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1989dreamer · 7 years ago

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Who Will Remember Your Last Goodbye--Excerpt 2

Chapter One

Chapter Two:

Long after the officers had finished asking questions, and after they had collected skin and saliva samples for DNA from all of them as references for Riley’s apartment, Ben, Abigail, Emily, and Patrick settled in the waiting room.

Ben wouldn’t let anyone else touch the paperwork covering Riley’s medical history. It was something he should know. And he did; he’d had Riley sign a waiver when he’d first joined Ben’s treasure protector team detailing everything Ben should know should he end up having to drag Riley to a hospital. He just couldn’t remember it right now.

He thought of sending Abigail after it, but she hadn’t stopped pacing long enough for him to say anything to her, and his parents had absolutely no idea where the important papers were kept.

“I need to go,” he said, absently, but still watching them to gauge their reactions. No one said anything, but he caught the disapproving looks his parents shared and the angry one Abigail sent at him. “Unless someone,” he emphasized, “wants to go get Riley’s medical history from my filing cabinet in the study so I can finish filling this out.”

“Fine,” Abigail snorted. “Call me if you hear anything,” she said to Emily, but conceded a kiss for Ben before she lifted his keys from the table next to him where he’d laid them and marched away.

Frustrated, Ben set the paperwork down. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I know he’s slightly allergic to dogs,” he said, staring up at his parents. “We ran into a dog walker in England.”

“He likes pizza,” Patrick volunteered. “Didn’t seem to matter what it was.”

“Oh, it matters,” Ben smiled. “It just matters more who’s around him when he’s eating. With us, he probably wouldn’t make much of a fuss, but whenever Ian or the others would order pizza, he always complained about it.”

He smiled again, remembering an argument with Shaw about bacon pizza. Riley had been mad that they hadn’t consulted him before ordering it, but in the end, he’d managed to eat half of it by himself when no one else liked it.

“Ben,” his mother said, and he shook himself. A doctor was approaching.

Ben grabbed the paperwork again, holding it like a shield in front of him.

“Family of Riley Poole?”

“Present,” Ben stood up. “Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

The doctor nodded. “I’m Dr. Sanjova.” He waved at all of them, ignoring Ben’s outstretched hand. “We believe he has suffered from some form of radioactive poisoning. We have begun a panel of several tests, and have taken the liberty of asking a more well-equipped medical facility to assist us.”

“But you don’t know the exact poisoning.” Ben couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Sanjova shook his head.

“Ben!” Abigail called, running up to him, a thin manila folder clutched in one hand. She took in Sanjova and Ben’s long faces. “You don’t know what’s wrong with him?”

Ben took the folder from her, and she went to his parents for comfort. He began filling out Riley’s medical history.

“Mr. Gates,” Sanjova spoke up again, “I have informed the CDC of the potential terrorist attack. They will want to question all of you, but first, we need to determine if Mr. Poole was the only one who was poisoned.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to find out what Riley was poisoned with and then test the rest of us for it?” Ben asked, looking up briefly. “Did you know Riley is allergic to mild painkillers?”

“We are working on identifying anything Mr. Poole may have come into contact with in his apartment,” Sanjova continued as if Ben hadn’t even spoken. “We will need as complete of a timeline from the rest of you as to his whereabouts so we may further determine what he may have been poisoned with.”

“Yes, well,” Ben hummed, rubbing his chin. “He’s been under the weather a lot since around the time of the Cibola discovery.”

“How long ago?”

“Nearly three months?”

Emily nodded, and then wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you think he’s been poisoned this whole time?”

“No,” Ben said, back to rubbing his chin. He stopped, snapping his fingers as something occurred to him. “A few days after Cibola, the day after his birthday, he complained that someone hacked the CIA.”

“How’d he know?” Patrick’s face shifted from surprised to suspicious in less than two seconds.

“Riley has…talents,” Ben said, glancing at Sanjova. “He doesn’t use them for evil. In fact, he told me he was recruited by the CIA right out of high school. He turned them down because he got a full ride scholarship to the University of District Columbia.”

Abigail sat down next to Ben, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. “Did they try again?”

“Several times. He turned them down right out of college to work on a personal project. Then, he turned them down again to help me search for the Templar Treasure. As far as I know, he’s turned them down five or six times.”

“Could the CIA be behind his poisoning?” Abigail looked doubtful, but Ben saw real fear in her eyes.

He shook his head. “I highly doubt that they would have tried to get him for so long if they just intended to poison him when he said no.”

“So, what?” Abigail prompted him. “Someone hacked the CIA and stole his information?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Ben,” Patrick said, an edge in his voice, and Ben stared at his father. “Riley is not a treasure, there are no clues.” He sighed then, seeing the determination in Ben’s face. “Just be careful.”

“Riley may not be a gold-and-scrolls treasure,” Ben said, an edge in his voice, “but he is certainly precious enough to be considered a treasure nonetheless.” Patrick inclined his head and at least looked a little chagrined.

“When can we visit him?” Abigail asked Sanjova, who was still standing there watching them talk with thinly disguised interest.

He shrugged, “We need to determine how much poison he ingested before we can ascertain if he is safe to be around.”

“Why wouldn’t he be safe?” Abigail was quicker than Ben, spitting out the question almost before Sanjova had finished speaking.

“Most of the time, radiation poisoning can be passed on through contact. Nearly all of Mr. Poole’s symptoms point specifically to thallium poisoning. Depending on the concentration, we think it is treatable. At this stage.”

“You’re waiting for confirmation? Of course you are.” Ben walked to the nurses’ station and handed the woman on duty the clipboard. He turned back to Sanjova. “Thallium poisoning is an odd way to try to kill someone.”

“That is why we informed the CDC. It seems unlikely that Mr. Poole would be the only victim with something such as thallium.”

“Additionally,” said another voice, and Ben turned to stare at Special Agent Peter Sadusky, “this attack is considered a terrorist act, and as such I have been tapped to investigate. Who wants to go first?” He looked pointedly at Ben.

“Fine,” Ben sighed, motioning towards a couple of chairs. He sat, waiting until Sadusky was seated before leaning forward. “I do not know why Riley was poisoned. I do not know if anyone else was caught in the fallout, but I can assure you, I will not rest until I know what’s happened.”

“Really, Ben,” Sadusky said. He fingered his tie, smoothing out imperceptible wrinkles. “We’ve already searched Mr. Poole’s apartment. The milk container was indeed the source of the thallium.”

Sanjova made some kind of noise in his throat and quickly walked away. Ben watched him go, and Sadusky touched his arm.

“You’ve all been tested already.”

“How?” And then Ben remembered the cops taking swabs of all of them. “You tested our sweat and saliva. How did you get a pure enough sample to realize what was wrong?”

“We tested for the presence of thallium. Ben, no one had as high of levels as Mr. Poole. You were the second highest, and your exposure barely tipped the scale at all.”

“How’d you get involved anyway?”

“We had information that something was going to happen. We didn’t have all the pieces until the CDC was called regarding a potential radioactive poisoning.” Sadusky pulled his glasses out of his breast pocket, sliding them on carefully and pulling a folded piece of paper from an interior pocket. He handed it to Ben, nodding when Ben began unfolding it.

“That’s Riley,” Ben said, staring at the picture of his friend. Obviously, it was from before he’d known Riley because the kid was sporting a hairdo he’d never seen on him. His glasses were cracked, taped together at one bow, a scratch over the other cheek. “What happened?”

“He was abducted by an underground recruiter for the CIA,” Sadusky took the picture back, tugging it gently from Ben’s fingers. “He managed to escape by sabotaging their compound. Ever since, they’ve been stationed on an island off the coast of Boston. Have you ever heard of the Graves?”

Ben shook his head. “Riley may have mentioned it once or twice in one of his conspiracy rants, but I wasn’t listening to him.” Over twenty million books and they’re all saying the same exact thing: listen to Riley.

“It’s where the recruiter has gone underground. He’s financed a compound that specializes in persuasion.”

“Has Riley ever been there?” Ben was thinking about the small vacation Riley had taken after the Templar’s Treasure and before he wrote his book.

Sadusky shook his head, “We do not believe so. However, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t had interaction with the man.”

“Do you know who the underground recruiter is?” Abigail asked, and they both turned to stare at her. “What? It would help to know Riley’s enemies.”

“His name is Markus Fillier. We do not have a current photo. In fact, the only picture we have is a sketch based on the description Mr. Poole provided when he escaped.”

“Could he be targeting Riley now?”

“Not likely,” Sadusky said, “but we want to keep an eye on Mr. Poole just the same.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Ben asked. “Riley doesn’t trust you, or anyone else, really, enough to be ‘watched.’”

“Exactly,” Sadusky said. “Which is why you are going to convince him to let us.”

“I don’t think that’s something I can do,” Ben laughed. “He’ll just feel betrayed by me if I do it.”

“So convince him it’s for the best. Surely you can do that?” Sadusky pinned Ben with a knowing look, “After all, you got him to help you with the Templar Treasure.”

If it’s any consolation, you had me convinced.

“It’s not,” Ben said. He stood up, dusting off his hands like the distasteful thing he would have to do was something so easily rid of. Riley’s life was worth it, but Ben wasn’t willing to lose his friendship for it yet. “Give me some time,” he said, heading for the doors to outside. There wasn’t enough air in the room anymore.

ooOoo

Riley was bored. He’d been awake for maybe half an hour and the deep ache in his bones wouldn’t let him drift off again. He kept his eyes closed, hoping to fall asleep through sheer will. The heartbeat monitor beeped every few seconds, and he realized his heart wasn’t beating as fast as it normally would have if he were awake. Curious, he cracked one eye, prying it up with an effort since the lashes had become glued to his cheek.

The light coming in from the window was dull, gauzy, and altogether rather depressing. There were no other lights in his room. He glanced around, his other eye coming unstuck too.

An IV was situated in the opposite arm from which they’d drawn blood, a half-full bag hanging from a hook on the stand. The monitor was on the other side, and he watched the peaks of his heartbeat for a few moments.

The door to the room was shut, the bathroom door next to it ajar. Seeing it reminded him he had to pee, and the more he thought about it, the more he really had to go.

He struggled out of the bed, shivering as his feet settled onto the cold floor. Using his thumbnail, he scraped the monitor’s pads off his chest. He grasped his IV pole, using it as a stand and trying not to roll it too fast as he shuffled to the bathroom.

The light was too bright when he turned it on, and he could hear the heart monitor screaming, the long sustained beep accusing him of some treachery. He ignored it and pulled up the edge of his gown so he could aim at the low-set toilet.

In the middle of his stream, a nurse entered the room, and she immediately knocked on the door. Unfortunately for Riley, the door didn’t have a lock, and she pushed it open before he could respond.

He finished as casually as he could despite the heat he felt rising in his face, washing his hands as deliberately as he could.

“Mr. Poole,” the nurse said, pointing back at the bed. “If you would?” She grabbed his arm and steadied him on the way back. He felt the roiling of nausea start up again, and he groaned.

Riley sat heavily, letting her reattach the leads on his chest. “I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbled. She looked up at him from where she was checking the IV in his arm. Without a word, she moved to a closet he hadn’t noticed, and removed an oddly shaped basin.

“Use this,” she said kindly, and she returned to checking his IV.

“What’s it called? A bedpan?”

“It’s an emesis basin,” she said, her tone amused if a little sarcastic.

“Fantastic.” He heaved then, choking on the acid that raced up his throat. He began coughing, spitting as saliva filled his mouth. She stepped away to wet a washcloth, and when she returned, he’d expelled a couple mouthfuls of bile.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes on the emesis basin. His eyes were watering and his stomach was still unsettled.

“Hey,” she said, “you’re fine. You’re allowed to be ill.”

“Do they know what’s wrong with me yet?”

“They know you were poisoned. They’ve got agents going through your apartment now.”

A doctor entered the room, a nurse following and pushing a cart with a pitcher, a cup, and a small container. “I am Dr. Sanjova,” the doctor said, and Riley recognized his voice from the first room. “This is Prussian Blue.” Sanjova’s demeanor was icy, and he kept his arms crossed over his chest while the nurse handed Riley the container, two deep blue gel pills clicking against the sides. She poured some liquid from the pitcher into the cup and handed it to him, too. “It will help with your poisoning.”

“Okay.” Riley fixed him with a steady gaze as he tipped the pills, one at a time, into his mouth and swallowed them with a mouthful of water. He finished the water and handed the cup back to the nurse. “What about my rash?”

“Ah,” Sanjova said, and his posture changed. He smiled, bleached white teeth shining in a tanned face. Riley still didn’t trust him. “That is simply an allergic reaction. You are allergic to horsehair. And possibly some other chemicals used to treat the couch.”

“Okay, so can I take any allergy meds with the radiation meds?”

“Not advisable,” Sanjova shook his head, his friendliness dropping away again. His eyes were dark with something Riley thought was anger. He left quickly, and Riley got the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to be around him at all.

The nurse who had come in with the doctor followed him out, while the nurse who had helped him with the emesis basin sat next to him on the bed.

“Prussian Blue can cause constipation and mild stomach discomfort,” she said, a piece of paper offered to him. “If the pills become too difficult to swallow, they can be mixed into your food.”

Riley scanned the page, finding the line she was talking about. “It’s dye? So, I’ll turn blue?”

She smiled, and shook her head. “Not entirely, just your mouth and everything in it, or just your fecal matter. And, yes, we have to analyze your stool samples, so please buzz a nurse if you have the urge.”

The page trembled in Riley’s hands, and he cleared his throat a few times. “So, I’ve got to take the dye six times a day every day for thirty days?” She nodded, giving him a smile that was genuine. He grabbed her hand when she moved to stand up. “Can I have another doctor? I don’t think Sanjova likes me much.”

“I’ll look into it for you,” she promised. “Now, I really should go.” He let her leave, and settled back on the bed, a little reassured that his heart rate seemed up again.

His eyes drifted closed, and he hummed softly, feeling his body relax as sleep crept over him. He wasn’t sure when he finally did fall asleep, but it was swift and deep and dreamless.

ooOoo

Sadusky settled into his chair, leaning back, a coffee mug set off from his left elbow while he scribbled nonsense over a blank page in a small notebook. He had doubts that Ben Gates would actually tell Riley Poole about the surveillance he was supposed to be under, and as such was going over every piece of dialogue he’d had with Gates.

Something was bothering him, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

He continued running his pen over and over the paper, pressing harder and harder until he was scratching through several sheets at once. And still, he didn’t know what was wrong.

He knew it was something he’d heard. But, maybe Gates hadn’t been the one to say it?

And, then it struck him and he sat up quickly: the FBI knew what type of radiation Poole had been poisoned with, and they had destroyed all of the tests, placing one of their own doctors to administer treatment to him. How then, had Sanjova known that it was thallium?

He grabbed his phone, dialing a number from memory. “Sir,” he said, when the deputy director answered, “we have a breach.”

ooOoo

Abigail had a cup of coffee in her hand when Ben returned from his excursion. He didn’t seem any calmer, but at least he wasn’t scowling like he’d been when he had run away almost two hours ago. Sadusky had left shortly after Ben and hadn’t reappeared as of yet.

“A nurse stopped by to tell us Riley woke up for a bit,” she said, offering him the cup as he dropped into the seat next to her. He took a sip, made a face, and gave it back. “We can go visit him as soon as he wakes up again. We might have to be careful how much we touch him, but they think he’s not radioactive anymore, if he ever really was.”

“That’s good,” Ben murmured, letting his head fall back to thump against the wall. Emily and Patrick, sitting a few seats down, glanced up at the noise, although Abigail wouldn’t put it past them to have known exactly when Ben came back.

The silence that followed was terrible. Abigail hated silence, especially ones that were shared mutually because of something bad.

“You know,” she said, and her voice seemed too loud, but she powered on, “Riley once base-jumped.”

Ben shot her an unreadable look and then deliberately turned away. Angry, Abigail moved chairs until she was next to Emily.

“Base-jumping?” Emily smiled. “Riley really doesn’t strike me as the type to voluntarily put himself in a position of either danger or height.”

“No, he doesn’t. But, he said he was paid to do it. And there is nothing Riley wouldn’t do if he got some kind of reward.”

Abigail spent the better part of an hour telling all the Riley stories she knew, which was admittedly far fewer than he probably knew about her, and certainly less than any of them knew about Ben. Emily either laughed or smiled in all the right places, but her eyes grew worried.

“I can’t believe anyone would have any reason to target him,” she said, finally, when Abigail stopped talking. “He doesn’t seem to have done much to put himself ‘on the grid,’ as he calls it.”

“Mom, the CIA has a file on him,” Ben said. “Who knows, maybe someone did hack in and steal his file. They’re not impenetrable. Riley’s hacked them at least half a dozen times.”

“And why would he do that?” Patrick said, voice tight and vibrating with anger. “What the hell is this kid wrapped up in?”

“Riley only wanted to know why they wanted him,” Ben said, but he didn’t sound certain. They lapsed into another uncomfortable silence, and Abigail had nothing left to say.

Luckily, Dr. Sanjova approached them soon after. “Mr. Poole is awake, however, I would like to suggest a limit on the number of people who visit him.”

“We’ll go,” Abigail said, pointing at Ben and herself. She gave Emily an apologetic smile while Patrick looked relieved. “We were told not to touch him?”

Sanjova nodded. “We have been unable to find any readings of radioactivity on his body, but his internal organs are saturated, and we have cause to believe that if he were to have extended contact with anyone, he would invariably infect that person.”

“So, limited contact,” Ben said, and he sounded as relieved as his dad had looked. “Good thing Riley’s not so touchy-feely, eh, Abigail?”

She just glared at him before following Sanjova down the hallway to an elevator. Ben kept pace, and thankfully kept his mouth shut. The ride was quick, going from first to third. Sanjova pointed at the first room on the left, a clipboard bearing Riley’s name resting in a clear plastic file holder stuck to the wall beside the door.

Abigail glanced at Ben and then knocked firmly. A muffled “Come in” sounded, and she pushed the door open.

“My favorite two people!” Riley called out as they stepped into his room. He was propped up, with the headboard raised and a mountain of extra pillows behind his back. A tray was over his lap, and he was holding a spoon in his left hand, scooping green jell-o towards his mouth. He only had a little of it on his shirt and the tray.

“Sit, sit,” he invited them, motioning towards the chairs under the window. “I’ll be done with this in a bit, if you don’t mind?” He didn’t wait for an answer, another bite already on its way to his mouth.

A few quiet minutes passed as Ben and Abigail inspected the room. Riley stopped eating, shoving the tray away and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Here,” Abigail offered, using a napkin she’d found tucked in her pocket to clean off the mess. She ignored Ben’s warning glare as she deliberately dabbed Riley’s lips longer than was strictly necessary.

“Thanks,” he said, a puzzled expression on his face, then he brightened abruptly. “So, what’s new with you?”

“We’re all clean,” Ben blurted suddenly, fixing Riley with a stare. “I had the next highest concentration to you, but it was trace. Someone deliberately poisoned you, Riley.”

“Oh, I figured.” Riley fidgeted, tapping his fingers together, nervously folding and unfolding them.

“Are you okay?” Abigail asked him. “Has anything unusual been happening?”

“Hey, you know me,” Riley said, a bright smile plastered on his face. It looked fake to Abigail, and she raised an eyebrow to tell him so. He dropped the smile. “Okay, fine. Yeah, more and more people have been demanding to see my wallet. It’s gotten to the point that I don’t even carry my I.D. anymore. Too many people know where I live.”

“And how exactly are you protecting yourself?” Ben demanded. “Are you taking any self-defense classes?”

“Yes.” Riley leaned back on the pillows. “That, and I’ve taken to carrying pepper spray. I find it’s really effective if I spray it directly into a vulnerable area, particularly the mouth or eyes. By the way, I think I’m out. Ben, will you get me more?”

“Certainly,” Ben said.

“Is there anything you’d like me to get you?” Abigail reached out to brush some hair from his forehead, but Riley dodged her hand. “Come on, you’re not contagious.”

“Actually, I am. I can infect you by touch, so don’t.”

Abigail looked to Ben, and he just shrugged. “Fine. Let me know when you’re not allergic to touch anymore.”

“Oh,” Riley said, and his smile was warm. “I’m allergic to your couch.”

“Seriously?” Ben said, and Riley nodded.

“We’ll get rid of it,” Abigail said, peeking at Ben who was nodding. Riley’s smile drooped a little, and he sighed.

“You spent so much time and money restoring it. I’m sure I can avoid it.”

“Riley, your wellbeing is more important than a simple couch.”

He looked doubtful, so Abigail took the opportunity to trace a line down his arm. He jerked away but not before she felt him lean into the touch. She would not have thought Riley was someone who needed touch, in fact, Ben had said he wasn’t, but the toll of no contact must seem steep.

“I don’t want to be trouble,” he began, and Ben spit out a “Shush!”

“You are not trouble, no matter what you think,” he explained, a hand also dropping onto Riley’s arm. “We’re not going to abandon you no matter how inconvenient it seems to be for us.”

“Sure, just wait,” Riley snorted, “I’ll make you regret that promise.”

“I’m sure you’re going to try,” Ben said.

“Now,” Riley leaned back, effectively pulling himself free from their grasp. “The nurse that keeps visiting me, at least until she gets off duty in a couple minutes, said if I have minimal supervision, a doctor should let me leave pretty soon.”

“Are you sure it was ‘minimal’?” Ben said, an eyebrow raised. Abigail giggled into her fist while Riley pulled a face.

“Fine, she said I could go home if I was supervised. Happy?”

“Fine, and you’re supervised. Abigail or I will always be with you.”

“Ben, that’ll take a toll. You’ve got lectures, and Abigail has her job at the archives. And you can’t ask your parents either because they both have jobs too. Although, I’m not sure what Patrick does. Ben, what does your dad do?”

“He writes grants,” Abigail said. Ben shot her a look, and she shrugged. “I’ve used his services before. He makes excellent points, and I’ve never been turned down for a grant yet.”

“Excuse me,” someone said, and they all turned to look at a mousy-looking woman with straight brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses. “I’m Doctor Solina. I am Riley’s new doctor.”

“Hey!” Riley bounced. “I’m not Mr. Poole anymore. Yes!” Abigail held up her hand and he high-fived her lightly.

“If you’ll excuse us, I need to examine Riley to determine if he can leave soon.” Solina pointed at the door.

“We’ll be back soon,” Ben promised.

“Yeah, okay,” Riley said. “Bye.”

Ben pulled her from the room before Abigail could say anything. “We’ll have to go back to the waiting room and let my parents know they can go.”

“You go,” she said. “I’ll stay here. I think the exam’s going to be quick, and I think Riley will want someone with him pretty soon after.”

“Okay.” Ben nodded. “See you later. Love you.” He walked away before she could respond, but that was okay. She had a few pamphlets she wanted to read before Dr. Solina let her back in.

ooOoo

#Fanfiction #Nat'l Treas #Riley Poole #My Story/My Writing

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1989dreamer · 9 years ago

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Who Will Remember Your Last Goodbye--Excerpt

Chapter One:

Riley Poole was asleep on his couch when his phone rang, startling him into awareness. He rolled over, groaning as his whole body protested moving, and his head pounded with the blood rushing through his ears.

He waited a few seconds to see if his stomach, queasy and cramping when he’d finally fallen asleep, was better, and it was, until he reached for his phone and felt acid surging up his esophagus.

He gagged, letting saliva spill from his lips as he tried to answer his phone.

“Hi,” he managed to rasp before he threw up. “Sorry,” he said as he brought the phone back to his ear.

“Riley,” his best friend, Ben Gates said, voice twitching with concern. “You don’t sound so hot.”

“Nope,” Riley smiled. “It’s just the flu. I’ll be fine in a few minutes after I get something solid in me.” He managed to drag himself upright, stumbling to the little kitchen where he ran the tap until it was chilled while he dug out a clean glass—one of those cool color-changing cups Abigail Chase, Ben’s girlfriend, had found for him a few weeks back. He set the filled cup on the counter and turned off the faucet.

“You’ve had the flu every day for the past two weeks,” Ben reminded him.

“Then maybe I’m just pregnant.” Riley snorted, “Oh, wait. I don’t have ovaries. It’s the flu.”

“Well,” Ben sighed, a great gust of air that irritated Riley’s ear. “We’re having a small get-together tonight, and Abigail and I think it would be a great idea for you to be there.”

“Do I have to dress up?” Riley pried open his fridge, blinking blearily at the contents—a half carton of two percent milk and a lonely orange. He moved on, letting gravity slam the door while he yanked open his cupboards until he found a container of oatmeal. A present from Ben or Ben’s father, he was sure, but it was bland, and it was the only thing that didn’t upset his stomach further.

“No, it’s informal. Just don’t wear a bathrobe.”

“Ben, you’ve seen my closet. Do I have a bathrobe?”

Ben didn’t respond, and Riley took the opportunity to collect a pot from under the sink, banging it around in the sink until he could fit the faucet into it. It was harder than he wanted to admit.

“What are you doing?”

“Eating.” The pot with just a little water was dropped onto the stove, and Riley cranked on the burner.

“Are you eating silverware?” Ben demanded. “’Cause that’s what it sounds like.”

“It’s a pot. I’m making oatmeal. Want some?”

“Riley, I’m not with you right now.”

“So? Come pick me up. You probably don’t want me driving to your place.”

Ben sighed again, and Riley mimicked him. Ben laughed. “Fine, I’ll be right there. And, yes, I’ll clean up your vomit.”

“Oh, thank you for reminding me,” Riley said sarcastically. “I’ll be here.” He hung up the phone, sliding it onto the counter. He grabbed another cup and filled it with water, dumping it in the pot while he measured the oatmeal.

He looked in his fridge again, sighing at the bareness. “Nope. Nothing.” He did find some molasses in the cupboard next to where the bowls were, and he decided that if Ben really didn’t like plain oatmeal, he could eat it with that.

Exhausted, Riley dropped into a chair shoved in the corner by the window, waiting for the pot to boil.

A few really long moments later, Riley dragged himself up again, lumbering towards the pot and the oatmeal, pouring the latter in and grabbing a spoon from the dish drainer by the sink. He was still stirring it slowly when Ben knocked.

“It’s open!” he called, not entirely sure if that was true or not. Ben twisted the handle, calling, “Liar!” before using his key to unlock the door.

“So,” he said, coming to stand beside Riley as he continued to stir the lumpy-but-getting-smooth pot of gruel.

“So what?” Riley shot back, pointing to his living room. “The mess is in there. Mr. Clean is in the bathroom. Don’t forget to shower.”

“Okay,” Ben said. And Riley hated that he sounded so amendable to cleaning up vomit and/or using Riley’s shower.

“I only have molasses,” he offered as an apology of sorts, and Ben shrugged.

“Plain is good too.”

“Plain’s the only way you’re not cleaning up two messes.”

Ben frowned, a hand reaching up to Riley’s forehead. Riley jerked, pulling away and letting the hand fall between them again.

“I know, I have a fever,” Riley said. To be honest, he didn’t feel overly warm or cold.

Ben shook his head, “No, Riley. You don’t have a fever.” He reached for his forehead again, and Riley jumped back.

“Buy me dinner first,” he said, pointing back to the living room. Ben got the hint, smart man, and left him alone with the oatmeal.

He returned to his chair when he was done. He leaned back, tired beyond anything he’d ever felt, except these past two weeks. Ben woke him up when he returned to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Ben said, his hand already on Riley’s forehead before he could protest. “Now you have a fever.”

“So, does this mean I don’t have to go to your party tonight?”

“Eat your oatmeal,” Ben replied. “Then we’ll see.”

Obediently, mostly because he was still too tired to do anything else, Riley dragged his chair to the small table in the center of the room. Ben scooped a small amount of food into a small bowl and set it in front of him. He also handed him a small spoon. Riley took a small bite, happy when his stomach seemed to settle a bit at the non-taste.

For his part, Ben poured a little of the molasses on his oatmeal before eating any of it.

“Thought you said you wanted it plain,” Riley said, and Ben shot him a look. “Okay.”

They ate in silence, Riley, even with a smaller portion, finishing after Ben. When Ben motioned to refill the bowl, Riley shook his head. He shrugged and stood up to find some containers to store the leftovers in.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Riley announced, scooting his chair back so he could stand. Ben nodded, and then ran to help him up when he stumbled. “Just dizzy,” he tried to laugh, but Ben’s eyes were worried, and he wouldn’t let him go.

“Maybe you shouldn’t come to our party.”

“I just need to sleep,” Riley said. He let Ben lead him to the couch where he sank down, and curled into himself, falling onto his side and closing his eyes. Ben covered him with a blanket and promised to check on him in a few minutes.

Riley was asleep before he came back.

ooOoo

Riley woke up again when he rolled off the couch.

His head hurt. Probably because of banging against the floor. But, his nausea seemed to have disappeared, along with his appetite.

A quick glance at the clock he kept near the television showed the time to be five in the afternoon. He could hear his shower running, and thought Ben might still be here.

His suspicions were confirmed when Ben, fully dressed in casual suit-like attire joined him in the living room.

“Let’s get you into the shower,” Ben said, helping him up. “I already picked out an outfit.”

“You went through my closet? Ben, that’s a gross violation of privacy.”

“So Abigail tells me,” Ben sighed. Riley didn’t like it when he sighed. It meant he was sad or thinking, and either one made Riley feel bad. First, because he was usually the one who made Ben sigh, and second because he never spent as much time thinking about the things Ben did, so their wavelengths rarely matched. “Now, get in.” He shoved Riley into the bathroom, maybe harder than he’d meant, and Riley stumbled. The door shut, so he locked it, even as he heard Ben tell him not to.

He found his clothes hanging on the towel rack, and he decided Ben knew him well enough to pick out something he’d wear. So, he stripped and climbed into the still-running water. It was a little warmer than he liked, but he couldn’t force himself to change it, and settled onto his haunches, letting the water cascade over his head and back.

Ben jimmied the door and came in after a few minutes.

“Hey!” Riley cried, grabbing the curtain, which he’d thankfully pulled when he’d first climbed in. He held it braced against the sides so Ben couldn’t come in farther.

“Relax,” Ben called out, and his Ben-shaped blob sat on the toilet. “I’m right here if you need me. I promise I won’t peek.”

“Why do you need to be in here?”

“You think I didn’t know you hit your head? You’ve got a bruise on your cheek, Riley.”

Riley poked both cheeks, hissing when he encountered a slight knot under his left eye. “So? Doesn’t mean anything.”

“And you’re still really pale. I think you should stay at the house with us until your flu runs its course.”

Riley didn’t respond. He felt like sulking, but thought Ben might break his promise of not peeking if it didn’t sound like he was actually showering. He grabbed a bottle of something and poured some in his hand.

“So, you’re seriously going to sit there and wait?” He scrubbed the stuff through his hair, letting the water rinse it out.

“Yeah, pretty much.” Something rustled, and Riley leaned back until he could peek through a gap. Ben was reading a newspaper in his bathroom. He stifled a laugh. Ben looked up and Riley rocked forward before Ben noticed he’d been spying.

“Hurry up, Riley.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to leave again.”

“Nope. Abigail already yelled at me for leaving you alone.”

“She does realize I am self-sufficient and have been long before I ever met you, right?”

“Come on, Riley, you must be clean by now.” And then Ben did throw open the curtain, shutting the water off and draping a towel over Riley. “You’ve been in here for a good forty minutes.”

“I-I thought it was just a few minutes.” Ben turned his back so he could stand up, and Riley dried quickly and pulled on underwear and a pair of jeans. Ben turned back and helped him into his shirts, a band-tee he’d had forever, and a light blue button-up. It really was him, so he left it alone, and he left alone the fact that Ben actually had to help him since he was dizzy again.

“Well, your bruise doesn’t look too bad,” Ben said. “You’re still pale, and let me guess, dizzy?”

Riley glared at him, but it was half-hearted, and he really wanted Ben to help him back to the couch. A deep ache had settled into his bones almost before Ben had turned the water off, and it was bothering Riley.

Ben pushed him onto the toilet and shoved socks and shoes on his feet. At least the shoes were Riley’s Converses. He blinked when Ben tied the laces. Why did he put his shoes on?

“Yeah, okay. We’ve got to go.” Instead of the couch, Ben covered his shoulders with a large coat—one of Ben’s that he’d claimed he didn’t like, and dragged him towards the door.

“I’ll set you up in the car and then come back and lock everything up. Abigail stopped by while you were asleep and took some of your things to the house.”

“Things like my laptops?”

“Things like as many of your electronics as she dared disturb.”

Riley laughed, pulling on his seatbelt and trying to click it before Ben realized he was seeing double and couldn’t really find the right angle to stick it down. Ben covered his hands with his own and guided the belt in carefully. Then, he went back to the apartment.

Riley felt himself drawing back into that drowsy state that he’d been in for most of the two weeks he’d had this flu. Before he could truly drift off, Ben was back, a small duffle bag in his hand.

“I threw out your milk since it was expired,” he said, patting Riley’s shoulder.

“Was it?” Riley murmured. “I haven’t been drinking it since I got sick.”

The trip barely registered on Riley’s mind. He swayed with the turns, but otherwise didn’t move. Ben had to wake him up again when they reached the house. He stretched, feeling his vertebrae pop as he twisted side to side, and still that ache persisted.

Abigail was waiting on the front steps to hug him when he made it there, Ben guiding him with a hand on his back. She looked a little scared, and her eyes scanned his, searching for an answer she didn’t seem to find, but she allowed him to enter the foyer.

“You know,” he said, “I never understood why you had stairs immediately before and after the front door.” At the bottom of the stairs were Patrick and Emily Gates, Ben’s parents—and, yes, they’d actually remarried again the week after they had discovered Cibola, between all the excavations of course. Emily embraced him like Abigail, a quick hug and then holding him at arm’s length to examine him.

“Hmm,” she said, drawing him close for another hug. Patrick shook his hand, and they both noticed when his hand trembled.

“Well,” Patrick said, shrugging. He stepped aside so Ben and Abigail could come down the stairs, and Ben’s hand pressed against Riley’s back again, leading him towards the front living room—the guest living room, Ben liked to call it. Riley settled onto the couch, glaring at both Abigail and Ben when it turned out to be a horsehair couch. Trust them to fill their historic house with historic furniture. He set his feet against the floor to keep from sliding off and leaned back, grumbling slightly when he began itching.

“I think you’ve figured out the real reason for this party,” Ben said, and Abigail began passing out flutes of some drink she’d grabbed when Riley had been occupied with keeping his butt secured to the couch. Riley accepted his glass and stared at the contents.

“It’s not champagne, is it?” he asked, and Abigail shook her head. “It’s ginger ale?” She smiled. It wasn’t that Riley didn’t like champagne; it just didn’t have quite the elegance that ginger ale inspired, especially in youngish looking guys who got accused of making fake IDs to get into bars. Although, that was happening less and less since he’d turned thirty a few days after the Cibola discovery.

Ben made some toast or other, but Riley wasn’t listening to him. He was busy trying to make the sudden roaring in his ears die down enough that he could stop the room from spinning. He hadn’t even taken a sip from his glass when someone took it away. He didn’t mind too much since his nausea was coming back. Also, that itch? It had spread all over his back and arms and now his stomach. He hoped it didn’t go anywhere else.

“Is there another room we could be in?” he asked, wondering if he sounded as slurred to the others as he sounded to himself. “Your couch doesn’t like me much.” He grabbed the closest hand to pull himself upright, and found Patrick glaring down at him. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Patrick said, but he did help him up, anger turning to concern as Riley swayed on his feet.

“I’m itchy,” he complained, scratching at his chest, which the itch was steadily covering. It got worse the harder he scratched it, and Patrick grabbed both his hands to get him to stop. Riley whined because now the itch hurt.

Patrick lifted his shirt, a gasp escaping his mouth as he stared at Riley’s decidedly not in shape abs and pecs. “Ben.”

Ben let out a similar sound as he glanced at Riley’s exposed skin. “Come on, tell me what’s wrong,” Riley begged. “I’m still itchy.”

“Don’t you dare scratch,” Emily, who was also looking at him, scolded.

“Ambulance or car?” Abigail asked.

“Car,” Ben said, moving towards Riley. “Stay still.”

“Okay.” Riley blinked. He felt Ben’s arms come around his back and then he was airborne, and he might have let out a squeak of discomfort or fear as vertigo slammed into him strong enough that the nausea decided it would be nice to show everyone the last thing he’d eaten in twenty-four hours.

“Oh dear,” Emily said. “There’s blood mixed in.”

“What?” Ben nearly shouted, or it could have been that Riley’s ear was close to Ben’s mouth. Yeah, Riley decided it was that. “Call Sibley Memorial and have them meet us at the ER. Also, call the police, see if we can get an escort.”

“Put me down,” Riley said. “You’re shouting in my ear. Or speaking really loud into it. Besides, I think I want to throw up again.” An empty champagne bucket was shoved under his chin, and he grasped it gratefully.

The car ride this time was more memorable. For one thing, he didn’t have his seatbelt on and kept sliding all over the backseat even though Patrick and Emily were holding him between them. Secondly, they were surrounded by a brigade of flashing lights and sirens, and alternatively, Riley could and couldn’t hear them.

The lights of the ER were somewhat dimmed by the fact that it was still bright out, but it was impressive nonetheless that a whole team of doctors and nurses met them at the entrance.

“I’m still itchy,” Riley mentioned to Emily before Ben pulled her out of the car so he could grab Riley. “No, no more carrying me!”

Ben didn’t listen, and Riley found himself in the air again. Thankfully, there was a gurney close by and Ben surrendered him quickly. Then Ben was pulled away by one of D.C.’s finest while Abigail and Emily followed the gurney as he was abducted into the ER by the medical personnel.

Patrick, the last face Riley saw before he was blasted by the excessive lights on the ceiling, was sad and staying by the door so he could keep an eye on Bn.

“Sweetheart,” Emily said, and Riley’s eyes snapped to her face. “Do you remember when you first fell ill?”

He guessed that she was repeating a question someone else had already asked. “Um,” he said, surprised that his mind blanked, and he felt someone swab his stomach. Where had his shirt gone? Oh, it was still there, pushed up so the hem was in the middle of his chest again.

Abigail’s face replaced Emily’s and the transition made Riley dizzy. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes didn’t, and that frightened Riley more than it should have. “Riley, it’s really important that you remember.”

“I know,” he said, but he thought he was slurring again and wasn’t sure if they knew what he meant. “It was about two or three weeks ago. I don’t…I don’t really know. I’m sorry.”

“Hey now, it’s okay.” And there was Ben. “Look, we have to stay here, but don’t worry, kid, you’re going to be fine.”

“Ben, I don’t have the flu, do I?” Riley started crying. He tried to stop the tears, mostly to keep them from rolling down his face and into his ears, but he was so, so, so very tired and it was easier to let them fall and let his eyes close.

He heard the muffled sounds of Ben’s shoes, and the scrape of a chair, and the wheels humming and clicking over the tiled floor, but then he was pushed into another room, and all sound stopped.

Gradually, his ears acclimated to the noises of the new room, and he was able to hear hushed voices and other, more sinister noises, like strange ticking. Still, it was a surprise when two nurses’ aides lifted him enough that they could slip his clothes off. Now, he was naked, and it was almost worse than when Ben had been in the bathroom with him. A thin blanket settled over his legs, and he realized the itchy pain had spread to all over.

“Looks like a severe allergy,” someone off to Riley’s left said. “Get a full panel done, and screen for the unusual ones.”

“I’m not unusual,” Riley mumbled, opening his eyes. He glared at the people he could see, worried when all he could see was their eyes above sterile masks. Pretty sure none of them had those when he was brought in.

“Mr. Poole,” the voice to his left said, “can you tell me what you’ve had contact with in the past twenty-four hours?”

“Ben,” Riley said, and his eyes slid shut again, “Ben’s car, Ben’s parents, Ben’s girlfriend, Ben’s house, Ben’s couch, Ben’s car again, my apartment, my couch, Ben, my shower and shower soap, someone’s oatmeal, water, air, sunlight.”

“Stop,” the voice finally commanded. “Oatmeal?”

“It’s the only thing I’ve been able to eat without getting sick on lately.”

“Ben’s couch? Your couch?”

“Ben’s was itchy, it gave me the rash. Mine was fine. I slept on it.”

“Ben’s parents? And girlfriend?”

“They were concerned. They hugged me. Well, not Patrick. He shook my hand.” Riley blinked his eyes open, wincing at the light and trying to locate the man belonging to the voice. “It happens a lot, especially since I’ve been sick.”

“I’m not going to lie, Mr. Poole,” the doctor leaned down and Riley jumped at the sudden closeness, “we think you were poisoned. Do you have any idea what it could have been?”

“Try my milk,” Riley said, remembering Ben said he’d thrown it away. “I drank some just before I got sick, but I haven’t had any since then. And Ben got rid of it. Said he threw it out.”

“Get on that,” the doctor said to someone else, and a flurry of footsteps ran from the room. “Mr. Poole, I need to draw blood now. You’ll feel a slight pinch.”

The crook of his left elbow was swabbed with ice, and a slick numbness slid over his arm. In the center of the numb, a sharp prick happened, and Riley moaned at the thought of a needle sliding into his vein. There was a digging pain, and then blissfully, nothing.

He drifted off, listening to the medical people speak around him, understanding less and less of the language. His last thought was he should ask if being overtired was a symptom.

ooOoo

Chapter Two

#Fanfiction #Nat'l Treas #Riley Poole #First Chapter/Excerpt #Scared but Excited #My Story/My Writing

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