Chapter 9 Rose
Head throbbing, I lie motionless in bed, a large crack in the ceiling looming over me. One agonizing week has passed since McGregor took our blood. How much longer will the old man take? I grab my vape from the bedside table, inhale slowly, and blow vapor in Parker’s direction.
He’s comatose on the single bed opposite mine, the repetitive clenching and unclenching of his hands the only tell he isn’t asleep. His fist tightens, the thick tendons in his forearm contracting underneath his tan skin.
I look away, a bitter aftertaste from my vape bleeding through the sweet, artificial flavor.
He’s acting weird lately. In his own head.
I should check in with him, but I’m still livid he hid his impromptu meeting with Ella.
He promised it was before he swore to stay away from her, but…
Parker’s keeping something from me. I’d beat it out of him if I wasn’t so paranoid about blowing up and slipping into another memory.
A knock at the door has us both on our feet: McGregor, wearing his usual khaki slacks, glasses and a frown.
Time won’t be kind to his receding hairline.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I let him in.
My gaze lowers to the briefcase in his hand.
This is it. He’ll have the cure. We can get the hell out of here, and I’ll finally get a break.
“What did you find?” Parker asks before he’s closed the door.
McGregor adjusts his glasses and sits at the dining table. “It’s impossible you two are alive.”
“What?” My stomach seizes.
“I wasn’t able to study any of the samples, because the blood appears to be years old.
” He launches into a boring explanation of the multitude of tests he couldn’t carry out using words like flow cytometry, electron microscopes and protein expression.
Although the concepts are foreign, the problem is clear: the moment our blood cells leave our bodies, they die.
“So that’s it?” Parker asks, placing his hands behind his head. “Isn’t there anything more you can do?”
“Not without a live sample. Analyzing deceased cells would yield inaccurate results. But I’d like to continue working with you.
” He retrieves a fountain pen and a small black journal from his briefcase and opens it to a fresh page.
“I still have many questions. What was the exact date we first met?”
His pen hovers over the blank paper for a beat before his sharp gaze darts between Parker and me. We stand in silence and McGregor raises his brows. “The date?” he repeats.
Parker opens his mouth.
“Parker,” I growl, silencing him. I want to scream. Break something. Six months of hiding with relentless headaches. Six months torturing my mind and body for nothing. McGregor can’t help us; he wants to use us for information. Cash in on our bargain without holding up his end.
“This meeting is over,” I say, striding toward the front door.
“Wait,” McGregor says. He gets to his feet. “Rose, if I could please—”
“Get out.” I rip open the front door.
McGregor exhales through his nose and places his journal back in his briefcase. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” he says, and he steps out into the corridor.
I slam the door shut and storm toward the bedroom.
“Rose,” Parker calls to my back.
“What?” I reply, rubbing my eyes.
“McGregor can’t use our blood, but it doesn’t mean he can’t use someone else’s,” he says, speaking quickly. “We need a blood sample from someone else. Someone here.”
“No,” I say immediately, turning to face him. “No way.”
Parker splays his hands out by his sides. “We have no other option.”
“It’s too dangerous,” I say. “We agreed not to mess around in each other’s past. Plus, it breaks our oath.”
“We’ll be careful. Approach her when she’s alone, ask for her blood and leave. No harm done,” he says with a shrug, as if his words aren’t dripping with desperation. “She’d want to help us. If we just talk to her—”
“I said no, Parker.” I clutch my head, willing my breathing to slow.
Parker strides toward me, and I edge backward. “Then we leave,” he says in a raised voice. “Go home and wait for Matthews to find us. Is that what you want?”
His chest is almost touching mine, cramming me against the wall beside our bedroom door. My pulse jumps and I thrust my hands into his chest, shoving him away. “There is no us,” I yell.
“Fine,” Parker yells back, throwing his hands in the air. “Send me back, then. If you hate being around me so much.”
He disappears into the bedroom and I grimace, his words stealing the tension from my body. I rub my hand over the thickness in my throat and step into the room after him. He’s sitting on his bed, leaning back against the wall, shoulders slumped and eyebrows tight.
“Stop being so dramatic,” I say.
He lifts his head. “I’m serious,” he says, the fire in his voice replaced with icy defeat. “Send me back. Without her blood, I’m as good as dead anyway. Unless you want to carry me around for the rest of our lives.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. We both know I can’t do that. And it’s only a matter of time before my brain takes another impromptu vacation in my past. Fuck.
“Fine,” I say. “We’ll ask her for her blood. But we do it my way, with minimal impact. We’ll be a tiny blip in her timeline.”
“Miniscule,” Parker says with a shit-eating grin.