The Shadow Cabinet by Maureen Johnson Page B

permission to release the body,” Dr. Marigold said. “I told you, he’s coming with me. Security will not stop us. The longer it takes for you to sign, the longer the patient goes without monitoring or care. His fate is now resting on how long it takes you to put a pen to a piece of paper.”
    Dr. Rivers regarded her fellow doctor for a long moment.
    â€œWhat did you do to him?” she asked. “What exactly is going on here?”
    â€œNothing that concerns you. It’s not dangerous. You haven’t been exposed to anything. You’re wasting valuable time asking these questions, which I’m not going to answer. If you care at all about the well-being of the patient, you need to sign.”
    The two suited people remained at attention on either side of the gurney, but something in their demeanor changed. There was a suggestion that this situation was going to end exactly as Dr. Marigold said, and they were prepared to make sure that happened.
    Dr. Rivers looked to Oren, who had been steadily backing toward the wall, clutching the document and the pen.
    â€œI want no part of this,” he said, taking the pen and scrawling his name.
    Dr. Marigold accepted the document. Dr. Rivers looked down at Stephen Dene, who was now obscured by the sheet.
    â€œFor his sake,” she finally said, before scrawling her name in a disgusted gesture.
    Dr. Marigold accepted this as well and tucked it in her bag. Her two companions silently rolled the body away and out the door.
    â€œSo you understand,” Dr. Marigold said, “everything that has happened here today with this patient is now classified. You do not discuss him or anything you have seen. If you do so, you will be prosecuted.”
    â€œThis is a travesty. Something is going on with that boy.”
    â€œProsecuted,” Dr. Marigold said again, “to the fullest extent of the law.”
    With that, she turned and followed the path of her associates and the gurney. When they had been gone for a moment or two, Dr. Rivers and Oren looked at each other.
    â€œWhat the bloody hell was that?” Oren said. “I don’t want trouble. I can’t have trouble. I’ve got a daughter.”
    Dr. Rivers went back into the office, pushed away the abandoned snack bar, and started typing into the computer.
    â€œHe’s already gone from the records,” she said when Oren joined her. “They’ve already wiped everything about him.”
    â€œI don’t want trouble,” Oren said again. “I can’t have trouble.”
    â€œYou won’t have trouble,” Dr. Rivers said, pushing back in the chair. “You signed, and I signed. We say nothing. Not that there’s anything to say.”
    â€œWhat was wrong with that body? Bodies don’t do that. He should have been . . .”
    â€œI don’t know,” Dr. Rivers said. “I have absolutely no idea.”
    She eyed the screen blankly for a moment, absorbing the events of the last few minutes. The office door opened again, and a man with pure white hair entered.
    â€œHome Office,” he said, producing his identification. “I’m here about a body. You should have had a call this morning. The subject’s name is Stephen Dene . . .”
    The black van was already snaking its way into London traffic, away from the hospital. Dr. Marigold looked down at Stephen Dene, lying on the gurney. She leaned in close and examined his face again, resting the back of her hand against his cheek, then his forehead.
    â€œWell,” she said quietly, “I knew you were stubborn, Dene, but no one is this stubborn.”

I stand amid the roar
    Of a surf-tormented shore,
    And I hold within my hand
    Grains of the golden sand—
    How few! yet how they creep
    Through my fingers to the deep,
    While I weep—while I weep!
    O God! can I not grasp
    Them with a tighter clasp?
    O God! can I not save
    One
from the pitiless