Chapter 22 Faina
FAINA
Acid floods up my throat, burning all the way up until my eyes are watering and I retch into the toilet bowl. Spasm after spasm moves through my gut, sweat breaks out across the back of my neck, and my arms tremble as I wind them around my stomach, trying to ease the cramping pain in my abdomen.
Three days in a row I’ve been puking my guts up, and it isn’t easing no matter what I do. Unable to keep anything down, I’ve been surviving on a diet of water and some saltines that make up the majority of today’s vomit.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to take a look at you.” The doctor stands in the doorway with her brown hair falling over her square glasses while she watches me retching on the floor. “After the explosion it’s been all hands on deck, you understand.”
She’s the first person who’s treated me like I’m a real person and not just some scumbag caught up in this hell. After my explosive argument with Richard, I’ve been remanded to my cell until I’m willing to cave to his demands, but until I see Cian, I’m refusing.
Difficult to do right now while it feels like my insides are chewing me up. “It’s fine,” I croak, swallowing down another gag. “It’s just some food poisoning, right?”
“Maybe,” she replies. “Your results will come through soon and I’ll know more. Food poisoning doesn’t usually last this long, though, so it could be something else. And other inmates have eaten from the same food as you and they aren’t sick.”
My stomach cramps and rolls. I surge over the toilet once more and clutch the cold porcelain but thankfully, nothing else claws up my throat.
I force myself to swallow repeatedly, trying to calm my overactive gag reflex, and eventually, I’m able to sag back from the toilet and slump on the floor. “Shit.”
“Water?” The doctor, Maisie, holds a water bottle in her hand.
“Think it’s poisoned?” I croak while accepting it.
“Can’t rule it out.” She smiles. “Now, have there been any other symptoms other than the vomiting since I last saw you?”
Panting, I drag the back of my wrist across my forehead to wipe away sweat then unscrew the bottle. “No.”
“No pain? Blood in your urine? Headaches?”
The water is insanely cool against my raw throat and I gulp several mouthfuls while she speaks. When she finishes, I lower the bottle and gaze blearily up at her. “Nothing. I mean… I do have a headache, but I think that’s just from throwing up.”
“Hmm.” Her face wrinkles somewhat, then she holds out her hand for me. I take it and she helps me to my feet with a smile. “Any joint pain?”
“Only my neck but considering the shit I’m sleeping on, I’m not sure it’s related.”
“If we’re lucky then you’ve just caught a stomach bug. That plus the amplification of stress could be why you’re so unwell.”
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me to suck it up?” I follow Maisie out of the bathroom and back into her small office. When I was here a few days ago to get blood taken, I almost threw up on her desk.
“Why would I tell you that?”
“Because I’m a prisoner? You’re not supposed to be nice to me.”
Maisie sucks on her teeth while offering me a seat. “The reason you’re here doesn’t matter to me. It’s not my job to judge people. I’m here to care for them.”
“And save the cops from a lawsuit about prisoner death.”
“Yes, that too.”
I gulp down more water while Maisie sits on the other side of her desk. “Were the anti-nausea pills any use?”
“Couldn’t keep them down.”
“I’m presuming that in your days before your arrest, you were eating and drinking local cuisine?”
I nod.
“That rules out the water being the cause. It’s common for visitors to struggle with the water when they come from so far away, a little upset stomach and such, but that wouldn’t explain why you’re so sick now.”
“I’m telling you, I’m being poisoned.”
Her gaze snaps up from her notes. “Is that a serious comment?”
As fun as it would be to pull her leg, I’m exhausted. Vomiting and the stress of being here with Richard breathing down my neck and no clue as to Cian’s whereabouts is draining me. “No,” I sigh. “I’m just being a dick.”
Maisie returns to her notes and resumes scribbling. “I’m going to give you a stronger anti-nausea and I’d like to give you a shot to boost your immune system. Since you’re unable to keep anything down, your body is lacking.”
“Do what you gotta do, Doc.”
As Maisie rises and grabs her keys, another wave of cramps urges through my gut, forcing me to double over. After a few seconds of heavy breathing while Maise unlocks her medicine cabinet, it passes and she presses a small pill into my hand. “Here, take this.”
“You said other prisoners,” I say, unscrewing the water bottle cap again. “There are other people still here?”
A ping from Maisie’s computer draws her back to her desk as she nods. “Of course.”
“What about the man I came in with?”
Her brow furrows as she sits. “I can’t talk to you about any other patients, Faina.”
“He’s a patient?”
“You know what I mean. I can’t discuss anyone with you.”
“I don’t want to discuss him, I just want to know if he’s—” The words die as Maise suddenly surges out of her chair and lunges at me with a yelp. I lean back in alarm and she slaps the anti-nausea pill right out of my hand just as I lift it toward my mouth.
“Don’t!”
“What the fuck?”
“Sorry!” Maisie gasps as her glasses slip. “I’m so sorry, but you can’t take that.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you’re…” She gasps softly and straightens up. “I’m sorry, Faina, but you’re pregnant and that medication isn’t good for you.”
What?
Pregnant?
No way.
“Are you sure?” I gape at her. “I mean, I’m forty-three years old. I’m pretty sure that’s past my prime.”
“It’s not uncommon.” Maisie smiles. “I take it you didn’t know?”
Both my hands wrap around the bottle and I stare down at the shimmering liquid. “I had no idea. I didn’t think I could anymore. They say if you don’t have kids by the time you’re thirty then it’s pointless, right?”
Maisie rolls her eyes. “It’s not pointless, but I understand what you mean. Pregnancy at your age is dangerous and delicate but not impossible.”
Pregnant.
It doesn’t even sound like a real word.
Pregnant.
Oh, no. Cian.
He’s the only man I’ve slept with in the past six months and I was reckless with it because I thought I was too old for anything like this. Clearly, I was wrong.
“So I’m not unwell. It’s just morning sickness?”
Maisie nods. “Yes. I can get you onto some other medication that will help you and your baby.”
“I can’t afford that,” I say. “I mean I thought the anti-nausea stuff would be cheap, but pregnancy meds?”
“Faina, we don’t charge here for that. And given how little you’ve eaten and the stress you’re under, then I insist.” She pauses and clasps her hands together while leaning back against the desk. “Are you alright?”
“It… It’s not a word I ever thought I would hear. I mean… I’m so past that stage in my life.” Never mind my current goal of getting Cian out of here and killing Hawk. I don’t have time for a baby, not right now.
Will Cian be angry with me? We’ve only just acknowledged that feelings for one another still exist, and now I have to deliver such huge news.
If I ever see him again.
The nurse gives me some different medication and a couple of injections, then she sends me back to my cell with instructions on being careful.
Thankfully, the following days pass without much pain in the nausea department due to the medication she gives me and I’m finally able to get some decent rest which clears up my brain fog.
Just as I settle into working out a real plan to get out of here, Richard comes to see me again.
“Miss Trutneva.”
“Please, I’m your prisoner,” I remark darkly. “There’s no need for formalities.”
He keeps his distance, perhaps afraid I’ll lunge at him and claw his eyes out. “On your feet. There’s something I want you to see.”
“Is it yard time?” I mock as a cop hauls me to my feet and locks my wrists in handcuffs. “Am I going to see the sky?”
Richard doesn’t reply. He leads the way out of my cell and down a long corridor to a room at the far end. It’s small and dark with a couple of stools, some recording equipment and a large window that looks into an interrogation room similar to the one Richard held me in.
“Cian!” The second I see him pacing in that room, I lunge away from my captor and toward the window. “Cian!”
“He can’t hear you,” Richard says with a sigh. “This room is soundproofed.”
“What is this?” I demand, watching as Cian walks from one end of the room to the other.
He’s pale with dark shadows clinging under his eyes.
He seems to be counting as he walks. There are red scratches on his neck and bare forearms and his hair is stuck up in all directions. “What have you done to him?”
“We haven’t done anything,” Richard replies. “I believe Cian Gifford has some experience with isolated captivity within a confined room, and we simply provided that in the hopes of helping him to open up.”
“What?” I slowly turn toward Richard, and he has enough sense to take a step back because I lunge toward him a second later.
“The fuck you mean you provided that?” The other cop holds me back by my cuffed wrists and I snap my teeth together, growling at Richard.
“I’ll kill you, motherfucker. I’ll kill you! ”
Richard adjusts his clothing and clears his throat.
“It didn’t have the desired effect, which is why I’ve brought you.
The deal I offered you is still on the table.
Work for us and you’ll be together, out of here and back on the road.
If you don’t then this is his future, only it won’t be a nice room like ours.
He’ll be in a four-by-four prison cell for the rest of his life. You can stop this, Faina.”
It’s an impossible decision and yet it’s the easiest one of my life. I swore I would never touch anything related to Interpol after my father died. I’m not a traitor. I know where my loyalties lie.