Robin Cook - Acceptable Risk

“That’s exactly the reason that there is bound to be another episode like the one I just lived through,” Kim said. “It’s inevitable with the potential demand for psychotropic drugs.”

“If there is another such episode, I’m sure the witch industry in Salem hopes that it will occur here,” Kinnard said with a laugh. “Your experience has been a boon for business.”

Kim picked up a stick and poked into the rubble of the castle. Metal objects had been distorted out of shape because of the intense heat.

“This house contained all the material legacy of twelve generations of Stewarts,” Kim said. “Everything is lost.”

“I’m sorry,” Kinnard said. “It must be very upsetting.”

“Not really,” Kim said. “Most of it was junk except for a few pieces of furniture. There wasn’t even one decent painting except for the portrait of Elizabeth, which survived. The only thing that I truly regret losing are the letters and papers I’d found about her. I’ve lost them all and only have copies of two that were made at Harvard. Now the copies are the only corroboration that exists concerning Elizabeth’s involvement in the Salem witchcraft upheaval, and that’s not going to be enough to convince most historians.”

They stood for a time gazing at the ashes. Finally Kinnard suggested they move on. Elizabeth nodded. They walked back to the car and drove over to the lab.

Kim unlocked the door. They passed through the reception area and Kim opened the inner door. Kinnard was amazed. It was just empty space.

“Where is everything?” he asked. “I thought this was a lab.”

“It was,” Kim said. “I told Stanton everything had to be out immediately. I told him if it weren’t, I’d donate it all to a charity.”

Kinnard made a motion of dribbling a basketball and shooting it. The sound of his heels echoed in the room. “You could always convert it to a gym,” he said.

“I think I’d prefer a studio,” Kim said.

“Are you serious?” Kinnard asked.

“I think I am,” Kim said.

Leaving the lab, they drove on to the cottage. Kinnard was relieved to see it hadn’t been stripped like the lab. “It would be a shame to destroy this,” he said. “You’ve made it into a delightful house.”

“It is cute,” Kim admitted.

They walked into the parlor. Kinnard walked around the room and examined everything carefully.

“Do you think you’d ever want to live here again?” Kinnard asked.

“I think so,” she said. “Someday. What about you? Do you think you could ever live in a place like this?”

“Sure,” Kinnard said. “After taking the rotation out here I’ve been offered a position with a group at Salem Hospital that I’m seriously considering. Living here would be ideal. The only trouble is, I think it might be a bit lonely.”

Kim looked up into Kinnard’s face. He raised his eyebrows provocatively.

“Is that a proposition?” Kim asked.

“It could be,” Kinnard said evasively.

Kim thought for a moment. “Maybe we should see how we feel about each other after a ski season.”

Kinnard chuckled. “I like your new sense of humor,” he said. “You can now joke about things that I know are important to you. You’ve really changed.”

“I hope so,” she said. “It was long overdue.” She gestured up at Elizabeth’s portrait. “I have my ancestor to thank for making me see the need and giving me the courage. It’s not easy breaking old patterns. I only hope I can maintain this new me, and I hope you can live with it.”

“I’m loving it so far,” he said. “I feel less like I’m walking on eggshells when we’re together. I mean, I don’t have to guess continually how you are feeling.”

“I’m amazed but thankful that something good has come out of such an awful episode,” she said. “The real irony for me is that I finally had the courage to tell my father what I think of him.”

“Why is that ironic?” he asked. “I’d say it’s perfectly in keeping with your new ability to communicate what’s on your mind.”

“The irony is not that I did it,” she said. “It’s because of the result. A week after the conversation that turned very nasty on his part he phoned me, and now we seem to be enjoying the beginnings of a meaningful relationship.”

“That’s wonderful,” Kinnard said. “Just like with us.”

“Yup,” Kim said. “Just like with us.”

She reached up and put her good arm around his neck and hugged him. He reciprocated with equal ardor.

Friday, May 19, 1995

Kim paused and looked up at the façade of the newly constructed brick building she was about to enter. Above the door set into the brick was a long white marble plaque on which was carved in low relief: 'omni pharmaceuticals'. She was not sure how she felt about the fact the company was still in business in light of all that had happened. Yet she understood that with all his money tied up in the venture, Stanton was not about to let it simply die.

Kim opened the door and entered. At a reception desk she left her name. After waiting for a few minutes a pleasant, conservatively dressed woman appeared, to escort her up to the door of one of the company’s labs.

“When you’ve finished your visit do you think you will be able to find your way out without difficulty?” the woman asked.

Kim assured her she could and thanked her. After the woman left, Kim turned to the lab door and entered.

From Stanton’s description, Kim knew what to expect. The door that she’d just passed through did not take her into the lab. It took her into an anteroom. The common wall with the lab itself was glass from desk height to the ceiling. In front of the glass were several chairs. On the wall below the glass were a communications unit and a brass-handled door that resembled an after-hours bank drop.

Beyond the glass was a modern, state-of-the-art biomedical laboratory that bore an uncanny resemblance to the lab in the stables building in the compound.

Following Stanton’s instructions, Kim sat in the chair and pressed the red “call” button on the communications console. Inside the lab she saw two figures stand up from behind a lab bench where they had been busy working. Seeing Kim, they started over.

Kim immediately felt a wave of sympathy for the pair. She never would have recognized them. It was Edward and Gloria. Both were tremendously disfigured from their burns. They were essentially hairless. Both were also facing more cosmetic surgery. They walked stiffly and pushed “keep open” IVs in front of them with hands that had lost fingers.

When they spoke their voices were hoarse whispers. They thanked Kim for coming and expressed their disappointment that they were unable to show her around the lab that had been specifically designed with their handicaps in mind.

After a pause in the conversation, Kim asked them how they were getting along healthwise.

“Pretty good considering what we have to deal with,” Edward said. “Our biggest problem is that we’re still experiencing ‘fits’ even though the Ultra has completely been cleared from our brains.”

“Are they still brought on by sleep?” Kim asked.

“Not by sleep,” Edward said. “They now come on spontaneously like an epileptic seizure, without any warning. The good part is that they only last for a half hour or less, even when untreated.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kim said. She struggled against a sadness that threatened to well up inside of her. She was facing people whose lives had been all but destroyed.

“We’re the sorry ones,” Edward said.

“It’s our own fault,” Gloria said. “We should have known better than to start taking the drug until all the toxicity studies were completed.”