Chapter 36 Playing with Fire #4
May finally spoke. “It’s exploitation disguised as hope.”
Luz nodded. “Real informed consent means understanding what you’re actually agreeing to. It means you can ask questions, discuss the terms, and leave if something doesn’t feel right. It means knowing the actual risks, not just testimonials. It means you have agency.”
The room went still. We all knew this was hard for her to talk about, while Amy lay in a hospital bed, comatose.
I swallowed hard. “When your sister is in a hospital because of a ‘clinical trial’ gone wrong, when you watch someone you love stop waking up, it stops being theoretical. It becomes personal.”
May’s hand trembled before she pulled it back.
“They told her the trial was safe, FDA-approved, natural ingredients. They had testimonials, official paperwork, and legitimate doctors’ signatures.
We trusted them.” Her voice cracked. “But there was an NDA. She wasn’t allowed to talk about the terms or what was happening to her.
They wouldn’t let her quit, citing legal consequences.
Told her that pulling out would ‘compromise the data.’ And now she’s been in a coma for three weeks.
Doctors won’t explain why. Won’t admit this trial might be responsible. ”
I gave May a moment before continuing.
“We’re going to break this down in future episodes,” I said. “Data manipulation. The targeted outreach to vulnerable populations. But today’s about awareness. About asking questions before you sign.”
I stared into the mic. “Before you sign that consent form… ask yourself: Who profits from your pain? Who benefits if you get better? Who benefits if you don’t? What are you really agreeing to? And most importantly, what happens if something goes wrong?”
Silence stretched.
Then May said, voice breaking: “And what do they lose if you heal without them?”
I reached over and hit stop, the red light blinking out.
Luz ripped her headset off and groaned. “That was exhausting. Do we get snacks now?”
“In the fridge,” I mumbled. “Unless Ekklesia poisoned our leftovers.”
She padded across the room while May slipped her headphones off with trembling hands. She didn’t join the banter. Just drifted toward the window, arms cinched tight around herself.
“You okay?” I asked.
Her shoulders tensed. “I’m tired of being scared all the time.”
“You sounded strong,” I said.
“Maybe.” She drooped. “I kept thinking… if Amy could hear me somehow, maybe she’d know I’m fighting for her.”
I didn’t answer because there was nothing to say. We stood there, side by side, staring at the rain starting to spatter against the window. That’s when footsteps thundered up the hallway.
Our door burst open so hard it hit the wall with a bang. Leo stumbled in, looking like he’d sprinted across campus, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes were wide.
“Leo—” I started.
“No time.” He dug through his bag and slapped a thick stack of documents onto the table, papers marked with highlighters and frantic notes, then unfolded a creased map.
“I got into a restricted directory. There’s a transfer protocol scheduled.
No clearance needed, no log entries, no names. Just a timestamp and coordinates.”
His hands shook as he pointed to the map. “Friday night. A little more than 24 hours from now.”
May turned from the window, face draining of color. “Is it her? Is it Candace?”
Leo’s grim nod shattered the last bit of calm. “It has to be. The coordinates match the secondary holding wing, the one that’s not on any public records. The off-books facility.”
The words hit like a drop in air pressure.
I moved toward the papers, flipping through highlighted sections, every sentence drumming the same word in my mind.
Move. Move. Move.
Luz came back mid-bite of a pupusa, froze when she saw our faces. “Oh. We’re doing Mission Impossible now?”
“Friday’s our only shot,” I said. “We take it… or we lose her.”
May lowered herself into a chair. “How many people do they move at night?”
“Almost none,” Leo explained. “Which means they’re trying to make her disappear. Quiet, quick, no paper trail.”
“And if we blow that silence wide open…” I whispered.
“We make noise,” Luz said. “We make so much fucking noise they can’t ignore us.”
The papers blurred in front of me, my vision tunneling. This wasn’t speculation anymore. This was a countdown clock ticking down to zero.
“I’ll call Kian and Hecate,” I said, my phone already in my hand. “We need a real plan.”
I stared down at the coordinates, at the timestamp that read “Friday 01:00:00” in stark black numbers. My thumb hovered over Kian’s contact, and I realized my hand was shaking from not just fear, but determination as I hit the button.
“Tealeaf?” Kian’s voice came through warm and concerned. “Everything okay?”
“We found her,” I stated. “We found Mom. And we’re getting her out tomorrow night.”
Silence stretched for three heartbeats. When Kian spoke again, his voice had dropped into that ancient register that made the air feel heavier. “Tell me everything. Now.”