Degrees of Wrong (30 page)

“I want you to work for me.”

“No.”

“Whatever the UN is paying you, I’ll double it. Whatever their compensation, I’ll even triple it.”

“No. I’m not being paid for my work.” I laughed softly as if he were a child asking a silly question.

In a moment of brilliance, I walked to the cabinet and retrieved another bag of saline solution and a few syringes. I returned to the bed and showed him my fare. He shrugged, uninterested. Either he trusted my ethics as a doctor, or he didn’t see me as a threat.

He tilted his head, studying me. “I believe you get that foolish generosity from your father. Your father refused me as well. The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Dr. Morgan?”

Control yourself.
I steadied my hands and filled a syringe with the solution. If Nicoli peered in, he’d see me busying myself with some anonymous task related to the care of my patient. I filled the last one, trying to envision my father having this same conversation with this man.

“Why would you want the antivirus? Feeling a little remorse?” I glanced back at the door to Nicoli’s broad shoulders.

Ares chuckled. “You can, of course, see how profitable it would be to have
both
in my control. Oh, now, don’t look at me like that, Dr. Morgan. You act as if I’m some sort of monster.” He made a
tsk
ing sound with his tongue. “Did you think your little UN friends would be any different? That they wouldn’t use the cure to their full political advantage? Oh, goodness, Dr. Morgan, it looks like you
did
.” He laughed delightedly.

I did, in fact. I hadn’t thought about any political agendas when I agreed to help. Stupid, stupid. My father was right not to trust the UN. They had probably approached him first—just like Ares. And if I knew my father, he had probably expanded their vocabulary by a few choice phrases as he kicked them out of his house. Of course, the UN’s intentions couldn’t have been worse than Ares’s, but I could see them withholding the cure to countries that refused to cooperate with their terms. Let people die while they dangled it in front of their faces. No, the UN’s agenda wasn’t worse than Ares’s, it was exactly the same—control.

It sickened me to think I was helping either side. I couldn’t allow
anyone
to use it for their own advantage. This wasn’t about sides. It was about people. Regardless of their nationality or alliances or beliefs. It was about life. I would preserve
life
—even if it meant giving up my own. Somehow I would make this right.

“I really had expected much better from you, Dr. Morgan,” Ares said in feigned disappointment. “Given your intelligence and all. Did you know that your IQ is actually a little higher than your father’s was? Although, not quite as high as mine.”

I was tired of keeping my temper in check. “The IQ test must not account for arrogance. The erroneous belief that one is infallible. I’m afraid your score would suffer dramatically, if it did.”

My answer seemed to please him. “Won’t you reconsider, Dr. Morgan? I can see we’d get along quite well.” This time, there was an echo of pleading in his voice.

I smiled wide. “Never. Not now, not ever. But the good news is, I’m happy with the results of your examination. I’ll certify the extreme excellence of your health, and you can have the benefit of a fair trial, how does that sound? I would say it was a pleasure meeting you, but…” I shrugged.

I turned to leave, with no small amount of relief.

“Did they ever find out who was responsible for your father’s death? You know, your mother was just a
bonus
.”

I whirled around. The man was snarling. I narrowed my eyes at him, almost doubled over with the pain of his admission. And then the rage took over. I closed the distance between us in two efficient strides. I grabbed the syringe and injected it into the IV without another thought. I stared down at him, smiling through triumphant tears.

“That was only saline solution,” he said. “I watched you fill it myself.”

I snorted. “That’s the thing about air bubbles, Mr. Petropoulos. You can’t see them. They don’t even show up in autopsies.”

He gasped as he realized my meaning, his face contorted in terror.

“You’ll be dead within hours,” I whispered. I spun and strode to the door, shaking with the lie. Still, I felt no remorse for my deceit, no pity. It would do this man considerable good to think he was on the verge of death. I hoped he would be thinking about his brush with it when he stood trial in two days.

Nicoli’s eyes grew livid when he saw the track of a tear I’d just wiped from my cheek. He started for the infirmary, but I held him back.

“Please, Nicoli,” I pleaded. “Please, just take me home.”

He growled, furious. He led me down the hall, careful not to touch me inappropriately in front of his men.

In the quiet haven of the transport pod, I could tell he fought the urge not to force it out of me. He kept glancing at me, his beautiful dark eyes afflicted with concern. Finally, it got the better of him.

“I need to know,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed, “you do.” I inhaled as much as my lungs would take.

Then I told him everything.

Chapter Fourteen

Nicoli wouldn’t speak to me.

That first evening on the island, I had thought I was educating him on the adverse effects of the silent treatment. Now I realized that his mother or his little sister—or both—had already instructed him in the art. I realized that they were much better at it than me. And I realized that Nicoli must have been their star pupil.

It had been two days since I told him in the transport pod what had happened between myself and Ares Petropoulos. As I relayed to him the unfolding of events, he said nothing. His jaw had simply hardened, as it always did when he was angry—only this time it had stayed that way.

He hadn’t shown up to the gym or to the mess hall, hadn’t called me to his office to try to manhandle me into his arms. I passed him once in the hall—he didn’t even look at me. I tried to pretend that it didn’t gut me.

And, as I heaved myself over the trash receptacle in the lab, I realized it was my turn to be
physically
gutted, as well. I emptied the contents of my stomach and sat on the cold floor.

“You have it, don’t you?” Dr. Folsom called from across the room. Today was her first day back, and although she looked quite haggard, she seemed functional.

“Uh-huh,” I groaned, and I thought the act of speaking would incite the vomiting again.

“I’ll help you to your quarters,” she said. I tried to peel myself from the floor. I didn’t want to drain from her what little strength she’d accrued since getting out of the bed.

She placed my arm around her shoulder for support, and together we walked to the elevator. When we got to my room, she helped me undress and pulled the covers over my simultaneously fevered and chilled body.

“I’ll be right back with the electrolytes. I’m putting a trash can beside your bed. Try to make it in there. I’m going to reserve an IV for you just in case. Is there anything else you need before I leave?”

I shook my head and placed my fist under my chin to keep my teeth from chattering.

When I awoke, the room was dark. I had to use the restroom but doubted that in my pathetic state I could gain enough momentum to even throw my body weight in that direction. I could see on the nightstand that Dr. Folsom had returned at some point with the electrolytes.

I reached for them and groaned in agony as the weight of my outstretched arm sent throbbing pain to its muscles. I tried to sit up but was too dizzy to lift my head. I plopped my hollow noggin back down on the pillow in defeat.

Suddenly, I found the energy and the need to spring from my pillow and over the side of the bed. I vomited and vomited into the trash can. I vomited until I was good and sick of vomiting. Then I vomited some more.

I hoped the morning would come soon, and Dr. Folsom would check on me and help me to the bathroom. It was my last conscious thought.

The false sunlight spilled into my room and hurt my eyes as I opened them. My bladder had reached maximum capacity, and I fervently hoped that I hadn’t missed Dr. Folsom already. My entire body ached, and although I was sweaty from breaking a fever sometime in the night, it appeared I had acquired another one. My teeth chattered nearly to the point of breaking in my mouth, and I curled into a ball to preserve my own body heat.

To my great relief, the door opened and Dr. Folsom strolled in. She looked just a little better today than she had yesterday.

She sat on the bed and looked at the nightstand. “You didn’t even open them,” she scolded. “You need those fluids, Elyse.”

“Uh-huh,” I told her.

“Do you think you might need an IV?”

“Uh-huh,” I told her.

“The only thing about an IV is that it will make it harder for you to use the restroom. You will need to go more often, probably.”

“Uh-huh,” I told her.

“Do you need to go now?”

“Uh-huh.”

After I emptied the contents of my bladder in the toilet, and more than the contents of my stomach in the shower, Dr. Folsom helped me change clothes and climb back into bed. After she disinfected the shower, she changed my trash for me. She tried to help me sip some of the clear pink liquids.

My next project, after I found the cure to the Black Death, would be to find a way to make concentrated electrolytes taste drinkable. Until then though, I would just have to hold my nose and man up.

When I awoke again, the room was dark. She had administered the IV while I slept and now I had bent my arm in a way that prohibited the flow. I stretched it out, groaning as it throbbed with the lack of use.

“Elyse, love?” I heard Nicoli say. “What’s wrong? Do you need something?”

That was odd. I felt sure I was awake. If I felt
this
bad in my dreams, then I was in deep trouble when I eventually woke up. Still, I would take the aches and pains in the dream, as long as I could hear the lilting sound of his voice too.

I felt a weight on the bed next to me and cool hands brushing aside the hair plastered by sweat onto my face. The dream was lifelike.

“Elyse? Do you need something?”

I worked very hard to blink my eyes, to see him more clearly. I could make out the magnificent outline of him, certainly, but his handsome features eluded me. I groaned in frustration.

My hand flitted to my eyes, and I rubbed them ferociously. When I was done assaulting them, his breathtaking face came into focus. His eyes were softened with concern, and his mouth was set in an apprehensive frown.

“What do you need, love?” he asked gently.

“Restroom,” I blurted. I meant to say
I need you to stop ignoring me, I need your arms around me and I need to go to the restroom.
I guess my mouth just caught the latter part of the plea. Still, whole words were definitely an improvement.

In an instant, I was out of the bed and in the bathroom. The door shut softly behind me, and the IV tubing was fed from under the door.

I stood there dazed, leaning against the sink for support. After an indeterminable amount of time, I managed to relieve my bladder and heave myself to the bathroom door. In a state of sheer panic, I thought he might have left again and I knew I couldn’t make it back to the bed.

I put all my weight on the door and pressed the access button. I spilled out into my room but never met with the floor.

“Elyse.” He scooped me up. “What are you doing? Why didn’t you knock when you were ready? I told you to knock, love.”

Had he? I didn’t remember. Certainly I would have remembered.

“Uh-uh,” I told him.

He chuckled into my hair as I pressed my face into the comfort of his chest. “You are in no position to argue with me at present, Dr. Morgan.”

I felt myself being lowered onto the bed. The descent sent a wave of nausea through me, and I stiffened in his arms with the dilemma. As soon as I could feel solid bed under me, I heaved over to the trash.

Was someone feeding me while I was unconscious? How could I have anything left to throw up?

I mulled over the mystery as I drifted out of consciousness.

I looked over to see Dr. Folsom changing out the IV bags. My room was full of the light of day.

“Hi,” I rasped.

Startled, she turned to me and smiled. She seemed fully recovered. It gave me hope.

“Good morning,” she greeted. “Today is day four. Day four seems to be the turning point. Congratulations.”

Day four?
“Day four?”

“Yes, dear. You’ve been in and out for four days now. Nicoli is practically beside himself. He’s been making a nuisance of himself, actually.” I knew what she meant. The admiral almost gave me acne with the stress of comforting him.

However, given Nicoli’s complete withdrawal from my presence, I could hardly believe that he had concerned himself overmuch.