AN: Many thanks for your patience, those of you who are reading this as a WIP! I'm so grateful for beta and prereaders happymelt, faireyfan, and midsouthmama, who cheerfully edit and correct me (and share recipes and gardening tips and cocktail cautionary tales). Thanks for reading.
My Sweet Variable
Chapter 9: Absolute Values
I clutch the pearls with one hand and the door handle with the other as Edward spins us into a tight U-turn, away from Charlie now and toward Evergreen, which is close enough for us to hear a siren wailing, and still too far away.
In one swift motion, Edward grasps and activates the plastic SatCom OverRyde device, which is sliding across the dashboard of the car. If there was ever a time to knock out all signal transmissions, this is it.
Words come rushing out of his mouth. He steals glances at the brief on the seat between us as if to reconfirm what he's already seen. "What is it? What do you taste? Tell me." He grimaces and presses the accelerator.
"Strychnine. I think." I fumble for the BioSeal canister from his bag and spit into it inelegantly.
"You think, or you know? Damn it. How much did you ingest?" His attention ping-pongs back and forth between the road and me. His alarm is obvious in the sharp pitch of his voice. "Tell me. Now."
"Nothing. A tiny amount on the tip of my tongue." I check the readout. "I'm right—it's strychnine. But I'm fine. Edward, hurry."
"You're shaking." He takes a hand off the wheel, wipes his sweaty palm on his jeans, and thumbs my eyelid to check my pupils. "Nausea?"
"No, nothing." I brush his hand away. I'd need to chomp a whole pearl or two for this poison to have an effect. "I'm shaking because I'm scared . . . for her."
"I know. Jesus Christ. It's medieval." Edward chews a thumbnail.
There's a reason we don't use strychnine anymore, not even on our enemies. It causes muscle spasms that eventually suffocate a person. It's an extremely painful way to die. This wearable version—a StrychStrand—is something I always assumed was pure legend.
We're a few car lengths behind the ambulance that my gut tells me is carrying Mrs. Cope. "She'll be symptomatic. Convulsing. If they can get some charcoal in her . . . but they'll probably read this as a neurological seizure. Shit." He groans and presses his creased forehead with his thumb and forefinger. "Why did I have to be so awful to her?"
"Hey. We both need to focus right now, okay?" He nods grimly and waits for me to continue. "I've seen oxy and donepezil on her chart. She never actually needed the meds, but she has access to them. What are the interactions?"
"Hmm. I doubt she'd stack them." The car scrapes across a speed bump as we enter the hospital parking lot a bit too fast. He slows and rolls past the ambulance bay. I hear him curse under his breath as we both catch a glimpse of Mrs. Cope's green pant suit in between bustling paramedics.
I swallow back the lump that rises in my throat. It would be nice to be wrong about these things once in a while. But I can't think about that right now. "Why not just hoard a bunch of oxy? Much less painful."
He shakes his head. "No. That looks premeditated. If she succeeds—I've never seen anything like it. She cooked her own death. Cooked it so it looks like natural death to the hospital and like a natural-death hit in Aro's eyes."
"Edward."
"But there's something strange. I can't put my finger on it. I mean, this complicates things by involving authorities, don't you think? The paramedics, the coroner. A dive off a cliff would have—"
"Edward!"
He clamps his mouth shut and shoots me a sideways look that tells me he's listening.
"Can we save the postmortem for later? I'm still hoping we won't need one."
He yanks up the parking brake and then puts a hand on my arm to stop me from flying out of the car. "I'm sorry—I know. But what's our plan? She said our loyalty to Aro would be tested. If her being targeted is what she meant . . . she's trusting us to make it look right."
I sigh, suppressing the urge to screech in frustration. I hate not knowing what will happen—which course to take. "One step at a time, okay? We raced here for a reason. If I can save her life, I will. Yes?"
He nods.
"I'll go in alone. If I can't stop this, I'll at least ask her a few questions. You'll hear me on the SatCom if there's anything to report to Aro." I drop Shelly's first message in his lap—the one she gave us at the bank. She did tell us we'd know when it was time. "I'm guessing this is important. How fast can you decode it?"
He breaks the seal and scans the paper. "Twenty minutes? It's layer cake."
I groan. Layer cake means it combines optical, language, and key code encryption.
He rummages in his bag. "Here—take this. It's lorazepam." He slips a syringe into my hand. "If she's alive, she'll need an airway. Half this dose sedates her enough to get a vent in. But if it's too late, and she's suffering . . . the full dose will . . . you know." He squeezes my fingers, giving me a look that says—I guess—Sorry you might need to kill your friend.
He holds my hand and my gaze for another moment. I know what he's thinking—that we need to give some sort of update to headquarters to keep things from looking suspicious later. I nod. With his free hand he switches off the OverRyde and then pinches his earlobe to connect to Aro.
"A, this is Big Bird. We may have a window of opportunity on target Alpha." He cringes at Aro's eager squawking. "We need good ears on scanners for the next hour—can you do that? Personally?"
Aro being focused on scanners means he won't be monitoring us. At least there's that. As I turn to go, Edward squeezes my hand one more time.
"I think you're forgetting something." He looks at me, eyebrows raised.
"Oh." I'm struck with the sensation that I'm on stage, and I've forgotten my lines. What am I supposed to do? I feel confused, flustered, certain that I'll never understand the etiquette of relationships, but I lean toward him anyway and peck him on the mouth. His lips are dry. "Bye."
When I straighten up, he's doing a poor job of hiding a pained expression on his face. He's smiling, but it's crooked, and his eyes are pink and watery.
"Um. Hmm. Actually, I meant . . . " I feel a tug and look down to see his fingers wrapped around the necklace. Oh. Of course he meant this—this strand of could-be-evidence around my neck. His voice is gentle. "Leave this here."
I dip my head so he can take it from me but don't look at him again as I scramble out of the car and make my way across the lot.
+x+x+x+
Navigating hospitals is one of my strengths. It's harder than you would think. For every square meter of space visible to the average patient or visitor, you'd find three times that amount devoted to logistics: loading docks, industrial kitchens and laundries, diagnostic laboratories. Hallways don't lead where you think they would lead.
I've studied this hospital from the outside. You can make a lot of inferences from things like types and sizes of windows, and so I have a general blueprint in my head, but the majority of the interior is a puzzle to me. Solving it will occupy any spare mental capacity that might otherwise wander toward sentimental thoughts, and for that, I'm grateful.
Then there are the security measures. Cameras, doors that require an ID swipe to access, superhuman nurses who seem to intuit every little change in the air. I need luck to be in my corner today, because I don't just need to get to Mrs. Cope—who is in the E.R.—I need to find the electronic records center, and I may need to find a way to divert the medical staff away from the ward.
+x+x+x+
Half an hour later, I'm slumped on a drab couch in a third-floor lounge intended for family members. I'm alone. Inside the reaches of my hoodie pockets, I toy with the syringe—empty now—and a stolen security badge I found in the front pocket of Mrs. Cope's jacket. A final deception on her part, a final slight of hand, a final gift that I'm sure has staggering value. A fan whirs somewhere within the HVAC ducts.
Edward will find me soon, and we'll have work to do. For now, I want nothing more than to lean my head back and swirl into a black hole of escape, but I don't know when I'll have a moment to myself again, and I can make the rest of this week easier on myself if I just organize my thoughts.
My phone buzzes with a new text. Alice.
We on for Fremont after school? Rose is in.
Ugh. I was excited about prom dress shopping, but the prospect sounds unreal now. I shake my head and reply with a Yes. I open up Charlie's text from earlier—from when I was making out with Edward on a shady street near the park. A whole hour ago. A whole lifetime ago.
I sigh. It's not what I'm expecting, but it occurs to me it's convenient to have this message on record. It can serve to explain why I'm here.
Everything okay at Evergreen? Dispatch sent an ambulance to meet their van.
I shoot him a reply. It's my friend Mrs. Cope. She had some sort of seizure. At the hospital now.
Alice again: Cool. Don't forget your swim gear for PE tmrw.
Charlie again: Aw, hon. Hope she's okay. Someone named Ben called the house. Says he just got his license and volunteered to drive to the statewide meet.
Jesus. Like we need that kind of stress. I reply. Thanks. I have a bus arranged. I'll talk to him tomorrow.
While I'm thinking of it, I send a confirmation email to the transportation company and text the rest of the team to remind them about parental permission slips.
Charlie again: When do visiting hours end? Want me to pick you up?
The idea is appealing, actually, but I may need more car time with Edward to discuss things further. Thanks, but E is here. He can drive me.
What else is left? A sort of to-do list forms in my mind. I need privacy to debrief with Edward. I need to destroy these clothes and figure out why I'm supposed to have this security badge. I need a way to seek out Shelly's colleagues without drawing attention to them or us. I need to seriously consider blowing this whole thing off and just disappearing for real—talk Edward into faking our own deaths or something. And, finally, regardless of whether we fight or flee, I need to throw Aro off our track.
This last item worries me the least. In fact, I look forward to it quite a bit. Common sense would say throwing him off our track would entail playing nice and falling in line with his world view. But teenagers aren't bound by common sense. Sloppy emotion—outrage and railing against unfairness—is more true to form. It's also unpleasant, which makes it more likely Aro will leave us alone.
+x+x+x+
I must lose myself for a while daydreaming about making Aro squirm, because when the hallway door opens, and Edward pokes his head in, I realize I'm sitting here in near darkness. Even backlit and silhouetted in the doorframe, his hair has a shape I'd know anywhere.
"There you are." As he comes closer, I can see his features scrunch together in concern. "I thought you would have reported in by now."
He sits on the coffee table facing me, switches on a table lamp, and searches me for signs of trouble—first with his eyes and then with his hands. He cocks an eyebrow when he finds the security badge and frowns when I open my clenched fist to show him the empty syringe. When he's satisfied that I'm more or less intact, he pushes a pen and paper toward me so I can tell him silently what happened.
He glances pointedly at the syringe.
Dumped it down a drain, I scrawl. She was dead before I found her.
His gaze flits around my face—evaluating, reading, trying to decide whether to believe it happened that way. Ultimately, he just leans closer to me and wraps me in his arms. I can feel him sigh, and I can feel my own body stiffen. I don't know what to do. I don't feel like crying. He shifts his body from the table to sit beside me on the sofa.
He only loosens his hold when Aro's audio signal crackles in our ears.
"Were you going to alert me of your progress at any point, dear ones? I dislike resorting to a morgue phone tap to learn what my assets are up to and whether cleanup is necessary. But . . . well done. We have a cerebral hemorrhage C.O.D. Unsuspicious."
I already know this because I'm the one who put it in her electronic record.
Edward scrawls a question to me on the scrap of paper. Showtime. Are we compliant or defiant?
I smile weakly and point to the latter.
He nods and answers Aro. "Leave us alone, A. We've done what you asked. Don't expect us to celebrate this one."
"But you've read the brief. Surely—"
"We've read all about how you think a former agent with dementia is an unacceptable security risk. Doesn't mean it had to go down like this. She was a batty old woman, and she was dying anyways. Cancer." My eyes snap to meet Edward's as he pushes Shelly's decoded message toward me, nodding. I pick it up but don't read it.
"Is that what she told you?" For a moment, the only sound is Aro breathing. "This was why I assigned Bree in the first place. She's not attached. Never met the woman."
Edward snorts. "And she wouldn't dream of questioning you."
Here we go. This is a tricky dance. Aro takes the bait.
"I should like to think you wouldn't dream of questioning me. You never have before now. What's changed?"
"The assessed threat level, for one thing. She was so yellow she was practically green. Sundial is chartered for onyx and onyx-red targets exclusively. So why don't you tell me what's changed?" He's on his feet and pacing now.
Aro snorts. "I suppose I could, but you don't have the security clearance. The truth would disgust you."
"It usually does."
I hear Aro's bored sigh across the SatCom. "Can we be done with this? Am I filing this as a clean job, or is there anything you need to tell me?"
"It's clean. If you can call coerced suicide clean." He screws up his face, listening to himself lie. He flops back down on the couch beside me. "Do I need to remind you of the short list of shitty situations that might lead an agent to do that? She died thinking she'd blown her cover. Humiliated. Not your finest moment, setting it up that way."
"I didn't choose the method, my boy."
"Didn't you?" I jump in. "What else were we supposed to think when we found her safe deposit box chock full of StrychStrands? Because she didn't seem to recall putting them there. You trained us to follow your breadcrumbs, remember?" I hold up my crossed fingers because this rationale is thin, and we need him to believe it. The entire ruse only works if it seems like we were following orders.
Aro isn't fixated on the method, though. "Her box? What else was in there?"
Edward holds my gaze, because this level of interest from Aro is unusual.
"Nothing," he says. "Unremarkable snapshots. Less than a grand in foreign currency."
"Humph. Let's not discuss this over the airwaves. We'll debrief later. Does Phoenix need psych services? She sounds . . . emotional."
"Fuck psych services. 'Emotional' is appropriate."
"Fine. Take ten days R and R."
"When finals are over, we will."
Aro's signal goes silent. I relax back into the crook of Edward's arm—but only for a moment.
"Charlie's worried about me."
"Hmm." Edward hums into my hair. "Well, good. He loves you. You deserve that."
I don't have an answer for that, so I shrug.
"Guess we should get you home, huh?"
"Soon. I'm tired." I lift the security badge so he can see it. "Tell me if we need to deal with this first."
He nods against the back of my head. "Yep."
With one final, heavy sigh, he launches himself to his feet and reaches a hand down to help me up. He gives me a weary look that mirrors how I feel. I grab the empty syringe and the scrap paper we've been using so I can dispose of it properly. While we travel the halls, I read Shelly's decoded note. He's already memorized the directions it gives, so I follow close on his heels.
By the time we arrive at our destination, I'm afraid to look at his face again. I don't want to see the dread I know will be there—or the desperation that might make me imagine turning back and forgetting we ever crossed paths with Shelly Cope. But that's not an option. Not when the message baked into your layer cake includes words like quarantine and limited immunity and pandemic and mass extermination.
What we're about to see will change everything. I wave my stolen badge in front of the confinement unit airlock and wait for the flashing indicator to turn from red to green.
+x+x+x+