Of Illnesses And Antidotes

Chapter Eleven

We're in the shower room. Again. But this time, we're not all squashed into one cubicle, but stood in the space outside of the cubicles where there is more room. Lana and Jas are slumped against the wall, Renée is perched on the edge of a basin and Val stands firmly with her arms folded. I stand opposite her, on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall. None of them look particularly thrilled to be here, but the tight and anxious faces say enough about the atmosphere.

"Well?" Val demands, looking pointedly at me. "Did you get it?"

Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve the autopsy. "Doctor Perkins was sick so we were transferred over to none other than Doctor Warren." I hand Val the report and she snatches it up.

"But I've got to get it back as soon as possible."

Val's eyes flit up from the sheet and pierce themselves on me. "Why? Does someone know?" Her voice is worryingly alarmed.

"No... but, I heard something."

"What?"

"After the dance, I..." Pausing, I consider adding the details or jumping straight to it. I opt for the latter. "I heard Doctor Sullivan and this other guy discussing the autopsy, and how Doctor Warren would be finished with it by this evening."

"How did-"

"Did you hear anything else?" Val cuts through Renée's speech, much to the mild irritation clouding across her face.

"Erm..." I scratch my head, trying to remember something from the previous night. "I... I can't really remember much... er, oh wait, they were talking about the lack of doctors. Doctor Warren mentioned it briefly when I had my injection the other day. It was something to do with working here not being a popular job?" I shrug my shoulders, joining in with my friends' confusion. "Then, Doctor Sullivan said about some sort of scheme, and how it needs to work?" I shake my head, smiling to myself. "Honestly, that makes no sense but that's what I heard."

The only one whose face isn't stitched over with bewilderment – the only one ever in general – is Val. Her eyes are fixated on the ground, her brows knotted together. She squints slightly and bites her lip. She shakes her head.

"You're right, it doesn't make a lot of sense," she says quietly. "Anyway, back to the autopsy." Straightening the paper out, her eyes skim the text. "...mostly likely died from a stab wound to the chest... entry to the midclavicular lines... direction front to back... estimated depth...." Val pauses and frowns. "No. No, that can't be right."

"What's wrong?"

Val stares straight at us, her lips pressed tightly together. She pushes her glasses up her nose. "Traces of niqolytocin were found in his blood yet the cause of death is consistently reiterated as a fatal stab wound. It makes no sense."

"What's niq... niqoly...?"

"Niqolytocin?"

I nod. "Yeah, that. What the hell is it?"

Val's lips form a grim line. "Poison."

A gasp flutters around the room, releasing a tsunami of stunned silence.

My eyes are wide, my mouth partially open. "But... how..."

"It's implied here that he stabbed himself."

"Why?" Lana's voice is tinged with bewilderment. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he knew he was going to die anyway." Something clicks in my brain. Fragments of knowledge begin to slot together, developing a clearer image of the unfolding events. "He knew what was happening, what was going on, so he tried to escape, right?" Four heads nod slowly so I continue. "But as he was trying to escape, they found him. So, to save dying from whatever he thought was going to kill him anyway, he decided to do it himself. It was an easy way out."