Chapter 8: A Decent and Careful Man
1657 Words
A red Mercedes convertible stops in the parking lot of St. Peters. The car is too flashy for the drab hospital and it stands out. Like a true gentleman, Dr. Charles Peters opens the car door and helps Andrea out of the vehicle. She puts her hands in his, giving him an affectionate look.
Andrea had changed into a conservative gray dress before leaving the house, but she’d cut off part of the collar to reveal her sexy shoulders. The white fabric from the collar was now wrapped around her waist as a belt. The outfit is unique and creative, and Charles can’t help but notice that it’s different from her normal attire.
The man smiles politely and gives her a deep look. His eyes are crystal clear, but unreadable at the same time.
“You’re very different now,” he observes, “More lively.”
“You know your compliment makes me feel like I’ve come back from the dead,” she responds.
“I don’t know,” he says, “Running around by yourself at such late hours against the Hamiltons’ strict rules, I suspect I’m looking at a ghost.”
“Hush. Do you really want to bring this up again?” Andrea extends her fair finger toward his face, stopping an inch away from his lip, “Besides, I’m here to ask for something.”
He’s captivated by her seemingly careless gesture. She’s always been beautiful, but in the past she was like a lifeless marionette. Now, she seems like a new woman: energetic and lively. She waves her hands in front of his face and he resists the urge to hold them.
“Have you finished the drug?” he asks, “I think I prescribed you enough for three months.”
Charles leads her to his office. Her heels click rhythmically, and her steps echo through the quiet hall.
“I’m not asking for that,” Andrea knows Charles is talking about the antidote he’s been giving her to suppress the toxin in her body. She plays with her hair, tucking it behind her ears before continuing, “I want the morning-after pill.”
Abruptly, Charles stops walking and clenches his fist in the pocket of his white coat.
“I thought I’d check on Nanny while I’m here, too,” Andrea adds.
From the moment Andrea was born, her nanny had practically raised her. The two were inseparable and the woman followed Andrea everywhere. She even moved to the Hamilton house after Andrea married Lance. Two years ago, she’d had an accident and she’d been comatose ever since.
Andrea met Charles on the day of the accident. He was the doctor assigned to take care of Nanny, and he quickly became her only true friend, a gentleman she could confide in and trust. Due to the Hamiltons’ strict rules, Andrea hadn’t seen her nanny since they brought her to the hospital. She had to trust Dr. Peters special care after that. If she wanted to know about her nanny’s health, she had to ask the nurse who came to the Hamilton’s house every month.
Charles sighs, “Now I understand why Lance has forbidden all pharmacies from selling morning-after pills for the next 48 hours.”
He pauses. “You don’t want children?” he asks tentatively.
“It’s impossible,” Andrea says, “I have to leave Lance. How can I do that if I have his children?”
“So is Lance’s pregnancy announcement real?”
Andrea shakes her head, “It can’t be. Last night was an accident. We made love, but we were both drugged.”
“There are so many weird things going on at the Hamilton’s house,” Charles thinks, “First Andrea was poisoned. Then her nanny fell from a third floor window while hanging clothes to dry. Last month, someone pushed Andrea into the sea, and now she and Lance have both been drugged. It can’t be accidental, but it’s impossible to guess who’s behind it all. No wonder she wants out. Who would want to spend another second in such a weird and threatening place?”
“Do you think the person who drugged you is the same as the one who poisoned you?” he asks her.
Suddenly, the sound of her high heels clacking on the marble floor stops. Andrea has considered this theory. The person who poisoned her obviously wanted to kill her, but why would they want Lance to have s*x with her? It doesn’t make sense. Now she wonders if they were hoping that Lance would blame her for drugging him, making him hate her even more. But why?
She shakes her head to show she doesn’t know how to respond, “I don’t know. They hide in the shadows and behave stealthily. I have no idea who they are, but I definitely think it’s me they’re after.”
“Could it be Lance?”
Andrea almost chokes at Charles’ question, and she stumbles forward. Charles reaches his arms out in time to catch her around the waist. A camera hidden in a dark corner of the hallway captures the scene. Andrea leans against Charles as she tries to regain her balance.
“Could it really be Lance,” she wonders, “Is he trying to kill her so he can marry the girl of his dreams?”
She shakes her head again. It still doesn’t make sense. If he wanted to get rid of her why would he ruin her divorce announcement with his pregnancy plan? If he’s behind it all, his plans must be far more twisted and complicated than she can imagine. Maybe he thinks she’s out of her mind from the poison, a risk to his family’s reputation? The pregnancy could be a cover-up, an attempt to keep her from talking freely to the press.
She giggles nervously. Her imagination is running wild; her suspicions are starting to sound like the plot of some TV drama.
“Though, Lance would make the perfect double agent,” she thinks wryly, “He could easily succeed as an actor. He’s so good at lying and pretending.”
“What’s wrong?” Charles asks, “You look terrible. Did you take your medicine?” His big palm covers her forehead, and the camera clicks faintly in the background.
“It’s impossible to get the morning-after pill here, isn’t it?” she asks sadly.
“No.”
Charles puts his hand in his pocket, trying to control the romantic feelings rising in his chest. She’s a patient, he reminds himself. He’s never allowed himself to have feelings for a patient. But since meeting her two years ago, he’s been unable to fight the tenderness he feels for her. He wants to draw out the moment and create suspense, but her anxious look cuts him to the core.
“You don’t have to get them from the pharmacies,” he assures her, “I can make them for you.”
Andrea is relieved. She should’ve trusted that he’d find a solution; not even Lance can stop a genius doctor like him. She follows him into his office which is old-fashioned like a study. Unlike more common offices, his is filled with beautiful paintings and sculptures.
Charles walks to the desk and fiddles with a pen holder. The bookcase behind his desk slides open, revealing a hidden door. The door opens into a secret laboratory.
“You remind me of a crazy cartoon doctor,” she laughs, “I imagine you making all kinds of experiments in here.”
She pictures him working, fiddling dedicatedly with his tools and instruments. This must be where he makes the antidote she takes.
“So does that make you my guinea pig?” he jokes.
“I suppose so,” she says, suddenly serious, “My life is in your hands, and you’ve already saved me.”
The poison in her system is unlike any other. She suspects that he might be the only doctor smart enough to detect it and invent a way to treat it. It’s painful for her to imagine what she’d be like now if it wasn’t for him and his treatment.
She watches him with wonder as he works. This man, though only twenty-eight years old, is one of the brightest stars of the medical world. Though he’s been offered many awards, he’s turned them all down, preferring to prove himself through his hard work and dedication.
Many wealthy families have tried to recruit him to work for them privately, but he’s too proud to accept. His family has been in the medical profession for generations, and his surname is synonymous with progress and innovation. Besides, his family has always been independently wealthy, and Charles refuses to subjugate himself to one of the more influential families.
His face is solemn as he handles test tubes and medical pipettes. He has long hands and prominent knuckles, and he moves with the utmost care and precision as he measures and pours liquids and powders. He examines the tubes carefully to ensure that his measurements are correct and then mixes them together.
“Handsome is too shallow a word for such an attentive, careful, and good man,” Andrea thinks.
- Writer
