Deadly Design - Emarsan Page 0,102

her mouth hanging open as she points toward the back of the store.

I turn down an aisle of Thanksgiving decorations. A woman 3 0 2

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

looks at me, her eyes widening at the sight of me while the little boy next to her points at me. Do I look that bad? They’re gawking like I’m the infected guy who’s about to start the zombie apocalypse. I look to where the boy is pointing. My jacket is hanging open, and there is a dark spot in the middle of Gene’s light blue T-shirt. Blood. I lift the shirt and see where one of the freshest incisions has managed to tear open.

“Oh my God,” the woman gasps.

I pull my shirt back down. “It’s okay,” I say, not wanting to scare the little kid any worse. “Just need some Tylenol, maybe a Band-Aid.”

I continue past the ceramic turkeys and fake autumn flowers. I make it through the cold medicine aisle and then to the pharmacy counter.

There’s no one there, so I ring the bell, and a man with short red hair and a crisp white jacket appears. “Can I help you?” he says, his polite smile dropping from his face when he looks at me. “Are you all right?”

“Just need a prescription. Can you call my doctor?”

“Sure,” he says. “What’s his name?”

I take the piece of paper out of my pocket, set it on the counter, and write my birthday next to it. “This is his name, phone number, and my birth date. My name is Kyle McAdams.”

“What’s the medication?”

“Just say it’s for my heart,” I say, trying to look at him, but my sight is starting to blur.

“You should sit down,” he says. “There are chairs over there.”

3 0 3

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

“Thanks.” I’m not sure where over there is, but I move toward the wall and when I feel something solid sticking out, gently lower myself down into it.

I can just hear him talking as my head falls against the back of the chair. I hear him say “emergency,” and at first I want to get up and run because maybe he’s calling Dr. Bartholomew.

But she’s in Saint Louis. At least, I think she is. And I’m in Chicago.

“I need to talk to the doctor,” I hear him say, his voice elevated by frustration. “I don’t want to talk to his nurse. I need to talk to him. This is an emergency. His patient is here, and he looks like he might not be Dr. Rubenstein’s patient for much longer. Kyle McAdams. . . . He just said heart medicine.

That’s it.”

It hurts. I remember my mom having gallbladder surgery a few years ago and them giving her a morphine drip to control the pain. She had one incision. Just one. I have . . . I don’t know how many I have, and one of them is seeping blood not just into the shirt I’m wearing, but now I can feel warm liquid on my skin.

The door next to me opens. I force my eyelids to part.

“He’s on his way,” the man, who is still slightly out of focus, says. “Dr. Rubenstein. He said he’ll be in here in about fifteen minutes. Do you need anything? I should get you some water or maybe orange juice. Are you hypoglycemic? Diabetic? You look really bad.”

I smile. “I bet I look good for a guy who was in a coma this time yesterday.”

3 0 4

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

“A coma? Like, a medically induced coma?”

“Bitch induced,” I say, and I think I can almost make out a smile on his face.

“I’ve been in a few of those,” he says, trying to make light but still sounding concerned. “Maybe I should call an ambulance.”

“No!” I almost come out of the chair and for a split second, my vision improves. “No ambulance. Not unless Dr. Rubenstein calls one. You said he’s coming?”

“Yeah. He’s on his way.”

I think I’m nodding, but I’m not sure. Then I close my eyes and let my arms fold protectively over my torso. No more cutting on me. No more.

3 0 5

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

Kyle!”

I feel a hand against my forehead, then against my neck, like someone’s trying to see if I’m still alive. I wonder if I am.

“Get me a stethoscope,” I hear someone say, a man. “I’ll pay for one,

Deadly Design - Emarsan Page 0,102

Main menu