’ll wait, but if one more person puts a hand on me, they won’t get it back.”

  Somehow, I believed him. “Okay,” I agreed. “I have to go prepare for his arrival in my office, but I’ll be back.”

  “And what if he doesn’t make it?”

  I tensed. “Let’s just pray he does.”

  Chapter 11

  SECOND GUESSING

  It was eight o’clock in the morning, and I had tossed and turned all night getting virtually zero sleep—still no word from Dr. Lyon.

  I was beginning to think I should’ve asked the police for help. I was frustrated, worried, alone, and all I could do was wait . . . helpless.

  Chapter 12

  DAWN: DR. EVAN CARTER

  I paced my office and finished off a pot of old coffee, hoping to settle down. My attempts were unsuccessful. Everything I’d worked for over the years was bottled up in this moment, ready to explode.

  I’d always believed in what I was doing here. It was the future. It would be the discovery of the century.

  But what was I discovering? Weston’s presence made me question that. Was he right? Was it all for war?

  If that’s what we were doing, then what was his lab doing? Was he working for peace or cures to diseases? Were they truly the innovators? And what about his arm? Why wouldn’t that needle go in? And why did his coloring change so drastically? He’d nearly looked like death after the ice water treatment. Everything about him teased at answers to my questions.

  A very distinct voice whispered in my ear that this was my chance to get the formula we needed. To treat my patients and prevent further need for experimentation. But the other voice was telling me it was all wrong . . . I was suddenly so uncertain about everything.

  I surveyed the dozens of medical books along my walls and knew that none of them could give me the answers I craved about Weston Wilson. And if the sergeant major got hold of him again, I’d never get the answers. I had to do something, but needed to focus.

  One thing that always helps me organize my thoughts is writing my notes, so I pulled my journal down from the shelf. Opening my top drawer, I lifted out my antique quill pen and ink. Dipping the tip and forming perfect lines always calmed me and gave me something to focus on—a distraction I coveted now, as the clock ticked on.

  I didn’t write about Weston, which would’ve defeated the purpose of clearing my head. Instead, I focused on writing brief updates on my actual patients and their progress. The more I wrote, the more I felt whole again. Like I was doing good. Even though feeling submissive and weak at the moment.

  When finished with my updates, I gave a tired glimpse at the clock: 5:30 a.m. I was giving up on Dr. Lyon and moving on to a non-existent Plan B.

  Standing, I put my lab coat back on and began the reluctant walk back to Weston’s room, prepared to tell him that time had run out. Prepared to watch him take matters into his own hands to save himself. I was prepared for all of that now, but unprepared to watch what would happen should he try to escape on his own. I reached the main door to the wing, and two guards nodded sleepily at me.

  “Morning, Doc.”

  “Morning.”

  I took a deep breath, reluctant but resolved to enter. “Beep, beep. Beep, beep. Beep, beep.”

  Stopping instantly, I looked around. It had been a while since I heard the sound of the hospital paging me, and when I realized where the noise was coming from, I looked down. CALL FRONT DESK.

  Couldn’t be. I was so glad I received the page in front of the sergeant major’s men, because my confusion and surprise at receiving the page was authentic, and they would now be witnesses to that.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I said, retreating back to my office. I wanted to jog, but knew to keep my reluctant saunter.

  Once inside, I dialed the operator quickly.

  “This is Dr. Carter. You paged?”

  “Yes, Doctor. I have a Dr. Lyon asking to see you.”

  My pulse raced as I looked at my watch: 5:35 a.m. Could I do this? Sure I could, but could I do it and still salvage my career and the lab?

  “Um, yes, that must be the sergeant major’s relief. Send him up.”

  “Uh, Doctor, he has some staff with him, and they don’t have clearance badges to access your level.”

  “Staff?”

  “Yes, Sir. He says they’re his physician assistants?”

  “How many?”

  “Five, Sir.”

  Five? I thought for a moment before speaking. “It’s okay,” I ordered, sounding no different than if requesting lab results.

  The display of additional staff couldn’t have been more perfect had it fallen out of the sky.

  I stood anxiously tapping my foot in front of the elevator.

  At 0538, the ding finally sounded and the doors opened.

  Staring at me was a tall, thin, elderly physician, wearing a lab coat and flanked by five younger men also wearing lab coats. The older man was carrying a medical bag.

  “Dr. Lyon?” I asked clearing my airway.

  “That would be me,” he spoke up, professionally. “You must be Dr. Carter?”

  “I am,” I said reaching out my hand.

  He ignored the gesture and chose to walk past me with his assistants in tow.

  “Dr. Carter, I am here to acquire a dear friend and colleague of mine. I believe you have him here. Is that correct?”

  I thought about going through the formalities of asking for his name, to appear as if I’d have to look it up, but time was running out, and quite frankly, I was so relieved that he had made it in time, my career was no longer my main priority. I would deal with the repercussions later.

  “Follow me, Doctor.”

  Zero five forty hours.

  When we reached the secure door, the guards stood in full attention, not recognizing the new personnel. “At ease, gentlemen.”

  Confused, but compliant, they relaxed. “I just received a page that these gentlemen will be transporting one of our patients.”

  Moving aside, I entered the code, giving us full access. By 0541, we were in front of Weston’s door.

  He couldn’t just walk out in street clothing, so I turned to Dr. Lyon. “Give me just a moment.” I entered the room alone and Weston immediately turned to me.

  “We’re running out of time, Doc.”

  “I know. He’s here.”

  A flash of concern showed in his expression.

  “Dr. Lyon,” I clarified. “But I need you to quickly undress. You can’t get past the guards in your civilian clothes. They will stop you.”

  “Well, how do you expect me to leave here, then?”

  “I’ll put you on a gurney and disguise you as a patient.”

  “No, Doc, I’m finished with your acts. I’m tired, I’m homesick, and I’m leaving. I don’t care about those men out there.”

  Zero five forty-eight.

  “Please. Trust me.”

  “Why should I? What, do you think they’re going to shoot me now, and Dr. Lyon? Is that what kind of lab you run here?”

  “No.” Hearing his accusation made me realize he was right. Those guards would certainly stop us and question his release, but they wouldn’t kill six civilians right here in my hospital. Well maybe John would, but he wasn’t here yet. That meant I feared something else, possibly my life after Weston left.

  He brushed past me. “Wait!” I urged.

  “Wait for what?” he growled more frustrated than ever.

  “Wait . . . for me. Do it for me.”

  Turning around, he eyed me sadly. “For you? You’re a part of this!”

&n
bsp; “No, I’m not. I want you out of here. I’m helping you. Don’t you see that? But if they find out, who knows what they’ll do to me.” I needed them to think his release was a mix-up on my part.

  He started breathing in and out, trying to calm a flaring temper.

  “Then you come with me,” he said flatly.

  His words only added to my confusion, conflict, and panic. I actually considered the offer briefly, but knew that was impossible. I couldn’t leave with him.

  Zero five fifty hours.

  “I can’t. Just trust me. Please.”

  He glared into my eyes, and I saw my cowardly reflection in the glassiness of his. Were those tears that made me see myself so clearly? Or so unclearly, because I didn’t know myself anymore. A part of me did want to leave this mess behind, but it would only be out of pure selfishness. To know what was inside his mind. But I couldn’t leave my duties, and I hoped he understood.

  “Alright, Doc.”

  I snapped out of my trance. “Alright?”

  “Alright,” he repeated, opening his hands in a gesture of submission. I’d say that relief washed over me, but too many thoughts were traveling through my mind to feel anything.

  “Okay. Okay.” I looked around rubbing my hands, trying to make use of what little time we had left. “So your head hurts, right?” He looked at me, confused. “These doctors are taking you for an MRI, downstairs. Right?”

  His eyes narrowed, “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “Alright, get on the gurney!” I opened the door to let Dr. Lyon in and barked orders like he worked for me. “He needs to be transferred on the gurney. It’s the only way I allow transfers. Got it?”

  He nodded, but not before expressing his opinion of me. “I don’t know what game you’re playing here, Doctor, but you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “It’s okay, Doc,” Weston interrupted, greeting him for the first time. “Just get me out of here.”

  All of us hurried to lay him on the gurney, cover him with blankets up to his neck, and place a folded towel over his eyes, blocking the bright lights of the ceiling and also making him difficult to recognize.

  0555 hours.

  We opened the door to the main hall and passed between the guards. In hopes of throwing off impending questions, I directed my attention to Dr. Lyon and his medical team, hoping they wouldn’t choose to interrupt physicians. “He’s in a lot of pain and his vision is blurry.”

  Dr. Lyon caught on, “Of course, Doctor. We’ll take it from here.”

  At 0558 hours, we were at the transport elevator. Once they were all inside, the doctor turned to give me one final look of disapproval. Even after this, what would they think of me?

  The elevator closed, and I walked nervously back to my office. Still sitting on my desk was my journal, lying open to a blank page, waiting for me to tell the story.

  I walked over, glanced at my ink and quill. It was going to take more than time spent forming fancy letters to take my mind off of my concern for Weston and for myself. I slammed it closed and gave it a push across the desk.

  I sat wondering how soon until they would be out of the hospital, heading to their rightful destination. By the time I estimated they’d be getting off the elevator, I heard a very distinct sound approaching in the distance.

  Punctual, as always, was a helicopter hovering above our secure rooftop landing pad, bringing with it the sergeant major: 0600 hours.

  Chapter 13

  THE RETURN

  By 8:30 a.m, I was furiously pacing the length of my room. Seriously. Ten hours ago I’d given Dr. Lyon the only bit of info I was sure I could contribute toward ending this whole nightmare and still nothing. Not one word. And he had practically hung up on me. He obviously didn’t know me very well. I HATED not knowing something and this . . . this . . . whatever this was . . . was the ultimate worst not-knowing possible.

  Through my thoughts I heard the faint ring of the house phone downstairs and envied the sound, wishing it was coming from my cell. Wishful thinking.

  After a few minutes, my mom’s voice called up to me. “Sophie, come down here please.”

  Rolling my eyes, half hesitant to face her and half relieved to give my obsessive worrying a break this early, I rotated my feet toward the door. “Coming!”

  I rounded the bottom step to find her in scrubs with her purse on her shoulder and keys in hand. And one more detail. Her right fist was resting firmly on her hip.

  “Yeah,” I sighed coming to a stop with a slight bounce that sent my bangs away from my eyes. Whatever it was she was annoyed with, it wouldn’t be my hair in my face.

  “Um, I just got a call from Officer Wright.”

  My heart froze.

  “He wanted to check up on you after your visit to the station last night.”

  Oh good. It’s not about Wes. Thank God. “Okay?” I said, realizing I’d forgotten to mention that small detail to her.

  “Apparently,” she said, shifting her weight, but maintaining the firm position of her fist, “you paid a visit to Andrew Walters’ grandson last night?”

  I stood there thinking of the best possible response, but got nothing.

  “Are you out of your mind?” she snapped.

  “Mom.”

  “And,” she interrupted, “You delivered a letter from a suicide victim with evidence that this Tim person was involved in Ms. Mary’s death, which led to his arrest? And you knowingly go there last night to talk to him? Are you out of your mind?” she repeated.

  “Mom, I know, it was insane. But Chase sent me the note, so what was I supposed to do? I just took it in.”

  “You tell me about it. That’s what you do.” Her head snapped back. “Wait, Chase? The boy you work with?” Her voice rose. “He is the suicide victim?”

  I nodded reluctantly.

  “Oh, my gosh, Sophie.” Her fist dislodged from her hip and both hands went flying into the air. “Someone else died? That you knew? What is going on here?”

  Thoughts of her getting the idea to uproot and move again caused me to quickly back her away from the edge.

  “Nothing, Mom. It’s fine. It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay for Chase. I mean, Tim was trying to use him to get back at me for Andy, and when he wouldn’t cooperate, Tim tried to . . . well it doesn’t matter . . . all that matters is Chase helped turn Tim in for what he did. I just went there to make sure he was arrested, so I would feel better. Secure.” I added.

  The fist went back to the hip, but much more at ease. “Secure?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I answered, trying to sound sure, but it came out more like a question. “It’s fine, Mom. Really. Can I go now?” I turned toward my room.

  “No. Not before you tell me where Wes is.”

  My head whipped back around. “What do you mean?”

  “Officer Wright wanted to know if he was still missing.”

  “Why?” I asked, only I knew why. Because I’d given them reason to think something was up, even though I’d tried to cover it afterward.

  “Well, apparently you told them that.”

  I shook my head. “I just told them that so they’d let me talk to Chase.”

  “So you lied?”

  “Um . . . well, that’s not exactly what I said.”

  “Sophie, stop evading me. What is going on? I’m trying very hard here to understand where you’re coming from, but this is getting way out of hand.”

  “Geez, Mom. Relax, will you?” I had enough stress without having to worry about her flipping out, too. “Seriously, I told you why I went.”

  “Well, where is Wes?” she shot back.

  “He’s gone somewhere for his lab,” I replied, just as quickly, hoping my eyes would stay dry enough to conceal my worry.

  “Well, that’s what I told Officer Wright,” she said, calming down. “But I’m not liking what’s brewing. You’d better be smarter, Sophie.”

  “Smarter?” Now I was offended.

  “You know what I mea
n. You need to make better decisions and include me in anything that doesn’t have safety written all over it. Got it?”

  Right about then, I thought I heard my phone ringing. I tilted my ear toward my room. It was definitely my phone.

  “Okay, I got it,” I said. “Gotta go.” I pointed toward my room, which was enough to prompt her to make her overdue exit for work.

  With her back turned, I skipped the steps two at a time, and practically hurdled over my bed to grab my phone.

  “Hello?” I answered eagerly, expecting to hear Dr. Lyon’s steady voice give me another excuse for more delays, but that’s not what I heard.

  The familiar voice was music to my ears and food for my heart. “Hey, you.”

  My eyes instantly teared up. “Wes—”

  “It’s me,” he said so close to the phone I felt his voice like he was finally touching me.

  “Oh, my gosh. I was so . . . I . . . I don’t even know . . . I—”

  “I know,” he said, soothing me further and relieving me of the task of finding the right words.

  “Oh, my gosh, Wes. Are you okay? You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. I . . . I can’t even tell you how much. Wait. Where are you?”

  “I’m headed home with Dr. Lyon.”

  “Dr. Lyon? He found you?”

  “Yes . . . because of you.”

  “You mean the name? The doctor?”

  “The name,” he confirmed. There was a notable pause as I once again tried to find words to describe my relief and elation, then he asked me if I would ever stop saving him.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “No. I won’t. Not freakin’ ever, as long as I can help it. I’ll do anything for you.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized what they implied. Each time in our history, I’d saved Weston somehow, only to die myself a short time later. The realization that I just may have saved him again, in this lifetime, hovered in the air. What did that mean for me? Was my purpose over? Was it my time to die again?

  Not only had I unleashed a worry that might happen, I’d suggested I’d do anything to save him . . . as if he wouldn’t for me. As if he hadn’t for me. But I knew that wasn’t true. I knew he’d do anything for me. Anything he could, and I loved him for that.