The Queen of Traitors
Page 57
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I begin rifling through everything. No one comes back for me—not Montes, not the guards. I’m sure someone’s got eyes on me, but I don’t much care.
I move out of the lab and deeper inside the facility. Back here the doors have bronze name plates fastened to them. I stop when I come to Goldstein’s.
Using the thumb scanner, I enter his office.
Stacks of charts sit in piles around the doctor’s desk. But it’s the one sitting right in front of his computer that captures my attention.
It’s mine. I read my name clearly along the tab.
Serenity F. Lazuli
On the front, a note’s been paper clipped to it. I pick up the folder and begin to flip through it. The first page appears to be a form for a prescription. The only thing that’s written in at the bottom of it are two drugs I can barely pronounce.
Behind this page are the latest readouts from the Sleeper, mostly x-rays of my brain and body. The doctor’s gone through and circled certain sections. Malignant tumors, by the looks of them. Not that I know anything about this. I was trained to kill, not to heal.
As I flip through the x-rays, they appear time lapsed. Each gets smaller, but then, the dates get older. My eyebrows pinch together.
That can’t be right. I spent weeks upon fucking weeks in the Sleeper in an attempt to reduce these. The machine might not be able to cure cancer, but it can remove a tumor.
I recheck the dates. My eyes aren’t deceiving me; my cancer hasn’t been treated.
If anything, it’s been expedited.
CHAPTER 29
Serenity
A SHAKY HAND goes to my mouth. The warm breath of anger is pushing against my shock, and I welcome it. Dr. Goldstein tricked me and Montes.
An inside man.
I need to find the good doctor, but first I have to figure out the depth of the deception.
I fold the x-rays and scans in half and shove them into the back of my waistband. Carefully I put my file back on the desk where I found it.
My eyes move to the note paper-clipped to the front of the file.
I grab a pen and notepad from the doctor’s desk and scribble down the series of numbers written on the note, followed by the medication I read on the first page of my file. Once I finish, I rip the sheet of paper from the notepad and, clutching it in my hand, I leave the palace’s medical facility.
But I don’t go back to my room. Instead I head to the office I’ve been using here in Geneva.
I sit down at my desk and boot up my computer. Time to find out what else the good doctor’s been up to.
The King
SERENITY NEVER CAME back to find me. I’m pissed, both at her refusal to simply accept her situation and at my own burgeoning dependency on her.
Two hours after I left her, I leave my office. I thought that work—rather than lying in bed awake—would better take my mind off of her; I was wrong.
I’m going to find my wife, and then I’m going to make her understand that I am not a monster for wanting her to live.
I head for the medical facility, almost dreading the possibility that she’s still there.
She has to know that I won’t give her up to death. For Christ’s sakes, she should be more desperate to live than I am. Why would she want it to all end when she knows I have the power to keep her alive, and that, one day soon, I’ll have the power to cure her of her cancer?
Another thought chills my blood: what if she’s already tried to kill herself?
She’s the furthest thing from depressed, but if she got it in her head that she had to take her own life, she would. Without hesitation. It wouldn’t be suicide to her; it’d be a mercy killing.
Now I’m running, my footfalls echoing against the marble. I can hear my pulse between my ears.
When I burst into the medical facilities, the lights are still on.
“Serenity?” I call.
Silence.
My heart rate continues to ratchet up, and the cloying sensation of dread floods my veins. I find myself holding my breath briefly each time I enter a new room, fearing that this will be the one that contains her lifeless body.
I should’ve hid Marco better. I should’ve simply known she’d react the way she did. I scour the facility for her, but she’s not here.
Relief doesn’t come.
Where would she go once she left this place?
Short of death, she might try to escape.
That thought sends me stalking towards the palace gardens. I consider asking the guards if she’s passed this way, but I don’t want to shed light on the fact that I can’t control my queen. I’m not that desperate. Yet.
She’s not outside. Not in the gardens. Not near the fence.
I head back inside, scrubbing my face. Where could she be?
Her office.
I go there at once. The lights are on, the computer’s running, but Serenity isn’t here. She’s leading me on a goose chase.
I head over to her desk and pick up the thin pile of papers sitting on top of her keyboard.
At first they don’t make sense. I’m looking at a rib cage, a pelvis. Another rib cage, another pelvis. Someone’s gone in and circled orbs—tumors. As I flip through the scans, a horrifying pattern shows up. The tumors are becoming bigger, and more numerous. Some disappear, but those are the minority.
The last image I see is not an x-ray; it’s a color-coded image of the brain. A small cluster of color is circled.
I nearly drop the papers. As it is, I stop breathing.
I’m almost positive that I’m looking at Serenity’s cancer. The Sleeper should’ve minimized or altogether eliminated the growth of malignant cells. But these images suggest a different story.
The papers crunch in my hand. I bring my fist to my mouth.
While the Sleeper can’t cure someone of cancer—yet—it is capable of controlling it. Yet I hold proof it hasn’t done that.
This was a deliberate act of sedition. And it will cost Serenity her life.
Usually I’m a cold, calculating bastard. Not this time. My wrath is a living, breathing thing. Every ounce of fear I feel—and I feel a great deal—fuels it.
Goldstein is a traitor.
“Guards!” I bellow.
They come running into the room.
“Collect Dr. Goldstein and take him to interrogation,” I order.
They leave just as swiftly as they came.
I promised the man that his life was tied to my child’s. Not only did he ignore that warning, he also tried to take Serenity away from me. And he might have succeeded.
I move out of the lab and deeper inside the facility. Back here the doors have bronze name plates fastened to them. I stop when I come to Goldstein’s.
Using the thumb scanner, I enter his office.
Stacks of charts sit in piles around the doctor’s desk. But it’s the one sitting right in front of his computer that captures my attention.
It’s mine. I read my name clearly along the tab.
Serenity F. Lazuli
On the front, a note’s been paper clipped to it. I pick up the folder and begin to flip through it. The first page appears to be a form for a prescription. The only thing that’s written in at the bottom of it are two drugs I can barely pronounce.
Behind this page are the latest readouts from the Sleeper, mostly x-rays of my brain and body. The doctor’s gone through and circled certain sections. Malignant tumors, by the looks of them. Not that I know anything about this. I was trained to kill, not to heal.
As I flip through the x-rays, they appear time lapsed. Each gets smaller, but then, the dates get older. My eyebrows pinch together.
That can’t be right. I spent weeks upon fucking weeks in the Sleeper in an attempt to reduce these. The machine might not be able to cure cancer, but it can remove a tumor.
I recheck the dates. My eyes aren’t deceiving me; my cancer hasn’t been treated.
If anything, it’s been expedited.
CHAPTER 29
Serenity
A SHAKY HAND goes to my mouth. The warm breath of anger is pushing against my shock, and I welcome it. Dr. Goldstein tricked me and Montes.
An inside man.
I need to find the good doctor, but first I have to figure out the depth of the deception.
I fold the x-rays and scans in half and shove them into the back of my waistband. Carefully I put my file back on the desk where I found it.
My eyes move to the note paper-clipped to the front of the file.
I grab a pen and notepad from the doctor’s desk and scribble down the series of numbers written on the note, followed by the medication I read on the first page of my file. Once I finish, I rip the sheet of paper from the notepad and, clutching it in my hand, I leave the palace’s medical facility.
But I don’t go back to my room. Instead I head to the office I’ve been using here in Geneva.
I sit down at my desk and boot up my computer. Time to find out what else the good doctor’s been up to.
The King
SERENITY NEVER CAME back to find me. I’m pissed, both at her refusal to simply accept her situation and at my own burgeoning dependency on her.
Two hours after I left her, I leave my office. I thought that work—rather than lying in bed awake—would better take my mind off of her; I was wrong.
I’m going to find my wife, and then I’m going to make her understand that I am not a monster for wanting her to live.
I head for the medical facility, almost dreading the possibility that she’s still there.
She has to know that I won’t give her up to death. For Christ’s sakes, she should be more desperate to live than I am. Why would she want it to all end when she knows I have the power to keep her alive, and that, one day soon, I’ll have the power to cure her of her cancer?
Another thought chills my blood: what if she’s already tried to kill herself?
She’s the furthest thing from depressed, but if she got it in her head that she had to take her own life, she would. Without hesitation. It wouldn’t be suicide to her; it’d be a mercy killing.
Now I’m running, my footfalls echoing against the marble. I can hear my pulse between my ears.
When I burst into the medical facilities, the lights are still on.
“Serenity?” I call.
Silence.
My heart rate continues to ratchet up, and the cloying sensation of dread floods my veins. I find myself holding my breath briefly each time I enter a new room, fearing that this will be the one that contains her lifeless body.
I should’ve hid Marco better. I should’ve simply known she’d react the way she did. I scour the facility for her, but she’s not here.
Relief doesn’t come.
Where would she go once she left this place?
Short of death, she might try to escape.
That thought sends me stalking towards the palace gardens. I consider asking the guards if she’s passed this way, but I don’t want to shed light on the fact that I can’t control my queen. I’m not that desperate. Yet.
She’s not outside. Not in the gardens. Not near the fence.
I head back inside, scrubbing my face. Where could she be?
Her office.
I go there at once. The lights are on, the computer’s running, but Serenity isn’t here. She’s leading me on a goose chase.
I head over to her desk and pick up the thin pile of papers sitting on top of her keyboard.
At first they don’t make sense. I’m looking at a rib cage, a pelvis. Another rib cage, another pelvis. Someone’s gone in and circled orbs—tumors. As I flip through the scans, a horrifying pattern shows up. The tumors are becoming bigger, and more numerous. Some disappear, but those are the minority.
The last image I see is not an x-ray; it’s a color-coded image of the brain. A small cluster of color is circled.
I nearly drop the papers. As it is, I stop breathing.
I’m almost positive that I’m looking at Serenity’s cancer. The Sleeper should’ve minimized or altogether eliminated the growth of malignant cells. But these images suggest a different story.
The papers crunch in my hand. I bring my fist to my mouth.
While the Sleeper can’t cure someone of cancer—yet—it is capable of controlling it. Yet I hold proof it hasn’t done that.
This was a deliberate act of sedition. And it will cost Serenity her life.
Usually I’m a cold, calculating bastard. Not this time. My wrath is a living, breathing thing. Every ounce of fear I feel—and I feel a great deal—fuels it.
Goldstein is a traitor.
“Guards!” I bellow.
They come running into the room.
“Collect Dr. Goldstein and take him to interrogation,” I order.
They leave just as swiftly as they came.
I promised the man that his life was tied to my child’s. Not only did he ignore that warning, he also tried to take Serenity away from me. And he might have succeeded.
