Page 35 of Seth
Gustavo laughed, grabbed his jacket, and strolled out of the office.
The hematomaonhis ribs darkened, but the swelling diminished. Seth’s vision kept slipping to darkness and returning with a scattering of opalescent splotches. His breathing grew short, and it was hard to fill his lungs as if something heavy compressed his chest.
His hair stank of the river. The swampy, slimy smell bothered him, so he took a shower then slipped into dry linen pants and a t-shirt. He returned to the underground garage and collected his soggy clothes, then loaded the washing machine.
The symptoms refused to abate, reinforcing that he required immediate medical assistance. Still, he unloaded the truck and carried his shield and the tool belt into his studio.
The painting he had stolen absorbed moisture. Clearing his drafting board, he reclined it and spread the canvas over the wooden surface. The sudden spin of the room forced him to cover his eyes with his palm and fumble around with his other hand to look for support. He stood unmoving, hoping the minute of calm would slow his spinning head. When it didn’t, he texted his physician, David Haas.
“I think I broke my ribs.”
The reply“on my way”came promptly. Fifteen minutes later, a hand that had always smelled like camphor oil touched his cheek then forehead, habitually checking for signs of fever. Seth cringed inwardly but didn’t shy away. With a hand gesture, he invited the doctor inside and escorted him into the living room.
He pulled off his t-shirt. The doctor fetched a hand sanitizer from his bag, and rubbed it into his hands, the sharp smell of alcohol spreading in the air. The light-gray eyes examined him with concern before the doctor placed both hands to his chest, poking and pressing the hematoma.
“Any sharp pain?” Seth didn’t reply, and the doctor winced. “Sorry, a habit. It doesn’t feel all that bad. The bones don’t creak or shift. I think it’s just a crack. Still, I’d like you to come with me.”
When Seth remained silent, the doctor insisted, “You need X-rays, and it’s been four months since you showed up for your checkups. Even if you didn’t message me today, I would have come next week anyway.”
Receiving no answer, the doctor picked up his digital tablet. “You lost weight. I’m going to check your virtual cloud.”
Seth cringed. The doctor hummed, his finger stroking the display. He hummed again, then leveled Seth with a hard look. “Is this correct, or you don’t keep the records anymore?”
Not waiting for Seth to reply, he put the tablet aside, strolled toward the staircase, and disappeared downstairs. When he returned, a heavy thought clouded his eyes, and his gait lacked the bouncy energy that had been there only a moment ago.
“This is all you eat? Olives?”
Seth shrugged. “Eating alone is boring, doctor. And it’s the only food I can taste now.”
“You barely sleep too. Your step tracker shows activities 24/7.”
Seth smirked. “I feel fine.”
“You don’t know how you feel.” Palm against Seth’s chest, the doctor shoved him on the sofa, then squatted before him to look him in the eye. “This all looks painfully familiar. Is there anything else I should check?”
Seth laughed, a hiss in the air. “Doctor, I’m no longer a teenager who can’t take care of himself. I’m not helpless.”
“That’s what scares me most. You didn’t do anything stupid, did you?”
“No,” Seth smiled.
The piercing gaze of the light-gray eyes suggested the doctor didn’t believe him. With a sigh, David straightened up and said, “Put on your clothes. You’re coming with me.”
* * *
Diego pulledoverin front of the admission department of a private hospital. He glanced in the rearview mirror, then reached to the dashboard to turn off the engine.
Gustavo looked up from his phone. “Not here. To the morgue.”
“Morgue? You do know that pathologists usually don’t consult alive people.”
“Didn’t you say I should grant Seth’s wish? I intend to give him what he wants. Drive to the morgue.”
Diego narrowed his eyes but didn’t stir.
Gustavo chuckled, rested his palm on Diego’s shoulder, and took his time to explain what he had in mind. When he finished, Diego cleared his throat and shook Gustavo’s hand off his shoulder.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice pitched, he sucked a deep breath, then continued. “I’m not taking part in this!”
