Stephenie Meyer - The Chemist

He smiled while he spoke, but his eyes were down, focused on writing his information on the back of a receipt with a no. 2 pencil.

“That’s very considerate of you. I appreciate it.”

He looked up, still smiling. “Or you don’t have to throw it away. You could also use it to call me and then spend a few hours talking to me while I buy you food.”

The monotone voice overhead announced the Penn Quarter station and she was relieved. Because she was starting to feel sad. Yes, she was going to have a night out with Daniel Beach, but neither of them was going to enjoy it very much.

There could be no room for sadness. So many innocent dead. Dead children, dead mothers and fathers. Good people who had never hurt anyone.

“It’s a dilemma,” she answered quietly.

The train stopped again, and she pretended to be jostled by the man exiting behind her. The appropriate needle was already in her hand. She reached out as if to steady herself with the pole and grabbed Daniel’s hand in a move designed to look accidental. He jerked in surprise, and she held on tight like she was trying to keep her balance.

“Ouch. Sorry, I shocked you,” she said. She released him and let the tiny syringe slide out of her palm into her blazer’s pocket. Sleight of hand was something she’d practiced a lot.

“No worries. You okay? That guy really knocked you.”

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

The car started moving again, and she watched as Daniel’s face quickly lost its color.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked. “You look a little pale.”

“Um, I… what?”

He glanced around, confused.

“You look like you’re going to pass out. Excuse me,” she said to the woman in the seat beside them. “Can my friend sit? He’s not feeling well.”

The woman rolled her enormous brown eyes and then looked studiously in the other direction.

“No,” Daniel said. “Don’t… bother about me. I’m…”

“Daniel?” she asked.

He was swaying a little now, his face dead white.

“Give me your hand, Daniel.”

Looking bemused, he held out his hand. She gripped his wrist, moving her lips in an obvious way as she looked at her watch and pretended to count to herself.

“Medicine,” he muttered. “You’re a doctor.”

This part was closer to the scripted version, and it made her more comfortable. “Yes, and I’m not pleased with your condition. You’re getting off at the next stop with me. We’re going to get you some air.”

“Can’t. School… can’t be late.”

“I’ll write you a note. Don’t argue with me, I know what I’m doing.”

“’Kay. Alex.”

L’Enfant Plaza was one of the biggest and most chaotic stations on the line. When the door opened, Alex put her arm around Daniel’s waist and led him out. He draped one arm over her shoulder for support. This didn’t surprise her. The tryptamine she’d injected him with made people disoriented, acquiescent, and quite friendly. He would follow her lead as long as she didn’t push him too hard. The drug was distantly related to a class of barbiturates that laypeople called truth serum and that had a few effects similar to Ecstasy; both were good for breaking down inhibitions and inducing cooperation. She liked this particular synthesis because of the confusion. Daniel would feel incapable of decision making and therefore would do whatever she told him to until it wore off – or unless she asked him to do something that really pushed against the walls of his comfort zone.

This was easier than she’d hoped, thanks to the unexpected tête-à-tête. She’d planned to stick him, then play the old Is there a doctor in the house? Why, yes, I happen to be a doctor! routine to get him to go with her initially. It would have worked, but he would not have been this docile.

“Okay, Daniel, how are you feeling? Can you breathe?”

“Sure. Breathing’s good.”

She walked quickly with him. This drug rarely made anyone sick, but there were always exceptions. She glanced up to check his color. He was still pale but his lips hadn’t taken on the greenish hue that would presage nausea.

“Do you feel sick to your stomach?” she asked.

“No. No, I’m fine…”

“I’m afraid you’re not. I’m going to take you to work with me, if that’s okay. I want to make sure this isn’t serious.”

“Okay… no. I have school?”

He was keeping pace with her easily despite his disorientation. His legs were about twice as long as hers.

“We’ll tell them what’s happening. You have a number for the school?”

“Yes, Stacey – in the office.”

“We’ll call her while we walk.”

This would slow them down, but there was no help for it; she had to allay his concern so he would stay docile.

“Good idea.” He nodded, then pulled an old BlackBerry out of his pocket and fumbled with the buttons.

She took it gently from his hand. “What’s the last name for Stacey?”

“It’s under ‘Front desk.’”

“I see it. Okay, I’ll dial for you. Here, tell Stacey you’re sick. You’re going to the doctor.”

He took the phone obediently, then waited for Stacey to answer.

“Hello,” he said. “Stacey. I’m Daniel. Yes, Mr. Beach. Not feeling so good, going to see Dr. Alex. Sorry. Hate to dump this on you. Sorry, thanks. Yes, get better, for sure.”

She flinched a little when he used her name, but that was just habit. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be Alex again for a while, that was all.

It was a risk, taking him out of school. Something de la Fuentes might notice if he was keeping close tabs on his messenger of death. But surely he would not raise the alarm to critical over one missed Friday. When Daniel showed up intact Monday morning, the drug lord would be reassured.

She took the phone from Daniel and pocketed it.

“I’ll hold this for you, okay? You look unsteady and I don’t want you to lose it.”

“Okay.” He looked around again and frowned at the giant concrete ceiling arcing overhead. “Where are we going?”

“My office, remember? We’re going to get on this train now.” She didn’t see any faces from the other train in this car. If they were following, they were doing it from a distance. “Look, here’s a seat. You can rest.” She helped him settle, surreptitiously dropping his phone by her foot and then nudging it farther under the seat with her shoe.

Tracking a cell phone was the very easiest way to find someone without having to do any work. Cell phones were a trap she’d always avoided. It was like volunteering to tag yourself for the enemy.

Well, she also didn’t really have anyone to call.

“Thanks,” Daniel said. He still had one arm around her, though now, with him sitting and her standing, it was at her waist. He stared up at her dizzily and then added, “I like your face.”

“Oh. Um, thank you.”

“I like it a lot.”

The woman sitting next to Daniel looked over at Alex and examined her face. Great.

The woman seemed unimpressed.

Daniel leaned his forehead against her hip and closed his eyes. The proximity was disconcerting on a few different levels, but also oddly comforting. It had been a long time since any human being had touched her with affection, even if this affection had come out of a test tube. Regardless, she couldn’t let him fall asleep yet.

“What do you teach, Daniel?”

He angled his face up, his cheek still resting on her hip.

“Mostly English. That’s my favorite.”

“Really? I was horrible at all the humanities. I liked science best.”

He made a face. “Science!”

She heard the woman beside him mutter, “Drunk,” to her other neighbor.