The Search for Artemis - By P. D. Griffith Page 0,99
wasn’t telling the whole truth. Perhaps Landon wasn’t supposed to be asking questions, but now he felt certain there was someone else down the hall. However, he couldn’t let Dr. Márquez think he knew anything about the screaming man. He needed to think fast and make the motivation behind his question appear innocent. “It’s just that you only check on me once a day and you seem rushed at that. What else are you doing if you don’t have any other patients?”
Dr. Márquez smiled. “Well, I spend the majority of my time working on highly sensitive molecular research, and my experiments have some extreme timing constraints that require constant vigilance and attention. Dr. Longfellow is the resident physician at the Gymnasium. I’m just helping him while he deals with more pressing matters.”
“So there is another patient in here?” Landon couldn’t help himself but ask.
“Help me.” The voice blew in and out of Landon’s resting mind like a passing breeze. He didn’t bolt upright in his bed as he did when the screams blared in his mind, but he just lay still and opened his eyes. They darted around the room, searching for the source. No one was there, but then the voice returned. “Help me.” It was there for only a second before disappearing into the darkness of his mind.
Like the night before, Landon rose out of bed and moved through the medical wing as stealthily as possible. He made his way straight for Room 132. Hoping to hear someone inside, he pressed his ear to the door, but heard nothing.
“Help me,” the voice repeated in Landon’s mind. The man sounded old. There was a deepness and resonance about it that Landon imagined could only come with great age and experience, but the man also sounded pitiful and desperate.
Convinced the man was inside, Landon tried to open the door. It was locked. Instantly, his training kicked in. He needed something to pick the lock, but he didn’t have a kit with him. . . . He’d need to improvise. He rushed back to his room and quickly acquired a metal paper clip from his medical chart and a plastic-wrapped scalpel he’d remembered seeing in one of the drawers along the back wall.
Once back in front of the door, Landon unwrapped the scalpel, placed it on the tile, and proceeded to pull out and bend the paper clip until it was relatively straight with a hook at its tip. He then took the scalpel in his left hand and gently inserted the tip of the blade into the bottom of the keyhole, torquing the lock’s cylinder slightly to the right to put some tension on the pins currently holding the door shut.
With his right hand, Landon took the makeshift lock pick and inserted it into the upper part of the lock, just over the scalpel blade. As he tweaked his hand, he could feel the individual pins moving up and down at the tip of the pick. Patiently, he pushed each pin up and out of the cylinder, applying additional torque as needed to keep the process moving. He could feel his pulse in his ears as he moved from pin to pin, and he couldn’t help but think of Cortland as he worked.
In the months since joining the Pantheon, Landon had learned that this was one of Cortland’s specialties. He had a flair for picking locks and cracking safes, and he had such dexterity with his telekinetic abilities that in most instances he didn’t even need tools. He would have already had the door open were he here now.
Suddenly the pressure on the other end of the scalpel eased, and he was able to turn the cylinder. He couldn’t believe it—he’d managed to pick his first lock. He couldn’t wait to tell Cortland, but immediately realized he’d never be able to tell him about this.
Holding onto the door handle, Landon stood up and gingerly pulled the scalpel and paper clip from the lock, sliding them into his pocket. He slowly turned the handle. It popped as its bolt disengaged.
A lot had changed since the last time Landon stood in Room 132; it was no longer the sterile, bright space he remembered. Machines, cabinets and various monitors congested the large room, and the overhead light emitted only a pale yellow glow, casting dark shadows all over the place. Its appearance—that of a mad scientist’s nefarious