“Um . . . in the cabinet?”
She gives her head an exasperated shake and takes the bottle out of the cabinet. “It’s supposed to be kept in the fridge. It should be okay just this once. But when you take your pills tonight, put the bottle back in here.”
I’m leaning back toward the Ashley-is-crazy hypothesis. I’ve been taking those pills for five years now. They’re basic tablets. No refrigeration necessary.
But I nod. “Okay. Will do.”
We sit there . . . quietly . . . for the next five minutes. Then she quickly takes my blood pressure, temp, and draws blood again. I think that’s overdoing it, personally, since this is probably just a dog and pony show, but whatever.
“There. All finished.” She smiles and pulls a cell phone from her pocket. Or, at least, it looks like a phone. It’s in this odd case with an antenna on one side. “This is Swinton. I’m over in Highside. Could I get an escort to the main lab for a 2Alpha? Room 94.”
The person on the other end gives her an affirmative and she stashes the phone back in her pocket.
“Lucas is going to be angry that you didn’t—”
“He told me to have someone take you to Lab 1 in twenty minutes. Get yourself something to drink. Maybe some of that apple juice I saw. Oh . . . and don’t take the medicine out of the fridge.”
“Sure.” I nod to show that I follow what she’s saying. I guess that’s true, even if the only thing I’ve followed is that she’s trying to convey a message that has something to do with the fridge.
She picks up my sweater from the floor and tosses it to me. “Might want to put that back on.”
“Definitely. Thank you.” I emphasize the last two words.
Her pale cheeks flush slightly, and she nods briskly. Then she waves her bracelet in front of the panel. “Be careful. And get something to drink and a snack, like I said. Night testing can be . . . strenuous.”
As soon as she leaves, I go to the fridge. There’s a small note, handwritten in ink on one of the cafeteria napkins, right next to my medicine.
Ashley’s emphasis on the refrigerator now makes perfect sense. They may have cameras in the kitchen, in the main room, even in the bathroom for all I know. But they don’t have a camera in the fridge.
Standing inside the partially closed refrigerator door, I open the apple juice and drink while I read the message. It doesn’t take long.
Deo is safe. Working on getting both of you out. Hang tight. FLUSH THIS.
I cap the juice and scoop the paper into my palm before closing the door. Time for a bathroom break.
The note isn’t signed. Is it from Ashley, or is she simply a courier? I would have guessed the latter, but she’s a pretty good actor. I almost believed the story she was telling Lucas, even though I knew she was lying.
Maybe a minute later, there’s a knock on the door. I tense up instantly, thinking it’s Lucas, but I doubt he’d knock even if he believed Ashley was still in here.
I’ve gotten used to the door opening right after the knock, but when I don’t say anything, there’s a second knock.
“Come in?”
“I’m here to escort you to the lab.”
It’s the guy I saw at lunch, and this time, I get a clear look at his face. His eyes. His very brown eyes that are giving me a warning right now to keep quiet and play along. The name tag reads Corben, but I have no doubt that this is Daniel Quinn. And I’m pretty sure that answers my question about who wrote the message.
“Ready to go?”
I’m not sure if he’s asking if I’m ready to go to the lab, or if I’m ready to go, as in get the hell out of here.
The answer to the first is no, and the answer to the second is only if Deo’s already free. But I can’t ask him any questions to clarify, and I don’t really have much choice either way. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Do I need to cuff you? Your record says you had to be subdued this afternoon . . .”
“Taser’s not nearly as much fun as I thought it would be. I’ll behave.”
His mouth twitches upward slightly. “After you.”
I grab my phone off the counter, half expecting him to tell me to put it back, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He takes my arm right above the elbow, the same as any other time I’ve been escorted in this building, but gives it a brief squeeze as we start walking. His arm is rigid next to me, and he’s walking a bit faster than usual. Not a run, or even a jog. Just a brisk pace that requires me to double step in order to keep up with his longer stride.
We turn the corner and approach Room 81. It’s quiet. No hint of a child crying. But as we move closer to the door, the thumpthump begins again. I stop and look back. Thumpthumpthump. Softer now, but definitely there, and the door—I can’t fully describe it. It kind of shimmers, almost like that section of door is a picture that’s being smudged outward so that it enters the space a few inches in front of it.
And then someone laughs.
Daniel tugs my arm. “Let’s go.”