Page 24 of Cash

10

Carissa

I was living in hell.

On the outside, life looked much the same as always. Anybody who didn’t know me, or who’d been absent from my life for the last eight months, wouldn’t have seen a difference in my routine.

I got up, if I’d slept at all, showered and dressed. Gulped coffee like it was air, like I couldn’t live without it. Drove to the lab. Worked well beyond the point where the sky went dark. Left late, drove home—traffic was much more forgiving at that time of night, when everybody else was already home and safe and happy. I assumed they were happy. It was always easy to assume the rest of the world was happy when I was miserable.

It was the same thing the next day. And the next. I slid right back into my workaholic groove. At least it wasn’t foreign to me.

What else was there to do? Rock back and forth in a dark corner, sobbing endlessly? Scream with my face pressed into a pillow until my throat bled? I had already done both, the night Tommy went away. Doing it again—even though I wanted to, I wanted to break down so badly—wouldn’t help him. I couldn’t lock myself away and numb out. I had to keep working, and I had to keep drawing blood.

The refrigerator was almost full. How much did they need? I had no way to contact anybody, which was just another layer of torment. How could I get them what they needed when I didn’t know where to deliver it? How long did they think the blood would stay good? They had plenty, depending on what they planned to do with it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know their plans.

All I cared about what Tommy. What were they doing to him? Where was he? Did he miss me? Oh, God, did he think I had abandoned him? The one thing I had promised both him and myself that I would never, ever do. The thought of him wondering what happened to Aunt Cari and why she hadn’t come for him yet was worse than anything else. Like a knife to my heart. Or a machete.

What were they telling him? What sort of story had they put together to explain away where I was?

Maybe they’ll call today,I told myself as I pulled through the sliding gate and drove down the road leading to the facility. It was just after six in the morning, the sky only starting to lighten up, and there were already over a dozen cars by the south entrance.

Who were these people, and why did they never go home? I had never been in contact with any of the other scientists. Just the security guard by the door and the nameless employees who brought food for Cash and came in to clean up his area. It was like working in a vacuum. Sometimes I felt like we were the last two people on the planet. Little flights of fancy were easy when I was sleep-deprived and half out of my mind with panic.

I followed my usual route inside, down the hall, into the lab. After nearly a week, I didn’t have to think about it anymore. My feet did the work for me, while my brain was elsewhere. What were they doing to Tommy? Would they call today?

The lab was dark. Cash wasn’t even up yet.

I flipped on the lights and slid out of my jacket, which I’d have to switch out for a coat if the temperatures kept dipping as they did. It would be Halloween soon. I was supposed to spend it with Tommy. He was going to dress up like Batman—the costume hung in his closet, where I’d hung it after we went to the mall. Was that only last weekend? It might as well have been a lifetime since then. I’d been distracted, too, thinking about Mary’s phone call and what a new job meant for me. I was so stupid. I should’ve been more concerned with Tommy, soaking in every minute with him. God, how much time had I wasted, thinking about other things when I should’ve been focused on him?

I sat at the workstation and lowered my head into my hands. It throbbed with every beat of my aching heart. How long could a person last on only a couple of hours sleep a night? Broken sleep, at that. Sometimes I didn’t even get out of my clothes before I crawled into bed.

There was work to be done. I had to do something, anything, to keep from going crazy. And if I kept thinking about my nephew, there was no other possible result. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail—did I even brush it this morning?—and gulped some of the coffee I’d bought on my way in, before logging into my machine.

At least the work was going well. I’d be ready to start testing antidotes soon, maybe in another day or two. It was surreal, all of it, having to go on with my work and care about the results when my life was in ruins around me. Investing myself in the outcome when so little of me was available to invest.

That was unfair, too, because what I was finding was so interesting. I wished I had the mental and emotional bandwidth to devote to it.

He was a miracle of human engineering. No, not human, of course. Sometimes I forgot how different he was. His blood was fabulously unique. No wonder someone wanted it. The cells hardly aged at all—which boded well for those who wanted to use it, I reminded myself when I fretted over the age of the blood as it sat in refrigeration. It wouldn’t spoil for a very long time. Maybe not ever. After several days, slides of the first samples I’d drawn were just as fresh as those I’d taken four days later. Completely interchangeable. No signs of molecular breakdown.

The implications were many. How old was he? If he didn’t age…

I should’ve learned more about shifters going into the assignment, but I hadn’t wanted to draw conclusions before I started the analysis. There was a lot of speculation about them, that much I knew. False assumptions might lead me down the wrong path, even if I decided to ignore what I read.

“Good morning.”

I looked up to find him standing in the doorway. Yes. A miracle of engineering. Just another thing I wished I could enjoy a little more. Instead of my pulse racing because of his unspoken power, the natural energy coming from him—the way I had that first day—it picked up out of guilt. I could hardly look at him anymore. He had no idea the part he played in any of what I suffered. He didn’t even know I was suffering.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that. The mocking, chiding voice in my head wouldn’t let me get away with lying. A blind, deaf person would be able to tell I was in over my head, and Cash had much stronger instincts than a human. I knew that much for sure.

He saw through me every day. He treated me like a wounded animal he needed to give space to. He watched me carefully, he spoke quietly. There was no way he didn’t know something was up.

I wanted to tell him. I might feel at least a little better if he knew why I was hoarding his blood. I wasn’t hurting him, so why did it bother me so much? Because the whole thing seemed shady. Dangerous. People who went so far as to steal a child weren’t going to use shifter blood for wonderful, helpful purposes. They weren’t likely candidates for the Nobel Peace Prize.

So, I had no choice but to do what I’d been doing for days. I tried to smile and started feeding him lies.

“Good morning. How was your night?”

“Longer than yours, apparently.” He checked his watch. Did people still wear watches? “You only left around six hours ago. Maybe seven.”

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