35. Shemaiah
SHEMAIAH
Isuppress my worry as we leave Dr. Reter’s office. Pippa’s emotions are consuming her whole, and while I understand why, nothing feels right about what we’ve just learned. There’s something wrong that I can’t pinpoint, but I feel it lingering against my ribs as clearly as a touch.
As we step into the hall, another doctor turns a sharp corner, nearly crashing into Pippa. “Oh. Apologies.” His eyes widen a fraction upon meeting my gaze before jumping to Pippa’s face. “Pippa?”
“Dr. Witten.” Pippa doesn’t smile, but there’s genuine kindness in her gaze. “Shemaiah, this is the doctor who oversaw my care here.”
I offer the short, rotund man my hand. “Thank you for seeing to my wife, Dr. Witten.”
“Your wife?” Smoothing his silver-blond hair, his observation of Pippa becomes more acute.
“Does that mean he—” His words cut off sharply as he shakes his head.
“Forgive me for almost bumping into you, dear. You know how distracted I can get.” A nervous laugh cracks the air.
He looks at the closed door to Dr. Reter’s office. “What are you doing here?”
“We were looking for my—” Pippa’s voice breaks, and she looks up at me, her eyes filled with a myriad of emotions I can’t quite identify. Her throat works, but no words come out.
“Dr. Reter just informed us of her son’s death,” I explain, my hand tightening around hers, hoping to reassure her she isn’t alone.
His expression scrunches. “Your son—”
“He’s ready for you, Doctor,” Reter’s assistant says from behind the desk.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Dr. Witten looks Pippa over from head to toe. “You really should be back here at the hospital, dear. It’s not wise to be away from medical care in your condition. And I would love to learn how you are looking so well.”
I growl my displeasure at yet another person suggesting Pippa leave my side. She’s mine, and she’s not going anywhere. Dr. Witten enters Reter’s office with a little dip of his head to Pippa. “Take care, dear.”
The door shuts.
I lean into Pippa and whisper in her ear, “Stall.”
She glances at me, and I motion toward the assistant with my eyes as I tune into what’s happening beyond the closed door, a hunch guiding me. Something about both men has set my Mavarri side on edge.
“Why is Pippa Willoughby in your waiting room?” Dr. Witten asks from the other side of the door. “And why did you tell them her son died?”
I take a subtle step closer, leaning against the door casually as if I’m just waiting for my wife as she asks the assistant about the contraption on his desk.
A machine with cranks and gears, which he says is a sort of portable printing machine, setting type to page with nothing more than the press of a button.
“They were asking too many questions. He suspects something,” Dr. Reter answers.
“Well, he won’t find any proof. We’ve been careful. Still, you didn’t have to—”
“I needed them to stop their pursuit.”
I grit my teeth and ball my fists, fighting the urge to barge back into the room and demand answers. Strength might be Noah’s strategy, but it’s not mine. Something’s going on here. It’s time to do what I’ve always done best. Observe. Hunt. Trap.
There’s a pregnant pause, then Witten swears. “Yes, well, I imagine you did the right thing.”
The assistant laughs at something Pippa said, momentarily drowning out the sound of the two men.
“But I don’t think it’s over,” Reter says when I tune back in. “Shemaiah Roan is too involved for his own good. His wife? Goddess, if we could just study them.”
I clench my fists. If one more person hints at studying my wife like a lab rat, I’ll study their insides with my claws.
“You know what we need to do.”
There’s a shuffling stomp of feet getting closer, so I stroll to Pippa’s side just as the door opens.
“Send a telegraph—” Dr. Reter’s thought cuts off when he sees us, face slightly pale. “Mr. and Mrs. Roan, what are you still doing here?”
Pippa forces half a smile. “I’ve always wanted to see a typing machine.”
“Ah.” He nods.
“Thank you for your time, Dr. Reter.” Before he can say anything else or get any more suspicious that we lingered, I take Pippa’s hand and guide her down the hall and straight out of the building to the waiting carriage.
We barely make it inside before Pippa demands I tell her what I heard. “He’s alive, right? Dr. Reter was lying, wasn’t he?”
My hearts break, crushed by the uncertainty in her voice. After all she’s been through over the last few weeks, I don’t want to give her false hope. I might have suspicions about Dr. Reter’s claims, but I don’t have proof that Tobias is, in fact, alive.
“They discussed why we were there, but—”
“Did they say anything about Tobias? Where is he?”
I draw her onto my lap, trying to offer comfort with my arms while I decide how to respond. “I’m sorry, love. They’re hiding something, or at least it’s clear they don’t want us looking into this more. But all they said about Tobias was—”
“Don’t.” Her eyes jump to meet mine. Hollow, as if the spirit that’s kept her going has been scooped out. She offers me a shake of her head before her attention slips back to the window.
“Pippa.” I hold her tighter, trying to offer comfort with my arms as I kiss her temple. The carriage bumps over the cobblestone streets. Tears slip slowly down Pippa’s cheeks, and I brush each one away with my thumbs.
“I don’t know how much longer I can keep hoping,” she whispers, like she’s telling a secret she’s scared to admit. “I have to hope. The alternative is… but… I don’t know…” Her tears come in waves, and she buries her head in my shoulder.
“I know, love.” I tighten my grasp around her. “Hold on just a little longer for me, okay?”
She nods, and I curse the ridiculous men who’ve stolen her happiness. Whatever is going on at The Sanatorium, I’m going to uncover it. One way or another. Starting with talking to Mrs. Darning.