Authors: Alex Kava
Tags: #Mystery, #Thriller, #Suspense, #Contemporary, #Adventure
Exposed (32 page)
The Slammer
Maggie hated the panic that now crept into her friend’s eyes. She had known Gwen Patterson too long for Gwen to use her professional-psychiatrist tricks on her.
“It’s a good sign,” Gwen said, keeping her voice level, her mood optimistic, apparently unaware that her eyes were betraying her. “Colonel Platt said it isn’t showing up in your blood.”
“Yet,” Maggie added. “He said it hasn’t shown up yet.”
“From what I know about these viruses they work quickly.”
“Or they can remain dormant inside a host.”
“You’re strong and healthy. You said you haven’t felt sick.”
“The first symptoms can be subtle, almost like having the flu.”
“You said the little girl didn’t even throw up on you.”
“My sleeve. I think there was some vomit on my sleeve.” Maggie tried to smile as she pulled at the ribbing on her blue hospital gown. “I had to exchange my clothes for the Slammer’s latest fashion trend.”
“That’s not enough.” Gwen’s voice hitched. She saw that Maggie noticed. She readjusted herself on the plastic chair. Recrossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, switched the telephone receiver from right ear to left ear as if repositioning herself might make her stronger. “On your sleeve, that’s not enough. It’s passed through blood.”
“Any body fluids,” Maggie corrected.
“Okay, any body fluids. But it’s not airborne.”
“In lab tests it’s displayed a capability—”
“Stop,” Gwen shouted, so suddenly it made Maggie jump.
The panic in Gwen’s eyes threatened to dissolve into tears. Maggie wasn’t sure why she had resorted to sounding like a textbook. She was saying out loud all the frightening things she had learned, tossing them at Gwen because Gwen was her buffer, her crutch. But it was a mistake. It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t used to seeing Gwen like this. She was biting her bottom lip, her free hand a fist in her lap. She had always been Maggie’s mentor, her rock, her advocate. She was the stable, logical, optimistic one of the pair, but it wasn’t right to foist this on her, not now.
Gwen sat back, took a deep breath. Maggie waited, only now realizing that her chest ached. Gwen’s panic was contagious. It crushed against her lungs.
“You’ll be okay,” Gwen said as if reading Maggie’s mind.
Maggie shifted in her chair, suddenly chilled. She tucked the gown around her. The panic had transferred to Maggie, because now Gwen seemed calm, genuinely so this time. Had she slipped and caught herself, realizing she needed to be strong for both of them?
Her eyes held Maggie’s. “Is there anyone you want me to call?”
“I’ve already called you.”
“What about your mother?”
“She’d be a nervous wreck.”
“She’s still your mother.”
“Yes, she’s my mother, but she’s never been motherly. I can’t handle taking care of her right now. And believe me, that’s what it would be. Me taking care of her.”
Gwen nodded then she smiled, her bottom lip almost completely void of lipstick. “You’re going to be okay. It might be different if the little girl sprayed you in your eyes or your mouth. But that didn’t happen.”
“That did happen,” Maggie said, the memory twisting a knot in her stomach. “It happened to Cunningham.”
The Slammer
Maggie hated the panic that now crept into her friend’s eyes. She had known Gwen Patterson too long for Gwen to use her professional-psychiatrist tricks on her.
“It’s a good sign,” Gwen said, keeping her voice level, her mood optimistic, apparently unaware that her eyes were betraying her. “Colonel Platt said it isn’t showing up in your blood.”
“Yet,” Maggie added. “He said it hasn’t shown up yet.”
“From what I know about these viruses they work quickly.”
“Or they can remain dormant inside a host.”
“You’re strong and healthy. You said you haven’t felt sick.”
“The first symptoms can be subtle, almost like having the flu.”
“You said the little girl didn’t even throw up on you.”
“My sleeve. I think there was some vomit on my sleeve.” Maggie tried to smile as she pulled at the ribbing on her blue hospital gown. “I had to exchange my clothes for the Slammer’s latest fashion trend.”
“That’s not enough.” Gwen’s voice hitched. She saw that Maggie noticed. She readjusted herself on the plastic chair. Recrossed her legs, smoothed her skirt, switched the telephone receiver from right ear to left ear as if repositioning herself might make her stronger. “On your sleeve, that’s not enough. It’s passed through blood.”
“Any body fluids,” Maggie corrected.
“Okay, any body fluids. But it’s not airborne.”
“In lab tests it’s displayed a capability—”
“Stop,” Gwen shouted, so suddenly it made Maggie jump.
The panic in Gwen’s eyes threatened to dissolve into tears. Maggie wasn’t sure why she had resorted to sounding like a textbook. She was saying out loud all the frightening things she had learned, tossing them at Gwen because Gwen was her buffer, her crutch. But it was a mistake. It wasn’t fair. She wasn’t used to seeing Gwen like this. She was biting her bottom lip, her free hand a fist in her lap. She had always been Maggie’s mentor, her rock, her advocate. She was the stable, logical, optimistic one of the pair, but it wasn’t right to foist this on her, not now.
Gwen sat back, took a deep breath. Maggie waited, only now realizing that her chest ached. Gwen’s panic was contagious. It crushed against her lungs.
“You’ll be okay,” Gwen said as if reading Maggie’s mind.
Maggie shifted in her chair, suddenly chilled. She tucked the gown around her. The panic had transferred to Maggie, because now Gwen seemed calm, genuinely so this time. Had she slipped and caught herself, realizing she needed to be strong for both of them?
Her eyes held Maggie’s. “Is there anyone you want me to call?”
“I’ve already called you.”
“What about your mother?”
“She’d be a nervous wreck.”
“She’s still your mother.”
“Yes, she’s my mother, but she’s never been motherly. I can’t handle taking care of her right now. And believe me, that’s what it would be. Me taking care of her.”
Gwen nodded then she smiled, her bottom lip almost completely void of lipstick. “You’re going to be okay. It might be different if the little girl sprayed you in your eyes or your mouth. But that didn’t happen.”
“That did happen,” Maggie said, the memory twisting a knot in her stomach. “It happened to Cunningham.”
Reston, Virginia
Emma tossed a kernel of popcorn to Harvey. One for her, one for Harvey. The two of them sat on the living-room floor, surrounded by the newest editions of Emma’s favorite magazines.
In
Bride
was the article “Pretty in Pink,” saluting Breast Cancer Awareness Month. She still couldn’t believe her mother was wearing a pink wedding dress.
Okay, so it was kinda cool, but it was hard to imagine anything other than a white wedding dress. In fact, if it wasn’t for this article and a couple of others, Emma would have thought her mother—who was the ultimate slave to fashion—had made up the whole “pink wedding dress” thing. Even so, get real, who’s that politically correct that they’d use their wedding as some social statement?
No, Emma guessed that being in the advertising business her mother probably saw the whole “pink thing” as a way to avoid white. Her mother was very big into subliminal messages.
You are what people think you are.
That was a favorite line her mother used. It totally worked for her. Besides, she’d already done the white-dress thing with Emma’s dad. No sense in reminding people, and at the same time, why not pretend that she cared about breast cancer?
Emma was very certain that when it came her turn, she would definitely choose white. Not like it was something she needed to worry about right this minute. How could she have time for boys when her dad kept nagging her about college applications and scholarship stuff and keeping her grades up. All Emma really cared about were the gorgeous sling-back shoes that matched her bridesmaid’s dress. Even if pink wasn’t quite her color she knew she looked hot in those shoes.
She glanced at the other magazines spread around her, all of them flipped open to must-read articles. In
Cosmo
was “The Four Things He Doesn’t Dare TellYou.”
Entertainment Weekly
had something about
Project Runway.
The TV show
The Office
was on the cover. J Lo was all aglow in
People
. Exciting stuff and yet Emma chose to stick with the packet of love letters.
September 16, 1982
Dear Liney,
It was so good to see you. I wish you were still here. I can’t believe how much I miss you.
J.B. is still going on and on about the grape jelly beans you bought him. He’s just jealous. He knows he’ll never be like me and get someone like you. You know, it’s funny I can’t even remember knowing, let alone mentioning to you that grape was his favorite flavor, but you’re amazing.
So are you wearing the T-shirt I gave you? I knew you’d love it. It about killed me to not give it to you this summer. I bought it the day we went to the Art Institute. Do you remember how I didn’t even want to go? Vatican art? Who cares? Remember? But you made that whole day such an adventure I wanted to repay the favor. I’m big on that, you know. I always repay favors. And it was easy to sneak off and buy it when you were standing there mesmerized. Actually, it was when you were looking at the one by that Caravaggio dude,
Deposition from the Cross.
See, I remember. I’ve been telling you, I’m a details guy.
Also, I wanted to apologize again for leaving you right when the pizza got there. Even if it was just an hour. My sister’s such a moron. I can’t believe she had to pick Saturday night to call me. She’s been trying to guilt me into coming home. Like I told you, that’s not my home anymore. I know you said it wasn’t a big deal and I know you’re not mad or anything. Sometimes I wish my family would just disappear, you know?
Emma heard a car door slam and started folding and tucking the letters safely away. She rolled her discarded sweatshirt around the packet and grabbed the
People
magazine just as her dad came in the front door.
Reston, Virginia
Emma tossed a kernel of popcorn to Harvey. One for her, one for Harvey. The two of them sat on the living-room floor, surrounded by the newest editions of Emma’s favorite magazines.
In
Bride
was the article “Pretty in Pink,” saluting Breast Cancer Awareness Month. She still couldn’t believe her mother was wearing a pink wedding dress.
Okay, so it was kinda cool, but it was hard to imagine anything other than a white wedding dress. In fact, if it wasn’t for this article and a couple of others, Emma would have thought her mother—who was the ultimate slave to fashion—had made up the whole “pink wedding dress” thing. Even so, get real, who’s that politically correct that they’d use their wedding as some social statement?
No, Emma guessed that being in the advertising business her mother probably saw the whole “pink thing” as a way to avoid white. Her mother was very big into subliminal messages.
You are what people think you are.
That was a favorite line her mother used. It totally worked for her. Besides, she’d already done the white-dress thing with Emma’s dad. No sense in reminding people, and at the same time, why not pretend that she cared about breast cancer?
Emma was very certain that when it came her turn, she would definitely choose white. Not like it was something she needed to worry about right this minute. How could she have time for boys when her dad kept nagging her about college applications and scholarship stuff and keeping her grades up. All Emma really cared about were the gorgeous sling-back shoes that matched her bridesmaid’s dress. Even if pink wasn’t quite her color she knew she looked hot in those shoes.
She glanced at the other magazines spread around her, all of them flipped open to must-read articles. In
Cosmo
was “The Four Things He Doesn’t Dare TellYou.”
Entertainment Weekly
had something about
Project Runway.
The TV show
The Office
was on the cover. J Lo was all aglow in
People
. Exciting stuff and yet Emma chose to stick with the packet of love letters.
September 16, 1982
Dear Liney,
It was so good to see you. I wish you were still here. I can’t believe how much I miss you.
J.B. is still going on and on about the grape jelly beans you bought him. He’s just jealous. He knows he’ll never be like me and get someone like you. You know, it’s funny I can’t even remember knowing, let alone mentioning to you that grape was his favorite flavor, but you’re amazing.
So are you wearing the T-shirt I gave you? I knew you’d love it. It about killed me to not give it to you this summer. I bought it the day we went to the Art Institute. Do you remember how I didn’t even want to go? Vatican art? Who cares? Remember? But you made that whole day such an adventure I wanted to repay the favor. I’m big on that, you know. I always repay favors. And it was easy to sneak off and buy it when you were standing there mesmerized. Actually, it was when you were looking at the one by that Caravaggio dude,
Deposition from the Cross.
See, I remember. I’ve been telling you, I’m a details guy.
Also, I wanted to apologize again for leaving you right when the pizza got there. Even if it was just an hour. My sister’s such a moron. I can’t believe she had to pick Saturday night to call me. She’s been trying to guilt me into coming home. Like I told you, that’s not my home anymore. I know you said it wasn’t a big deal and I know you’re not mad or anything. Sometimes I wish my family would just disappear, you know?
Emma heard a car door slam and started folding and tucking the letters safely away. She rolled her discarded sweatshirt around the packet and grabbed the
People
magazine just as her dad came in the front door.