Page 15 of Private Exhibit
“Gerard–” Mr. Bokin said.
“Get out!” the doctor roared.
Devon jumped. He stared up at the doctor, shocked at the transformation of the man, then got up and fled the room as fast as he could go.
Behind him, he heard Mr. Bokin ask, “Was that really necessary?”
“You, too,” the doctor barked. “Get out!”
Devon dove into the elevator car and sagged back against the wall. The doors closed, cutting off the sound of all that fury.Holy shit. He covered his ears even though he couldn't hear anything, the tension in the air making even the silence far too loud.
He'd had bad reactions to his disease before, butnothinglike that.
And no wonder.
The man wasn't any old random Dr. Gerard. He wastheDr. Anderson Gerard, the world's only expert on Ashworth-Grahams. The man who'd spent sixteen years studying the disease, only to suddenly stop, and nobody knew why. Devon had moved to New Haven specifically to meet the man, but when he'd arrived, he'd learned the doctor had given up his study and his practice. Devon had come too late.
But now? Of all the people he could have met at the club, why him?
What the hells were the chances?
Chapter 6
ANDY BARELY managed to make it behind his desk in time. He sank into his chair like his legs had been cut out from under him.
Oh my gods. What were the chances? To finally make an intense connection with another human being for the first time in two decades, only to find out that person had the very disease that had haunted his entire adult life?
Andy stared up at the ceiling, uselessly wishing he could see all the way into the Void and glimpse the gods themselves.Why?he begged them. Why did this have to happen? Why him? Why now?
Would he never escape his utter failure?
Dad?
Andy nearly jumped right out of his chair.Gods, kid. You keep scaring me like that…
Sorry, Junior said with a grimace.I figured you were expecting me. You were thinking about mehardjust now.
Andy winced.Shit. That was something he still hadn't gotten used to, even after four years. Ghosts could becalled, in a sense, by nothing more than a simple thought. Andy had no idea how it worked, just that it did. If he ever needed to speak to Junior, all he had to do was think about him, and the boy would simply appear.Sorry.
What's wrong?
Nothing, Andy lied.
Junior rolled his eyes.I call bullshit.
Language, Andy bit off, then sighed and admitted,I just met someone new with A-G.
Junior's eyes went wide.In an interview?
Yeah.
Junior was silent for a moment.How old is he?
Andy shook his head.I don't know. Early twenties, maybe?
Whoa.
Yeah, Andy agreed.Whoawas right. Hells, it was an understatement. More than anybody else in the world, Andy knew the devastating odds. For those born with Ashworth-Grahams, ninety-one percent didn't live to see their first birthday. Of the ones who remained, most didn't survive more than another couple years. The record for longest life with the disease was twenty-seven years, five months, and two days.
