Toxic Affections (2 page)

A second later, a chair was pushed within an inch of Royston. His mind reeled, his head ached, he was beginning to hyperventilate. The doctor’s voice played in his head, reciting the symptoms over and again. Royston was familiar with each of them, had studied them and worse, he had manufactured the toxin that produced them. He fell into the wheelchair. At that same moment, Larson sat up on the gurney, waking from his fainting spell. Royston looked over at him.

“You!” he yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Larson. He sprung from the chair. “It was supposed to be you, not my girl!”

Royston was barreling towards Larson, but a glimpse into the room where Kerrington lay stopped him cold. He stared at her like she were a baby in a crib. By now, security had shown up and the doctor was armed with a sedative filled syringe in case Royston became belligerent again. He was, after all, a large man.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You’re the one who should be laying there. I meant it for you.” Royston was rambling, making his quiet thoughts common knowledge. He was incriminating himself without a single thought beyond his beloved Kerrington.

“Sir, you need to calm down.” The doctor was standing behind him.

“She has botulism. She needs an antitoxin,” Royston said.

“Sir, we’re doing all we can for your daughter—”

“No, listen to me! She needs Trivalent. She’s got a toxin in her system called Botulinum and if you don’t hurry, she could be permanently paralyzed. She could die.” The last sentence came out in a whisper. His eyes welled and then Larson spoke.

“You did this to her?” Larson could hardly believe his ears. “How could you?” Larson’s voice was quiet.

Royston’s strength seemed to wash away, drain from his body as though someone had pulled the release valve. He gazed at Kerri again, walking past her room to where Larson was sitting and stood in front of him. The security guards and the doctor took synchronized steps behind him, like dancers in a disjointed theater production. Royston’s face was ambivalent, awash between latent anger and sorrow.

“It was supposed to be you. You were trying to take my baby away from me.” In a flash Royston’s expression changed. “I’ll get it myself. These imbeciles won’t listen to me.” He made a move for the exit.

“I’m sorry, sir, we can’t let you leave,” said one of the security guards. Royston ignored the man and tried to push past him. The second guard moved in to block his path as well.

“Out of my way! I need to get the antitoxin. It’ll save my daughter’s life.”

“You can’t leave until you’re cleared by the police.”

“The hell I can’t! Now outta my way!” Royston pummeled through the guards, elbowing one of them in the face. He banged open the double doors only to slam into a pair of police officers. Each of them took hold of one of Royston’s arms.

“Let me go!” He writhed against their hold, yelled and pushed trying to free himself. “She needs Trivalent. I just need to get to my lab. Please!”

The security guards came through the doors, one gripping his busted nose. The cops took one look at them and shuffled Royston out the lobby doors and into their awaiting cruiser. Meanwhile, Larson pulled aside one of the doctors who’d been working on Kerri.

“I know you guys have procedure and protocol, but could you test her for Botulism? I think she was exposed.”

“Sir, we can’t just test her at random because you
think
she was exposed to something. We—”

“And I can’t just lose her because you won’t. Run the fucking test!” Larson’s lips were pressed tightly together.

The doctor inhaled to respond, no doubt to reprimand Larson for his language as a preface, but the other doctor who’d been dealing with Mr. Young ran in. The two whispered amongst themselves, pausing intermittently to glance in Kerri’s direction.

“Just a moment,” one of them said.

Both the doctors left the room, closing the door behind them. Larson sat on the stool the doctor had been using next to Kerri’s bed. He grabbed her hand and watched her chest move with the artificial breaths that tethered her to life.

“I’m so sorry,” he kissed her fingers. “I should’ve kept the big steak and made you keep the little one.” He laughed, almost mirthlessly. He sat there as the hours ticked by just staring at her.

Larson didn’t look up when one of the doctors entered the room. He assumed it was one of the nurses who’d been coming in rotated shifts.

“It’s botulism. We’re contacting the CDC for an antitoxin now,” he announced.

“And what makes you so sure?” the other doctor—the skeptic who’d refused to run the test—countered, arriving on the man’s heels.

“Doctor Helm had the test run as soon as he heard the father mention it. Test came back positive.” The doctor nodded and stepped around Larson.

“We’ll let you know as soon as it gets here, Mr?”

“Bales. Larson Bales.”

“Mr. Bales.”

* * *

Kerri, in an effort to get her father and Larson to bond she convinced them both to have dinner at her father’s house. She hoped her father would finally see the many reasons she loved Larson so much. It was supposed to be a getting-to-know-you dinner, an ‘oh, by the way we’re going to Europe together for a few months’ meal. It didn’t go over well.

Larson remembered how insistent Royston had been about Larson having the larger steak, despite his objections. Kerri frequently ate more than Larson; her small frame and huge appetite was often the subject of jokes between them. Kerri easily out-ate Larson. While Royston turned to pour himself and Larson a glass of bourbon, ignoring his refusal of the drink, Kerri and he switched plates. They giggled like elementary school kids passing notes behind the teachers back. Throughout dinner, they made small talk and Kerri highlighted Larson’s best qualities. Despite her efforts, Royston didn’t warm to Larson, but smiled satisfactorily at his empty plate.

In the days that followed, Kerri’s appetite was non-existent. She equated it with nervousness. She was about to disobey her father for the first time in her life and leave the country without him. The day before she and Larson were due to leave, however, her father threatened Larson’s life. It wasn’t a traditional kill threat, but she knew what her father was capable of. Kerri had dated a boy when she was in high school, but when Royston felt it was getting too serious and had the potential to derail Kerri’s education, the boy suddenly stopped attending the prestigious school. He ended up in a juvenile detention center until Kerri graduated.

“Kerrington,” Royston said, towering over his daughter as she sat on the bed in her childhood room. “You’re not going to Europe with that boy. You’re staying here.”

“But dad—” Royston held up a hand to halt her protests.

“End it now or I will make it my second priority to ruin his life.” He picked up the phone and handed it to her.

“Now?” Her eyes were tearful and pleading as she looked at her father. He was silent. She dialed Larson, but Royston snatched the phone as soon as the final number was pressed.

“Hey, baby,” Larson answered jovially. Royston’s scowl grew, shading his face the color of anger. He handed the phone back to Kerri.

“Tell him!”

Kerrington did as she was told. She remained in her room, sobbing uncontrollably for the next twenty-four hours. She didn’t eat or drink. Laden with tears she stayed in bed, until in a moment of defiance she bolted out of the house to catch Larson at the train station.

* * *

In Royston’s uncontrolled, emotional rambles, he admitted that he’d injected the steak with the Botulinum toxin; all to keep Larson from taking away his little girl. Now, thanks to him, Kerri lay paralyzed in a hospital bed because she’d eaten from the wrong plate. He may have just killed her just to keep them apart.

Larson looked up from Kerri as someone new walked through the door. He was wearing a lab coat, but didn’t have the same air as the hospital staff. He looked a bit geeky with his glasses resting atop his head and a pair of goggles around his neck. Before he could proceed further into the room, he was stopped by the doctor. They conferred quietly before the doctor came in and announced that he had the antitoxin, administering it immediately.

In the months that followed, Kerri’s body healed, but her heart remained fractured. It was discovered that the tiny tube that was pulled from her arm was an illegal tracking device. Either end of the tube contained a liquid; one was Valerian, a mild plant sedative. The other was an acidic agent meant to self-destruct the object if it were ever removed from its host. It had malfunctioned, nearly blinding the doctor who’d extracted it.

Kerri, in time, regained use of her muscles, but never the ability to love her father as she once had. She visited him once, undaunted by the barrier of glass that protected her from him and his toxic affections. He was supposed to protect her, but now that duty was Larson’s. He’d become a pillar of strength and love for her.

As soon as Kerri felt well enough, she and Larson boarded a plane to Europe as they had originally planned. Their first stop was Greece, the next was Italy.

They sat at a tiny table on the veranda of a cafe. The air held a rich combination of scents: fresh baked bread, coffee, various cooked dishes wafting from open cafe doors and windows. They sat quietly as Larson pretended to read a book in Italian and Kerri people watched as she nibbled on biscotti. She gazed at the clay tiled roofs and cobblestone streets as she picked up her cup and lifted it to her lips, sipping her coffee. Kerri, without looking, placed her cup back down, but nearly spilled the beverage because something was keeping her cup from fitting into the saucer’s groove. She looked at the object there. It was a ring. She still held the cup as she looked to Larson.

“Kerri,” Larson began. “Would you...” Larson couldn’t get the words out of his mouth.

“Yes! Yes!” Kerri yelled, giggling uncontrollably like a child being tickled.

She sprang from her seat and threw herself onto Larson, toppling his chair. They were still laughing and the ring still lie in the circular cutout of the empty saucer. Kerri’s coffee cup was on the ground next to her abandoned chair. Her arms were locked around his neck as she kissed his face over and over again. Passersby looked on in confusion, some in admiration, smiling at their happiness.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Always at the top of my list is God. You are the Man! In addition, I’d like to thank my fellow indie writers for purposely and indadvertedly cultivating my writing. Thank you for your input, discerning eyes, and willing red pens. Even more, thank you for your encouragement and infectious ambition; for injecting me with your creative toxins.

In Loving Memory Of

Lavonzell “Bonnie” Barksdale