Fury: Book One of the Cure (Omnibus Edition) (15 page)

I don’t know where they could be hiding, or how they’ve survived, but I want to find them. Right now, it’s all I want.

I wake in the middle of the night to find myself alone. Blinking in the darkness, I pull on my dressing gown and pad into the living room. I can see Luke standing outside on the balcony, the glass doors closed behind him. He’s on the phone, and the side of his face looks tense. I watch him for a moment, curious. His hand jerks in an odd way, his brow heavy over his eyes.

I go back to bed and wait for him to return. He doesn’t come for a long while, and when he does he slides back under the covers and runs a hand over my hair. I don’t know why, but I pretend to be asleep and eventually I hear his breathing deepen.

I lie awake, his hand gesture from the balcony replaying itself over and over in my mind. I can’t put my finger on what’s so strange about it. I don’t even know why I think it’s strange.

And then, near to dawn, it finally occurs to me.

In that simple hand movement, Luke looked angry.

“So did Harley ever get to the bottom of it?” I ask. I have to try and infuse a certain level of disbelief into my tone so that she doesn’t feel too encouraged to keep spinning this fantasy, but the truth is I’m getting sucked into the story.

“Does it look like he got to the bottom of it?” Josephine snaps, and the suddenness of her temper is a kick to the teeth. I forget, every single time, how swiftly it can come upon her, seemingly triggered by nothing.

She sits up and licks her lips like she does when she’s preparing herself. “Have you called Luke yet? There’s only a day or so left.”

“Not yet. I will.”

“Have you made preparations for me? For Maria?”

“I told you, there are no other rooms available.”

Josephine closes her eyes and I can see the rise and fall of her chest. When she looks at me again, her strange eyes are blazing with fury and impotency. “You’re such a coward,” she whispers. “Sometimes I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone.”

My heart falters.

“I’ve tried,” Josephine says. “I’ve tried every day for the past year to convince you of something, but you refuse to listen. I thought coming here was a good idea—I thought it would keep people safe, but it seems I was wrong. The blood I spill will be on your hands, Anthony. I can’t do anything more.”

I don’t know what to say. I feel sick and ashamed, even though my rational brain is ordering me not to give in to emotion. She is a mentally damaged patient, for god’s sake. She is not a woman who understands the truth of reality. She is not someone who can manipulate me with a story she made up.

“I need to leave,” she adds flatly. “I can’t stay here anymore if you refuse to isolate me.”

I clear my throat. “Leaving won’t be possible, Josephine. Not at this juncture.”

“I came here of my own free will!” she protests. “I can leave whenever I want!”

“Actually, that’s not the case. Because you have professed aggressive thoughts and feelings, you are now required to remain in our care until we can effectively treat you.”

Her mouth falls open. “You mean I’m a prisoner?” She stands up, her limbs shaking. “This is … You can’t …” She turns white with fury. In all my years as a doctor, I’ve never seen anyone so out of control. She crosses to where her cello is standing against the wall. This is the cello she wept over, the cello she has been playing without pause until I reluctantly forced her to continue her story. This is the cello she believes Luke somehow delivered to my apartment, because he knows how much it means to her.

And this is the cello she now lifts into the air and smashes again and again onto the ground, screaming in despair and rage.

I hold myself very still, alarmed and terrified of all that she is, of all that she’s turning me into. I want to go to her and hold her. I want to make this better for her, but I don’t know how.

When at long last she stops battering the poor, ruined instrument, she stands amid the wreckage of it and stares at me. There are tears in her eyes, and I know it’s bad if she’s let herself cry. No matter what we’ve talked about all year, through all the horror stories of her supposed crimes, all the nightmare tales of her childhood, she has never once shed a tear, except in the moment she first saw this cello.

“I can’t do this again,” she whispers. “I need to make it stop.” And without waiting for me to dismiss her or call for her escort, Josephine strides from the room.

*

I sit and stare at the broken cello for what feels like hours. I should up her dosage of meds. That’s what I should do after an episode like that. It’s the rational response. Instead all I feel like doing is everything she asks me.

The pieces of her story are turning themselves over and over in my head. They’ve awakened something in me, an awareness of a puzzle that needs to be solved. I get up and walk in a trance to my car. Inside I don’t turn the engine on. I stare up at the tree I’m parked under. It’s huge, its smooth branches stretching out in every direction. Pinpricks of light dance through the green leaves, shrouding me in dappled shade.

How old was Josephine when she first started having her delusions? Eight or nine, I think. Which would make it about twelve years ago. The first of the cures started being administered nine years ago. Is there something there? My heart’s beating very fast. I can feel the clue building itself in my mind.

A sound, loud like an explosion, bursts into the car and something smashes into the windscreen. Glass cracks out in every direction. I’ve never had a moment of such shock; it is physical pain as the gasp is torn from me. A dead crow is lodged in the windscreen. Its beak pokes through, only inches from my face. I can see one of its beady black eyes. It seems to be staring straight at me, vacant and detached. It reminds me of myself.

People are running to the car, calling to me through the windows, asking me if I’m all right. They’re pointing and gesturing and yammering away, but I don’t look at any of them. I look only at the bird. I’ve drawn it a thousand times without even meaning to. I’ve dreamed of it for years.

I spend the night on the phone, calling in every favor I’ve ever accrued, coaxing information from every angle I can possibly think of. I trawl the net for news bulletins and articles from twelve years ago. I save every single piece of information I can manage.

I work until the sun is rising. I’ve forgotten to shower, and the realization makes me feel sick. I push myself through the hot water, scrubbing more quickly than usual, and then head out the door, armed with everything I’ve discovered.

My heart won’t slow—there are moments when I feel giddy from the speed of my blood.

As soon as I’m in my office, I send a nurse to fetch Josephine Luquet. Then I nervously drum my fingers against the table. I feel sharp as a knife. Everything is too raw to interpret properly—I haven’t felt much of anything in nine years and now I’m a set of nerve endings.

Doyle hauls Josephine into my office with a cold, affronted look—honestly, the guy has no idea of the extremely low status he holds in this facility. If he looks at me like that one more time I’m going to have him fired. I dismiss him with a flick of my wrist and turn to my patient.

She looks wary. “What is it?” And then she adds, changing my whole life, “Are you all right, Anthony?” As if she is worried about me. As if her first thought when being called early into my office is for
my
wellbeing instead of her own.

“I’ve figured it out,” I breathe.

“Figured what out?”

I’m so excited my hands are trembling as I load my drive into the tablet. Behind me on the wall the screen lights up and loads. I tap my icon and a handful of pages pop up.

“What is this, Anthony?” Josephine sounds nervous now.

I take a breath, trying to order my thoughts. Along with the shock of what I’ve concluded, there is also the fear of what it means, and the gut-wrenching guilt of my own inability to see it earlier. Christ, all this time she
tried
to tell me and I didn’t listen. I didn’t even entertain the thought. It makes me ashamed.

“You’re right,” I say. “Josi, you’ve been right all along. I thought you were having severe delusions and hallucinations because of the abuse in your childhood, but after yesterday, I started thinking. Why weren’t you cured? And the police records you found?”

She’s looking at me so closely that it distracts me, so I turn to the screen and start to explain. “Here’s my idea. I could be wrong—there’s no proof here, just lots of ideas being pulled together. In the beginning, when you first develop a new technology or drug, you have to test it, right? But you need a raw test subject. With something like the cure, you need a brain that hasn’t developed completely, because if it won’t work on the malleable mind of a child, then it certainly won’t work on a mature mind.”

I move some of the articles into the middle of the screen. “In 2054, a family sued the medical research center H&S for experimenting on their child. The boy had been taken in because he had anger issues and they wanted to see if he could be medicated to stop the aggression. The experimentations harmed him irreparably, but the family didn’t win the case because they’d agreed to the experiments in the first place. There are a couple of other cases just like this—five that were documented. Each was a child who’d been diagnosed with behavioral disorders—some of them even had IED—intermittent explosive disorder. I looked into each of the five children’s names and found that over the last twelve years they’ve all died of unexplained medical conditions.”

“H&S are owned by the government,” Josi says slowly. “They’re the company that first developed the cure.” Her hands are clenching and unclenching with quick tension.

“Correct,” I agree eagerly, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “So what does it make you think? That the first tests of the cure failed and children were irrevocably altered. If a company makes a huge mistake, killing children in the process, that’s not something they’d ever want the public to know about, right? It could compromise the company’s reputation—especially any plans to inject the whole world with a drug of theirs. So they covered it up.”

“And they got rid of the names of all my victims to cover up the fact that there was a problem at all!” Josephine says. “They created a monster and then cleaned up all the mess. Holy shit. This is huge, Anthony.”

I nod, turning around to look at her face. She’s staring at the articles on the screen. “In a way, your abuse
was
the cause of all this.”

She looks at me sharply. “Not that again, Anthony.”

“When you were eight, you were taken by your foster family to H&S because you had anger problems. It was reported that you attacked your foster brother. You were the perfect candidate for the first round of experiments.”

“But if I went wrong, and they turned me into some sort of maniac, then why did they just let me go nuts and kill people?”

“I can’t answer things like that without speaking to someone involved.”

“Is that even possible?”

“I doubt it. They’ve guarded their secret closely. I’m assuming that even the fact that I’ve guessed the truth could put me in a lot of danger.”

Josephine looks at me for a long moment. Her brown and blue eyes are studying my face, and I’m not sure what she’ll see. Suddenly she crosses the room and takes me in her arms, hugging me fiercely. “How did you work it out?” she asks against my shoulder.

“A bird,” I reply faintly. “It was because of a bird.”

She laughs in disbelief. “I’m going to get your bird tattooed all over my body so that I never forget that you were the one who figured it out, Anthony. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

I pull away and look into her beautiful face. “Don’t thank me. I should have worked this out in the beginning.”

“Don’t worry.” She smiles. “You’re programmed not to understand, Doc. But you worked it out anyway. You’re a bit of a rebel, really.” And then she kisses me on the cheek and I’ve never loved anyone as much in my whole life.

“Did you call Luke?” she asks expectantly.

“I will. Right now. Go back to your room and I’ll sort things out.”

“You mean …?”

“Everything. I’ll get you into a private room, with a sedative and handcuffs if I have to.”

“Anthony …” Josephine swallows, and she’s holding my eyes, looking at me in a way no woman has ever looked at me. I imagine for a moment that I’m Luke, that I’m the one she loves. When she looks at me this way it’s an easy thing to imagine. “I’ve studied this puzzle for about ten years now,” she admits softly. “I’ve looked at it every way I can, and I’ve had Luke examine it every way he can, and neither of us came to this conclusion. I don’t know why that is. Only that you’re the one who did. Do you know what that means?”

Mutely I shake my head.

“I never knew … if I was just crazy. I never knew if it was real.” She touches my cheek gently. “I can die now, or I can go to jail, or whatever. I’ve killed people. I really have now—it’s not a dream or a kind of madness. It’s real. But at least I know. And knowing is the freedom you’ve given me—the only freedom I’ve ever had a right to hope for.”

I swallow, feeling frightened. “Josephine, you’re not going to die or go to jail.”

She smiles and it’s pained. “You do understand what you’ve just uncovered, right? We’re talking government conspiracy here. And who works at the top? The Bloods. No one can deny them. No one can fight them. As soon as they know that I understand, they’ll kill me. There’s nowhere in the world to hide from a Blood.”

I feel cold, knowing she’s right. The Bloods are like ghosts, doing as they please, controlling the world, deadly and impossible. If a Blood wants you dead, the only question is when. I feel a sharp awareness of fear.

She squeezes my shoulder and her smile changes into something soft and genuine. “No matter what happens, Doc, you’ve saved me, and I’ll love you forever for that.”

I feel myself blush like a child, and I’m so dumbfounded that I can’t think of anything to say before Doyle arrives to take her back to her room. I don’t know who he thinks he is, deciding when patients are supposed to be in their rooms, but I’m too distracted by something Josi said to argue with the oversized lump of meat.