“The animal is restless,” Richard rasped. “God, I need some water.” He sat up, waited for a moment, then got to his feet. “I’m dizzy,” he said. “I might even have a fever.”
He walked hesitantly into the kitchen and got a glass. As he was filling it, Jack thought about knocking his legs out from under him. But he decided that would only win him another blow to the head.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Jack said.
“Shut up,” Richard said.
“It’s been a long time,” Jack said. “It’s not as if I’m asking to go for a run in the yard. And if I don’t go, it’s going to be unpleasant around here.”
Richard shook his head in resignation. After he took a drink of water, he called out to Terese that her services were needed. Then he got the gun from the kitchen table.
Jack heard Richard cock the gun. The move narrowed Jack’s options.
Terese appeared with the key. Jack noticed her eyes had a glazed, feverish look. She bent down under the sink and unlocked one side of the handcuffs without a word. She backed away as Jack got to his feet. As before, the room swam before his eyes. Some escape artist, he thought cynically. He was weak from lack of food, sleep, and liquids. Terese relocked the handcuffs.
Richard marched directly behind Jack with the gun at the ready. There was nothing that Jack could do. When he got to the bathroom he tried to close the door.
“Sorry,” Terese said, using her foot to block it. “You lost that privilege.”
Jack looked from one to the other. He could tell there was no use arguing. He shrugged and turned around to relieve himself. When he was finished he motioned toward the sink. “How about my washing my face,” he asked.
“If you must,” Terese said. She coughed but then held herself in check. It was obvious her throat was sore.
Jack stepped to the sink, which was out of the line of Terese’s sight. After turning on the water, Jack surreptitiously got out his rimantadine and took one of the tablets. In his haste he almost dropped the vial before getting it back into his pocket.
He glanced at himself in the mirror and recoiled. He looked significantly worse than he had that morning, thanks to the new laceration high on his forehead. It was gaping and needed stitches if it was to heal without a scar. Jack laughed at himself. What a time to worry about cosmetics!
The trip back to the spot of Jack’s internment was without incident. There were a few moments when Jack was tempted to try something, but each time his courage failed him. By the time Jack was again locked up under the sink he felt disappointed in himself and correspondingly despondent. He had the disheartening sense that he’d just let his last chance of escape slip by.
“Do you want any soup?” Terese asked Richard.
“I’m really not hungry,” Richard admitted. “All I want is a couple of aspirin. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“I’m not hungry either,” Terese said. “This is more than a cold. I’m sure I have a fever too. Do you think we should be worried?”
“Obviously we’ve got what Jack has,” Richard said. “I guess he’s just more stoic. Anyway, we’ll see a doctor tomorrow after Twin’s visit if we think we should. Who knows, maybe a night’s sleep is all we need.”
“Let me have a couple of those aspirins,” Terese said.
After taking their analgesic Terese and Richard returned to the living room. Richard spent a few moments building up the dying fire. Terese made herself as comfortable as possible on her couch. Soon Richard went back to his. They both seemed exhausted.
Jack was surer than ever that both his captors had the deadly strain of the flu. He didn’t know what his ethics dictated he do. The problem was his rimantadine, and the fact that it possibly could thwart the flu’s progress. Jack agonized silently over whether he should tell them of his exposure and talk them into taking the drug to potentially save their lives even though they were totally committed to ending his and were responsible for the deaths of other innocent victims. With that in mind, did he owe Terese and Richard compassion in the face of their callous indifference? Should his oath as a physician prevail?
Jack took no comfort at the notion of poetic justice being done. Yet if he shared the rimantadine with them, they might deny it to him. After all, they weren’t choosy about the way he died as long as it wasn’t directly by their hand.
Jack sighed. It was an impossible decision. He couldn’t choose. But not making a decision was, in effect, a decision. Jack understood its ramifications.
By nine o’clock Terese’s and Richard’s breathing had become stertorous, punctuated by frequent coughing episodes. Terese’s condition seemed worse than Richard’s. Around ten a markedly violent fit of coughing woke Terese up, and she moaned for Richard.
“What’s the matter?” Richard questioned lethargically.
“I’m feeling worse,” Terese said. “I need some water and another aspirin.”
Richard got up and woozily made his way into the kitchen. He gave Jack a halfhearted kick to move him out of the way. Needing little encouragement, Jack scrambled to the side as much as his shackled hands would allow. Richard filled a glass with water and stumbled back to Terese.
Terese sat up to take the aspirin and the water, while Richard helped support the glass. When she was finished with the water, she pushed the glass away and wiped her mouth with her hand. Her movements were jerky. “With the way I’m feeling, do you think we should head back to the city tonight?” she questioned.
“We have to wait for morning,” Richard said. “As soon as Twin comes we’ll be off. Besides, I’m too sleepy to drive now anyway.”
“You’re right,” Terese said as she flopped back. “At the moment I don’t think I could stand the drive either. Not with this cough. It’s hard to catch my breath.”
“Sleep it off,” Richard said. “I’ll leave the rest of the water right here next to you.” He put the glass on the coffee table.
“Thanks,” Terese murmured.
Richard made his way back to his couch and collapsed. He drew the blanket up around his neck and sighed loudly.
Time dragged, and with it Terese and Richard’s congested breathing slowly got worse. By ten-thirty Jack noticed that Terese’s respiration was labored. Even from as far away as the kitchen he could see that her lips had become dusky. He was amazed she’d not awakened. He guessed the aspirin had brought her fever down.
In spite of his ambivalence, Jack was finally moved to say something. He called out to Richard and told him Terese didn’t sound or look good.
“Shut up!” Richard yelled back between coughs.
Jack stayed silent for another half hour. By then he was convinced he could hear faint popping noises at the end of each of Terese’s inspirations that sounded like moist rales. If they were, it was an ominous sign, suggesting to Jack that Terese was slipping into acute respiratory distress.
“Richard!” Jack called out, despite Richard’s warning to stay quiet. “Terese is getting worse.”
There was no response.
“Richard!” Jack called louder.
“What?” Richard answered sluggishly.
“I think your sister needs to be in an intensive care unit,” Jack said.
Richard didn’t respond.
“I’m warning you,” Jack called. “I’m a doctor, after all, and I should know. If you don’t do something it’s going to be your fault.”
Jack had hit a nerve, and to his surprise Richard leaped off the couch in a fit of rage. “My fault?” he snarled. “It’s your fault for giving us whatever we have!” Frantically he looked for the gun, but he couldn’t remember what he’d done with it after Jack’s last visit to the bathroom.
The search for the pistol only lasted for a few seconds. Richard suddenly grabbed his head with both hands and moaned about his headache. Then he swayed before collapsing back onto the couch.
Jack sighed with relief. Touching off a fit of rage in Richard had not been expected. He tried not to imagine what might have happened had the gun been handy.