Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Kaden had paused, but now he continued. “I started thriving. I gained weight. I could eat. I could sleep without more meds. I could focus at school.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
He glanced at his wife. “Not for a while. I was young and I trusted my aunt, or maybe I just felt so good I didn’t want to question it, but in any case, she suggested I don’t mention it to my doctor, so it was a good year before he realized why I was doing so well. He said we were being reckless and insisted I go back on the medication.”
“Did you?”
“No. Tammy fought it. She was a fighter, and I think she’d lost enough times that she simply wasn’t afraid to toss it all on the line. For herself. For me. For anyone she loved.”
“God rest her soul,” Ashtyn said softly, and Kaden gave her hand a squeeze.
“Anyway, I hadn’t developed any tumors. I was feeling great and doing well in school. The doctors were amazed. They ran test after test.” He paused for a moment. “Then Dr. Heathrow came to the house to see me.”
“Dr. Heathrow?” That surprised Autumn. Why would Dr. Heathrow want to be involved in the treatment of a boy who was no longer at his hospital?
“Yeah. He talked to my aunt, asked for an exact account of side effects I’d experienced and how those had lessened or gone away entirely.” He frowned. “I remember him patting my head like a dog and saying, ‘I wanted to see the miracle boy,’ which sounded kind of nice, but the look on his face was something else. He didn’t look happy at all. I remember his expression as barely contained anger.”
A shiver went down Autumn’s spine as she pictured the man, his face still clear in her mind though she hadn’t seen him for almost a decade.
Kaden went on, “Anyway, the next day, I got called into my doctor’s office and was declared healed. No more tests, no nothing. That was it. Thinking back, it was abrupt. Strange. But again, I was ten.”
Autumn nodded slowly. She was disturbed, still confused, the pieces coming together in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready to acknowledge just yet. “My story is similar, at least as far as the abrupt declaration that I was healed. I’d gone off my medication on my own.”
Kaden raised his brows. “At the hospital? You must have had to sneak.”
“I did. The hospital staff never said that they knew I was no longer taking the drug cocktail.” But now she wondered. Had they suspected? Had they caught her on camera sneaking around the other facility as she’d once believed? Both? In simple terms, was she suddenly more trouble than she was worth? “Kaden, did you ever have dreams of being in the woods?”
He looked briefly confused. “What woods? The woods surrounding the hospital?”
“Yes. Or…general woods. Any woods.”
“No. I did experience the very vivid dreams that felt real. Those were all the drugs though, because I don’t have those now.”
“Yes, I experienced those too,” she murmured. They sat there for a moment, both quiet, going over their own thoughts.
“Okay, I’m just going to come out and say what I know we’re all considering,” Ashtyn said. She glanced at her husband and then looked at Autumn. “Is it possible they knew you didn’t have ADHM but put you on the medication anyway?”
Kaden looked at her, his face draining of color. “Why would they do that?”
“Because they needed a control group,” Autumn said, voicing what had been slithering through her mind but that she’d only put into words right that moment.
“That can’t be true,” Kaden said, but Autumn heard the note of doubt in his voice. “That would be pure evil.”
Yes, yes, it would be. But so would being left alone and defenseless in the woods so children could practice being monsters.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The sheriff’s office looked like any other small-town sheriff’s office and, Mark thought as he entered the building, smelled like one. A somehow pleasant mixture of stale coffee and Xerox paper. Or maybe it was just pleasant to Mark because he’d worked in buildings like this all his career. To him, they smelled like purpose.
“Agent Mark Gallagher here to see Sheriff Monroe,” he told the receptionist when he stepped up to the desk.
“Is he expecting you, Agent Gallagher?”
“No. But if you’ll let him know it’s official business about an important ongoing case, that would be appreciated.”
“Absolutely, sir.” The young girl picked up the phone and spoke on it as Mark wandered to the bulletin board hung near the door, perusing the myriad notices common to small towns: missing pets, community meetings, a kid named Timothy advertising his lawn mowing business. “He asks that I send you back,” the receptionist said, and Mark turned back to her. “His office is just around the corner, first door on the right.”