The Rules of the Red - 2nd Edition |✓|

Chapter Thirteen, Part Four - Checks And Balances

"Well, this is awkward," I said. "I could've sworn this was the bathroom...."

"Rubbish," snarled Dr. Harris. "Only hospital staff have access down here, and I've never seen you before. George, call security!"

George turned in the phone's direction. It was tacked to the wall, only a few feet away, and I knew he could reach it in seconds.

"Wait!" At the sound of my voice, George and Dr. Harris hesitated. "You're right. I know I'm not supposed to be down here, but I came because I need information on someone who was admitted here. His name was Jack Noble."

As I spoke, I edged my way around them so I could stand with my back to the elevator. Subsequently, they revolved with me, determined to keep me under their watchful gaze. Soon enough, their backs would be to the desk which meant they wouldn't be able to see Ethan. "Do you remember him?" The two shared a dark, telling look as Ethan peeked from behind the desk.

"We don't have any bodies under that name," George said. Unlike the more imposing voice of his colleague–who was clearly George's boss–Dr. Grey's voice was wracked with self-doubt and hesitance. I could smell the weakness on him.

"Not now, maybe," I agreed. "But you did, didn't you? A little more than a year ago? August twenty-third?"

"What of it?" Dr. Harris coldly asked. "The results of his autopsy would've been transitioned to a public file six weeks after his death--just like all other deceased. You could get the report from the police department if you wanted."

"Ding ding ding! We have a winner!" I smirked. "You know, that report you chopped up might've panned out if you didn't have a dinosaur for a computer. You two morons forgot to re-number the pages after you deleted four from the original file. And anyway--isn't Word supposed to do that for you automatically? What the heck? Is your computer, like, from the Dark Ages?"

"Well, uh, something like that," said George in a sheepish voice.

"Shut-up, you clown," commanded Dr. Harris. "We shouldn't be talking to her. What we should be doing is having her locked up for trespassing." Surprisingly swift for a man his age, Mr. Harris darted to his right. He picked up a small, lethal scalpel from a nearby table, and waved it in warning. "Or maybe, I should just take care of you myself..." Behind him, I could see Ethan creeping his way along. He nodded to me before picking up something metal and round.

"You're threatening me?" I scoffed at the old Human with the tiny weapon. "Sounds like you have something to hide, Dr. What did you take out of that report that you didn't want anyone else to see?"

Dr. Harris sneered. "I don't answer to you--you have no authority here. And whatever it is you think you know--it can't be proven. None of it."

"Mmm, yeah, about that, Doctor..." I took a step forward, still ignoring the scalpel. "I think you're wrong."

The amusement in his face, coupled with the lackadaisical manner in which he wielded the knife, let me know that Ethan was poised at the perfect moment. "Really? Interesting. And why is that?"

There was a strong, resounding "thung", and Dr. Harris dropped like a heavy sack of potatoes. Ethan was revealed and George jumped away like a fat, frightened rabbit.

I raised an eyebrow. "Ethan, gross. Is that a bedpan?"

"Uh... maybe." Ethan dropped the pan and wiped his hand across his jacket.

"You." I turned to the speechless George. "Help my friend get Dr. Harris on that table," I said, indicating a nearby, empty gurney. George's knees wobbled. "Make sure you strap him down nice and tight."

Despite his clumsy, bumbling appearance, I saw why Dr. Harris would keep the company of such a gauche companion–turns out George was extremely adept when it came to following directions. Quickly, he helped Ethan hoist his colleague's albatross of a body onto a cold, empty slab. The same straps that George might've used on one of his cadavers were then employed to secure the unconscious Doctor.

"There! I've done all you want! Now, will you let me go? I--I haven't got any money on me--I swear."

I sighed at George's folly. "You silly man, I'm not here for your money--I'm here for answers."

"Ok," he replied. "But are you going to tie me down too?"

"Why would I do that?" Without sparing him so much as a glance I headed back to the computer.

Ethan grinned and folded his arms across his chest. "Bro, you aren't exactly what we'd call a threat."

At the computer, I retook my former task of name-scrolling. It was a tedious and painfully slow operation, but it was worth it because I knew my father's name would be in the system.

"George," I said, still scrolling. "You seem like a smart guy who knows what his best interests are, so I've got some questions that you're going to answer. Agreed?"

"Yeah, but, well... what if I didn't? A-answer, I mean."

I suppose George's challenge could've been his residual attempt to prove that he truly was the threat Ethan refused to mistake him for. Or maybe he was just plain senseless. But for whatever reason, it was still an indication that fear could be powerful–even in the weakest of characters. Too bad I wasn't Human enough to be quelled by the strength of George's fear.

I offered George my best smile. "If you don't answer, then you're going to make Ethan very upset. Ethan--why don't you show George what happens when you get angry...?"

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