Page 31 of Private Exhibit
Oliver nodded, his eyes wide. “Who's it from?”
Devon looked closer, seeing the Rosses' names at the top. He flinched back. “The hells?” he whispered, then looked downat the letter in his hands. He started to read, feeling his heart plummet with every word.
“Dev?” Oliver asked. “Dev, what's wrong?”
Devon thrust the letter into Oliver's hands and slumped back in his chair. He'd entirely forgotten about the Rosses' missed call. But if this was the reason why they'd tried contacting him…
He swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, fighting tears.
A beat of silence passed, then Oliver read aloud, “'Devon, it was so nice getting to finally meet you. We have to get back home, but we didn't want to leave without trying to make up for the life we denied you. We're sure you've had difficult medical bills and other expenses over the years, so we hope this helps. Wishing you all the best…'” Oliver trailed off. “Are you fucking kidding me? They leave you to grow up all alone in an orphanage and they think money is gonna make up for that? Assholes!”
Devon flinched at Oliver's outburst, then felt a swell of some intense feeling in his chest. He loved that Oliver cared. Pretty much the only person in his life to have ever done so.
He looked at the offending check and shoved it away.
Chapter 12
ANDY PACED the empty morgue, bored out of his mind. Despite the way his messy desk had made things appear—all those backlogged files stacked up everywhere—people didn't die all that often in New Haven. On all of Agoran, really, unless it was from old age or a fluke accident. Advances in medical technology meant that most known diseases were no longer a widespread issue.
The rest of the world was a completely different story. Tanas, especially. The mortality rate was so high there that they didn't even have enough time or manpower to dig individual graves. Apparently, bodies were thrown into enormous, natural pits in the ground and burned periodically to make more room. It didn't help that their socialized medical system was abysmal. No surprise there. People suffered in waiting and died before they could receive proper care. Not that the care was truly proper, from what Andy had heard. Their medical technology was well behind the times, mostly thanks to rampant regulation.
On Agoran, everything was so much better. It certainly didn't hurt that the medical industry's entire focus was based on diet, exercise, and the monitoring of routine bodily functions. Five hundred years ago, before the government was shut down, medical care was heavily influenced by the lobbyists for drug companies. Doctors had jumped straight to throwing pills at an issue rather than digging down to find the actual, root cause, which was often a simple matter of lifestyle. Andy had hatedreading about that in his medical history classes. It all sounded so utterly lazy. Doctors took an oath to do no harm, then abhorrently failed.
And their patients paid the price.
Now, all that had changed. Drug companies could no longer rely on a government stamp of approval or some new regulation. They had to actually work in the free market. Prove their products and compete. And doctors had to actually solve problems rather than just throwing band-aids at them. Consequently, people were healthier than they'd ever been.
For all intents and purposes, University Hospital operated as a wellness checkup center. People came in for routine exams far more than for emergencies or chronic conditions. Of course, there would always be accidents. And people would be people, doing stupid, dangerous things. Andy still couldn't believe how many times, during his early years as a doctor, he'd had to remove a foreign object from somebody's nose or rectum.
He'd seen some strange things used as dildos at the club, but what came into the E.R. was an entirely different story.
Of course, not everything was always as neat and tidy as a textbook scenario, either. That was where Andy had truly made his place in the medical world. Some bodies simply didn't behave the way they were designed. Nor did some diseases. Each case was utterly unique, and Andy had loved that challenge. He'd thrived upon trying to figure out exactly what combination of conditions or order of symptoms had led to whatever it was the patient was experiencing. He loved delving down to find the root cause. It may have been all well and good, five hundred years ago, to simply pile one medication on top of another to manage the symptoms, but that wasn't enough anymore. Actually fixing the problem had to be the focus, and Andy had been a master at that.
Until he couldn't fix his own son.
Andy punched at one of the autopsy tables, the cold metal biting his skin. How was it that humans had managed to cure nearly all forms of cancer, yet Ashworth-Grahams failed to respond to any treatment whatsoever? Andy had tried every known procedure. Every possible drug. He'd analyzed and studied his patients until he knew their bodies from the inside out, then tested and experimented and theorized until he'd nearly killed himself with strain, only to fail over and over. Now, his son was dead. As were so many others.
Before he knew it, Devon would join them.
Andy looked across the morgue, staring at the door to his office. He had no idea if Devon was even still in there. For all he knew, the boy could either have snuck out or was simply sitting there screwing around instead of working. Andy shook his head.No. Devon wouldn't screw around. He didn't seem the type. Andy took a step away from the table, sorely tempted to walk in there and check on the boy's progress, then stopped himself. If he went near Devon, the temptation would only get worse.
He had to stay away.
Andy tried lying down for a while, hoping that some good music and deep breathing might help settle him again, since it had worked the day before. He managed to fall asleep for about an hour, but his mind was plagued with chaotic dreams the whole time. His son dying. Devon dying. Some faceless figure chasing him in the dark, relentlessly on his heels, threatening to consume him. Andy woke with a gasp and nearly fell right off the table.
Twenty years, he'd been having that particular nightmare. It still wouldn't go away.
Andy went back to pacing, stopping occasionally to clean surfaces that were already spotless. By the time the clock finally read fifth hour of evening, Andy was ready to scream. Still, hemade himself wait several minutes before he risked peeking into the office.
He let out a shaky exhale. Devon was gone for the day.
But the boy definitely hadn't been idle.
“Holy shit,” Andy gasped, stepping farther into the room. He could almost see the whole desk surface. And the two stacks of paper files had definitely changed, theDONEpile now taller than the one labeledTO DO.
Andy slowly pulled out the chair and sank into it. The seat was still just noticeably warm, a tiny shred of proof that Devon had actually been there.
That Devon was still alive.
