Chapter Fifty-One. Riley, Present Day
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
RILEY, PRESENT DAY
After Betty’s pulse stabilizes, she tells the nurse she was just startled upon waking in a strange setting. “I’d like to go home as soon as possible,” she says. “I’ll be calmer and rest there.”
The nurse agrees, given that none of Betty’s medical tests turned up anything concerning. “I’ll go get your discharge papers.”
Betty crooks her finger and I move closer. “The other young woman who knew about the Ganzfeld tests must have been close to Marquis, too, since she was also brought to this hospital,” Betty continues, as if there has been no break in our conversation.
“But why would someone be doing the experiments again?” I ask.
“For the same reason people have done terrible things all over the world throughout history,” Betty says. “A desire for power, money, success. For immortality.”
She isn’t speaking about a hypothetical; her voice is bitter.
“Dr. Trimble used us. He desperately craved all of those things. He thought if he could harness our gifts and exploit them, the world would take notice. He wanted his name written in history books.”
“But he failed,” I tell her. “The institute was shut down.”
“Because my friends died,” Betty replies.
“It all makes sense now. He went too far and I imagine he disgraced himself. The university tried to hide the evidence. But he was on to something. Apart, we four girls had curious abilities. But together, we were exceptional. Whoever has his papers knows that.”
I drop my head into my hands. Betty seems so certain. And I can’t come up with a single good reason to counter what she’s saying.
The nurse returns and tells us to make sure Betty stays hydrated and to follow up with her primary care doctor. Betty signs a few forms, then the nurse helps her into a wheelchair while I run to the parking lot and bring around my car. I also text Sandra an update.
As soon as Betty is settled in the passenger’s seat, she says, “I don’t want to go home. Not yet.”
I know the answer even before I ask, “Where would you like to go?”
“Back to Marquis. The young woman who had her ID stolen by her professor? I’d like to talk to her. To see what else she knows. She’s the link to the person who took Dr. Trimble’s papers.”
I pull over to the side of the road and flick on my hazard lights so I can face Betty.
“Look, I think you may be right. I’d never heard of the Ganzfeld experiments before I met you, and I’m in the health care field,” I tell her. “The fact that a young woman in clear distress mentioned them? It can’t be a coincidence.”
Betty nods. “It isn’t.”
“But you hired me to help with your care, and I can’t in good conscience tell you I think we should stay here. You need to be home resting.”
“Don’t you see? I couldn’t save my friends.” Unshed tears are clogging Betty’s voice. “I have to try to do something now.”
I lean my head back and exhale. I know too well the compulsion to try to save someone in trouble, even when it seems futile. So I put my Toyota back into drive and head toward the sorority house.
“I keep thinking about odds. Dr. Trimble was obsessed with them. And don’t the odds seem quite small that if the experiments were being conducted on only one person, she’d end up at the same hospital within a week of me?” Betty muses.
My thoughts have been traveling down the same track. “Which means whoever is doing this is experimenting on other young women, too. With a higher pool, the odds that one would end up at the hospital are much stronger.”
“Multiple girls as test subjects. Just as Dr. Trimble prescribed in his papers,” Betty concludes.
We’re about to turn the corner when I see a police cruiser blocking the street. A small crowd is gathered on the lawn of the sorority house. I spot a few police officers with spiral notebooks talking to young women.
I park in the first spot I can find and when Betty and I draw close to the house, we approach a few young women who are clustered together. I recognize a tall brunette as a sorority sister who was sipping coffee the day I came to talk to Alex.
“Excuse me, but what happened?” I ask. “I know someone who lives in this house. I was here just the other day.”
The brunette looks at me. “Who do you know?”
“Alex Finch.” Trepidation crawls across my skin. My heart is pounding; suddenly I’m seized with the urge to run, to get away from whatever I’m about to learn.
“That’s what this is all about.” She waves her arm. “Alex is missing. She was supposed to work in the kitchen last night to help make dinner. But she never came home. They found her phone by the side of the road this morning.”