Free Cure by Belinda Frisch Page A

date had been an accident. Everything had been carefully calculated except for Reid’s assault, which hopefully didn’t affect the in-vitro. Nixon looked through the observation window at Miranda sedated on the Operating Room table. Her face was bruised, her chin swollen. “This isn’t the condition I wanted her in. I’m going to have to monitor her for a brain injury on top of everything else now.”
    Reid shrank from the scolding, mumbling something and stopping before he finished.
    Nixon heard a hint of confession lingering on the tip of Reid’s tongue and suspected he knew the problem. “Did you take care of Billy Porter?” The answer better not be no. Savage killer instinct was the only reason to keep a guy like Reid around. Everyone had a purpose.
    He shook his head in the negative. “It was Miranda or Billy. I knew you wanted her.”
    Nixon held up his hand. “I wanted them both .”
    The door swung open and Ben came in wearing surgical booties, a jacket, and a cap that covered his bald spot and took ten years off his age. He glanced between Nixon and Reid. “Should I come back?”
    “No,” Nixon said. “Where are the lab results?” He would deal with Reid later. Miranda was the more pressing issue.
    “We’re good to go.” Ben held up the lab report and Nixon read it for himself.
    Perfect. He’d have to commend Michael on his accuracy. “Is the ultrasound ready?”
    “Yes and she’s prepped, fully sedated. Martin is monitoring her.”
    Nixon choked back his anger and issued clear instructions even Reid couldn’t screw up. “I want you to listen to me carefully,” he said to Reid in a tone fit for a child. “Keep an eye on Zach Keller. Do the evening feedings, take him around, whatever it takes to keep him busy. Stick by him. I don’t want him left alone with his wife until I have a chance to speak to him about what happened. We’ll deal with the Porter issue later.”
    Ben opened the observation room door and Nixon went through it, nodding to Martin and offering no other greeting.
    Martin adjusted the flow on Miranda’s IV “You’re all set, sir.”
    Nixon sat down on the metal stool. This is the one you’ve been waiting for. Your cure. Miranda’s legs were wide apart, above hip level in the stirrups. Her bottom hung slightly over the edge of the table. Nine months. The medical community would praise him. Patients would line up to be treated at the center. He would be a god. He inserted the ultrasound wand into Miranda and steadied his shaking hand. Get a hold of yourself. He lined up the firing guide with the follicle, advanced the needle, and aspirated an egg. Steady now. Steady. An error now meant waiting another entire month. He was short on time. And those looking to interfere were only drawing closer.
     
    * * * * *
     
    The carousel stuttered and stalled when an oversized length of arm caught on the side of the microwave. Zach barely noticed the smell as it heated. The first sign of dwindling humanity . Each feeding grew easier, a fact he resented as a sign of an early unwelcome change forced on him by Nixon.
    “I can do this alone,” he said to Reid, not bothering to mask his contempt.
    Reid was unusually quiet and brooding. “ No, you can’t. ” He took the arm out, injected it, and added it to the pile.
    Zach followed him to the cells, the tension increasing between them. Neither had said a word about what happened in the Security Office. Zach couldn’t stop thinking about Miranda. He rehearsed, in his head, different ways of asking what Reid did with her and decided against all of them.
    He’d caused enough trouble already.
    Reid lifted the pass-though door and tossed a chunk of leg on the floor of Pop’s cell. He didn’t knock or taunt and Pop barely acknowledged the feeding. It was the noise that drew them.
    Confident that if he were quiet there would be no issues, Zach opened the next one. A terrible stench overcame him. He covered his mouth and nose and peered