Page 8 of The Shadows of Excess

I stared at Dad, and my hope began to diminish. His once warm and comforting eyes now held a predatory glint that sent a shiver down my spine.

Brody sat at attention, his gaze shifting between Dad and us. “If we can’t find a cure for him, we’ll turn to Dr. Gould. We’re not out of options yet. We keep fighting, no matter what.” His voice was firm, filled with unwavering confidence that likely inspired Grady and Scott.

Tim pulled out a book, and the bookcase slid open to reveal his hidden laboratory. “All right, keep your britches on. We haven’t even given this cure a whirl yet,” he grumbled.

Brody, Grady, and Scott were momentarily frozen, their eyes widening in unspoken astonishment as they glanced at each other.

Scott scanned Tim’s office, taking in the surrounding bookcases. “Didn’t expect that. Any other surprises we should know about?”

I could hear the unease in his voice.

Damon sat back in his chair, a sly smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Possibly.” He left Scott wondering what other secrets lay hidden in Tim’s office.

Tim led Dad into the laboratory, a space that looked like it belonged to another era of scientific discovery. The room was cluttered yet organized in its own unique way, with microscopes and beakers scattered across various workbenches. Shelves were lined with jars of ingredients whose purposes were known only to Tim. The faint smell of chemicals and old books tinged the air.

In one corner stood an old, sturdy desk piled with stacks of weathered books and loose papers, reminiscent of Tim’s relentless quest for knowledge. Faded charts and diagrams adorned the walls, detailing everything from anatomical sketches to complex chemical formulas.

Amid all this, various pieces of well-used equipment were visible. An older model centrifuge, test tube racks filled with samples in various stages of analysis, and a soldering station that hinted at repaired equipment rather than new purchases.

Tim yanked a well-worn book off a shelf and started rifling through it. “Ah, got it right here,” he muttered.

Dad leaned in, peering over his shoulder with concern. “You sure you got all the stuff for this? Some of these ingredients aren’t exactly lying around.”

Tim shot him a pointed look of impatience and confidence. “I wouldn’t be waist-deep in this mess if I didn’t have what we need,” he grumbled as he nodded toward where we all sat at the conference table. He stuck out his thumb. “Now go park yourself with the rest. I don’t need you breathing down my neck. This ain’t a backseat driver kinda deal.”

Dad glared at him, but he returned to the table, taking the farthest seat. I couldn’t help but wonder if he didn’t trust himself around us.

As Tim heated a concoction in a beaker, the subtle hiss of the flame was almost hypnotic. The liquid inside began to bubble, sending a gentle, rhythmic sound through the air. A sweet, pungent aroma wafted from the mixture, growing more intense as it simmered. It mingled with the earthier scents of the crushed herbs and powders he methodically ground with a mortar and pestle. The grinding was a steady noise, a counterpoint to the soft, liquid bubbling.

My stomach churned as I tapped my foot nervously under the table. I watched with bated breath as Tim measured out various ingredients, stirring them together in the bubbling beaker. I could only hope this potion would be the solution to our problem.

Dad’s eyes narrowed into slits as he crossed his arms, watching Tim’s every move. His jaw was clenched, and a taut line creased his forehead, giving him the appearance of a hawk eyeing its prey.

The air in Tim’s lab grew thick with mingled odors, some acrid, others herbal and sharp. His movements were deliberate and focused, his hands skillfully manipulating each ingredient. The soft scraping of the pestle against the mortar, the gentle clink of glass, and the occasional crackle from the beaker’s contents over the flame filled the room with a symphony of small yet significant sounds.

If I didn’t know better, I would think he was Albus Dumbledore. All he needed was a robe and a wand.

After what seemed like an eternity, Tim finally stopped pouring and mixing ingredients. He carefully decanted the contents of the glass beaker, now a swirling, mysterious liquid, into a sturdy mason jar. The dark red liquid almost reminded me of blood. As he sealed the jar, a faint sigh of completion escaped his lips.

He turned, clutching the mason jar firmly. “All right, John, down the hatch with this. Ain’t no magic elixir, but it’s worth a shot.”

Dad slowly stood and met Tim halfway across the room. He eyed the elixir suspiciously. “You really think this will work?”

Tim shrugged as he nodded toward Brody. “If this doesn’t do the trick, we’ve got ourselves a plan B. No need to panic yet.”

Dad sniffed the mason jar, and his nose wrinkled.

Tim rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a sweet-smelling tea, John. Drink.”

As Dad lifted the jar to his lips, a heavy silence fell over the room. My heart hammered as he slowly drained the mixture, each swallow a glimmer of hope. I held my breath, a silent prayer forming in my mind.

Please, please, please let this work.

Liquid dribbled down Dad’s chin as if he were a greedy vampire. He finished and softly put the jar on the table. The room was thick with tension as we waited to see if it worked. Minutes clicked by, and nothing happened. I sat on the edge of my seat, ready to climb out of my skin. Had the elixir failed? A wave of doom washed over me. Instinctively, I reached for Damon’s hand, seeking the comfort of his unspoken strength.

Damon quickly cast a glance my way. His steely eyes betrayed a hint of uncertainty. As he clasped my hand, his grip was a silent promise of support and solidarity. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about our pact to face whatever came our way as a united front.

Dad stumbled backward and burped as if he was about to get sick.

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