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The door closes, cutting me off from Pavel as I stand in the empty room, the promise that, “The doctor will be right with you,” echoing in the windowless space.
I take a seat in one of the two waiting chairs, thinking that, if I already had a child, they would surely be trying to sway me to allow them to spin on the doctor’s stool. Gazing around the room, I read posters for women’s health, and the health of a woman while pregnant. I read the stages of expected weight gain, and the changes I should expect my body to undergo. It’s all a bit stressful, and I find my gaze straying from the posters to the second door, at the back of the office. An emergency exit, I assume. We are in the back of the clinic, so, surely, the door leads to the outside in the case of a fire. Smart, I think, and then the thought is cut short as a stout man somewhere in his fifties with a full head of gray hair enters the room. He moves quick and sure, flashing me a smile that feels a little too wide.
My gaze shifts to the extra-large cup of take-out coffee in his hand, and I deduce that as the reason for his wired, slightly unhinged, grin.
“I’m Doctor Gibbons,” I think he might be sweating. “You must be Ruby Volkov?”
“I am. It’s nice to meet you. You come highly recommended.”
That brittle smile stretches wider. “Yes, yes. Should we begin?”
I nod, a little surprised when he immediately gestures me up onto the table. I thought we’d be talking first, but apparently, it’s right to business.
“How far along are you, Ruby?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe six, eight weeks.”
He nods, still clutching his coffee. “Lay back for me now, please.”
I swear, he’s shaking. Definitely too much coffee.
Still, I do as he asks, murmuring, “I eat a lot of apples,” when he asks if I’m getting my fruit and veggies in.
“I’m going to check your nodes, and then we’ll do an ultrasound to see just how far along you are, okay, Ruby?”
My nodes? “I’m not sick.”
“But it says in your chart you’ve been suffering from vomiting.” He flashes me another grin. I can’t help but think it’s slightly maniacal.
I’m about to ask for Pavel to come in with me when I feel his hands on my neck, searching my nodes. He’s set the cup of coffee on the table next to the bed, where I assume he would usually leave his doctorly tools. Although his touch is clammy and a little shaky, it is gentle. I lay back and, when he tells me to take in a deep breath and relax, I try to do as he says, letting my eyes drift closed.
That’s when I feel it, a prick of pain before a flood of something hot spreads under my skin. I let out a small yelp, but am silenced quickly by a damp cloth over my mouth. It smells faintly sweet.
As I struggle, already heavy from the drug, I see the coffee cup tipped, empty on its side. A syringe sits next to it now—empty.
Oh, God, no. Please…
I’m too heavy to struggle now. Dr. Gibbons leans down as my vision begins to distort. “I am so sorry. They threatened my family. I have—I have grandbabies.” He’s sweating now—crying. But he shoves something long and cold down my leggings, on the outside of my thigh. “I hope this helps.” He sobs, sucks in a sharp breath. “My grandbabies. God forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
The door at the back of the office opens. I struggle against the black that threatens the edges of my vision as a man appears. He looks mean, I think, as he lifts a blade and slices it across Dr. Gibbon’s neck.
Fear spikes, and I let out a scream that sounds like nothing more than the squeak of a mouse.
Dr. Gibbons drops, dead to the floor, and the blackness threatening my vision sweeps in to claim all of me.
Forty-Four
Kirill
“Find her.” The fucking doctor is dead on the floor, and no one heard a sound. Pavel looks as though he is ready to murder the fucking clinic as he interrogates the nurses, who cry against a wall. No, they’re not crying, they’re sobbing.
I don’t give a fuck.
Inside my chest, my heart is breaking. And yet, I keep the calm I’ve been trained to keep. There’s nothing else I can do, but I swear to heaven and hell, I will find her.
I call my brother. He answers, his words teasing even as they fall clipped. “I’ve just finished war, and you’re calling me. You are worse than my wife.”
“Ruby is gone.”
