His guide said, “I’ll wait out here. My instructions were to tell you to examine the woman inside to see if she’s physically healthy.”
Aboud raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “For what purpose?”
The guide appeared alarmed. “I don’t know, sir. The diviner told me to say those exact words, but I don’t know what they mean.” He turned the door knob and gestured for the doctor to pass in. “I’ll wait here until you’re through.”
The doctor entered warily, not knowing what to expect. What he saw didn’t match any of the mental scenarios he had conjured. He found himself alone with a thin, pale woman in her mid-twenties. She was seated in a rocking chair next to an empty crib, staring off glassy-eyed into space. There were no other children about.
“Hello,” Aboud advanced tentatively. “My name is Doctor Aboud. What’s yours?”
Her eyes moved ever so slowly in his direction. “Annabeth,” she murmured barely above a whisper.
Aboud suspected she had been sedated. “I’m here to examine you.” He ventured a few paces closer.
“There were other doctors here this morning,” Annabeth offered. “They stuck needles in my arm, and now I’m sleepy.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “No doubt they gave you something to help you rest.”
She mustered enough energy to sit upright. “Do you know where they took my son?”
“Why no,” he protested in surprise. “Is your son missing?”
“Yes. Everybody keeps telling me that he’s dead, but I know he isn’t. He’s been gone for such a long time now. I have to keep looking. I have to...” Her voice trailed off, and she gave him a puzzled look. She had apparently lost her train of thought.
“Let’s see how you’re doing.” He placed his fingertips on her wrist, counting the beats. Her pulse was fluttery and weak. He then performed a cursory examination of her breathing and reflexes. When he stared into her dilated pupils, she focused narrowly on his face.
“I think you’re the one.” She uttered the statement in mild surprise.
Aboud straightened up. “The one what?”
“The one my lady angel told me would come. She said you would be able to take me to where my son is.”
“Did she?” he asked indifferently.
She peered at him through her drug-induced haze. “Yes, I’m sure it was you she meant. Have you come to take me to him?”
Aboud was thrown by the question. “Not today, dear,” he replied evasively. “Another time perhaps.”
“Alright then.” Accepting his statement at face value, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
The reason for sedating the woman was now obvious to Aboud. Given that she was in the habit of conversing with angels, she must have suffered some sort of psychotic break. Annabeth was much mistaken if she thought he was a messenger from her lady angel, whoever that might be. The doctor smiled grimly to himself. The only angel with whom he maintained a nodding acquaintance was the angel of death. He slipped quietly out of the room.
His guide appeared to relax at his re-emergence. “She was very calm with you,” he observed.
“Isn’t she usually?”
“Um... not lately,” the young man hedged. “This way, doctor.” He gestured down the hall. “The diviner is waiting for you.”
They traveled down yet another labyrinth of corridors before arriving at Abraham Metcalf’s office. The obsequious guide bowed the doctor in and then vanished.
Metcalf stood facing the windows, his hands locked behind his back. He wheeled about to greet his visitor. “So, you’re here at last.”
Aboud ignored the churlish comment but looked pointedly at his Rolex. He had arrived at the compound precisely on time. It was no fault of his if he’d been whisked away to have a chat with a madwoman.
“Sit down,” the old man ordered, taking his own chair behind the desk.
The doctor noticed a change in his benefactor’s demeanor since their last meeting. Metcalf’s eyes appeared sunken, and his gaze flitted uneasily from place to place. It wasn’t insomnia. Rather the old man’s face bore an expression that could only be described as haunted.
“I thought you wanted me to keep my distance from this place, sir,” Aboud began.
Metcalf squinted at him for a few seconds, as if he hadn’t quite heard. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. “What was that?”
“I was wondering at your decision to summon me here rather than meet me at the lab. I thought I was to keep my distance.”
“Something urgent has come up,” the old man said cryptically.
Whatever it was, the matter had clearly taken a toll on his benefactor’s health. “Is there anything I can do?” Aboud offered tentatively.
“Yes, that’s why I called you here.” Metcalf stopped speaking abruptly. Without explaining further, he hoisted himself out of his chair and walked back towards the windows. With his back to the doctor, he asked, “What headway have you made in your experiments?”
Aboud shrugged off the old man’s elliptical thought process. “A good deal, sir. I have continued to refine the strain of pneumonic plague bacteria to increase the speed at which it can kill.”
This caught Metcalf’s attention. He turned around. “How fast?”
“The most recent test subjects you sent me succumbed in less than eighteen hours.”
The old man nodded but remained silent for a few seconds. He seemed to be mulling something over. “Are you in need of any more subjects?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” the doctor assented readily. “I would be obliged if you could provide me with at least one more. I’ve been able to shorten the incubation period by culturing an unusually aggressive strain of bacteria. It may be able to produce mortality in fifteen hours, and I’d like to confirm that theory using a human host.”
“Very well, then. I have just the person for you. Annabeth.”
“Annabeth?” Aboud echoed. Up to that point, the individuals Metcalf had sent him were either men in the prime of life or older women. Apparently, those were the two demographic groups inclined to give him the most trouble.
“She’s healthy
