prescription. It surprised her that she still remembered the names of drugs she hadn’t even thought about since her stint in the ER during her residency.
“You’re going to give him some medicine?” Nick asked.
“Jonathan is going through withdrawal. He’s very sick. If you’re a friend of his, and I think you are, I’d appreciate your encouraging him to get some rest. He shouldn’t scratch these sores. I’ll try and get a cream he should rub on them. That will ease the itching.”
Nick looked at the floor. “What do you people want from us, huh?” he whispered. “Why you keeping us here? We didn’t do nothing to nobody. We weren’t hurting anything. But you got us as prisoners here. Why?” His eyes were welling with tears.
Monica wanted to cry also. She wanted to tell him that she was a prisoner as much as he was. She wanted to tell him about Wyatt, how they had taken him and frightened him and how she didn’t know if they were going to let her and Wyatt live once she had finished whatever it was they had brought her here to do.
But she said nothing because suddenly Lichen’s voice boomed from across the room.
“No more questions!”
After that, Monica examined Nick and Hal in silence, which was perfectly fine with Hal, who Monica could see was in no mood to talk anyway.
They were both malnourished. Nick, like Jonathan, had a few needle marks on his arms, but far fewer than Jonathan, and his looked healed—he hadn’t shot up for some time now, apparently. Hal checked out fine except that his hands shook slightly. If he was indeed an alcoholic, he was eager for a drink.
“You are finished?” Lichen asked her.
“Yes, and I would like to see my son now, please.”
“Of course. I will take you to him.”
“I remember the way.”
Instead of responding he went out the door and held it open for her. She understood. He was going to take her there whether she wanted an escort or not.
They walked the halls in silence. Finally Lichen said, “You are not happy here, I see.”
That caught her off guard. Of course she wasn’t happy. “You’re keeping my son and me prisoner. How can I be happy?”
“What you see around you you do not yet understand. What may appearevil to you is good, the wisest of wisdoms. Once you understand what the prophet is giving to the world you will be happy. You will feel peace as our brothers and sisters find an end to their suffering.”
Monica could tell he was trying to calm her, but his words had the opposite effect. The more he spoke the more unsettled she became.
“My words frighten you, I think,” he said.
Her face was giving away her true feelings. She looked forward and said nothing.
“What I mean to say, Dr. Owens, is that you and your son are safe here. No one will harm you.”
“Then why threaten me? Why threaten those people back there? Why hold my son as a hostage, force me to do whatever you ask?”
Lichen nodded, appreciating the question. “All will become clear shortly. You will see how your mission here is a chosen one.”
“What does that mean?” she said. “Why have you brought me here? Galen said he needed a heart transplant. Am I supposed to give him one?”
“That is for the prophet to explain.”
She was frustrated now. He was either cryptic or evasive or both.
“What about the others? Byron, Dolores, and the others? What about them? What does Galen want with them?”
“They are the vessels.”
This was hopeless. “Vessels for what?”
He stopped walking. “We have arrived, Doctor.” He pointed to the door.
Without realizing it, she had walked all the way back to Wyatt’s room. She could hear the video game and laughter inside. She opened the door. An Asian man in a white lab coat was sitting on the floor beside Wyatt. Each of them held a game controller and was laughing at the monitor. Monica was furious. A stranger alone with her son.
The man smiled, set down the controller, and stood.
“Mom,” Wyatt said,
“You’re going to give him some medicine?” Nick asked.
“Jonathan is going through withdrawal. He’s very sick. If you’re a friend of his, and I think you are, I’d appreciate your encouraging him to get some rest. He shouldn’t scratch these sores. I’ll try and get a cream he should rub on them. That will ease the itching.”
Nick looked at the floor. “What do you people want from us, huh?” he whispered. “Why you keeping us here? We didn’t do nothing to nobody. We weren’t hurting anything. But you got us as prisoners here. Why?” His eyes were welling with tears.
Monica wanted to cry also. She wanted to tell him that she was a prisoner as much as he was. She wanted to tell him about Wyatt, how they had taken him and frightened him and how she didn’t know if they were going to let her and Wyatt live once she had finished whatever it was they had brought her here to do.
But she said nothing because suddenly Lichen’s voice boomed from across the room.
“No more questions!”
After that, Monica examined Nick and Hal in silence, which was perfectly fine with Hal, who Monica could see was in no mood to talk anyway.
They were both malnourished. Nick, like Jonathan, had a few needle marks on his arms, but far fewer than Jonathan, and his looked healed—he hadn’t shot up for some time now, apparently. Hal checked out fine except that his hands shook slightly. If he was indeed an alcoholic, he was eager for a drink.
“You are finished?” Lichen asked her.
“Yes, and I would like to see my son now, please.”
“Of course. I will take you to him.”
“I remember the way.”
Instead of responding he went out the door and held it open for her. She understood. He was going to take her there whether she wanted an escort or not.
They walked the halls in silence. Finally Lichen said, “You are not happy here, I see.”
That caught her off guard. Of course she wasn’t happy. “You’re keeping my son and me prisoner. How can I be happy?”
“What you see around you you do not yet understand. What may appearevil to you is good, the wisest of wisdoms. Once you understand what the prophet is giving to the world you will be happy. You will feel peace as our brothers and sisters find an end to their suffering.”
Monica could tell he was trying to calm her, but his words had the opposite effect. The more he spoke the more unsettled she became.
“My words frighten you, I think,” he said.
Her face was giving away her true feelings. She looked forward and said nothing.
“What I mean to say, Dr. Owens, is that you and your son are safe here. No one will harm you.”
“Then why threaten me? Why threaten those people back there? Why hold my son as a hostage, force me to do whatever you ask?”
Lichen nodded, appreciating the question. “All will become clear shortly. You will see how your mission here is a chosen one.”
“What does that mean?” she said. “Why have you brought me here? Galen said he needed a heart transplant. Am I supposed to give him one?”
“That is for the prophet to explain.”
She was frustrated now. He was either cryptic or evasive or both.
“What about the others? Byron, Dolores, and the others? What about them? What does Galen want with them?”
“They are the vessels.”
This was hopeless. “Vessels for what?”
He stopped walking. “We have arrived, Doctor.” He pointed to the door.
Without realizing it, she had walked all the way back to Wyatt’s room. She could hear the video game and laughter inside. She opened the door. An Asian man in a white lab coat was sitting on the floor beside Wyatt. Each of them held a game controller and was laughing at the monitor. Monica was furious. A stranger alone with her son.
The man smiled, set down the controller, and stood.
“Mom,” Wyatt said,
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