the other exit from the control room. That door led to the research labs, but she could get to the living quarters through there. She had to see if any of the others were still alive.
Access doors into various sectors of the facility were controlled by a security system. A password was needed on the outside, and a push button on a wall opened themfrom inside. She wondered if sheâd be able to open any of them without any electricity.
Marion made her way around the table toward the door leading to the labs and living quarters, one hand pressing against the walls, the furniture, anything that would give her support. As she went, she tried not to look at the bodies of her dead colleagues.
Reaching the door, she pressed the button and pulled the door handle. It didnât budge.
âPlease.â She pressed the button again and tried to pull harder, but her brain suddenly felt as if it would split from the exertion.
Marion leaned back against the door until the pain lessened. She looked across the room at the other doorâ¦where Dr. Leeâs body lay.
Nausea swept through her again, and she fought to hold it down. The odor in the room did not help, and suddenly she felt the clutch of claustrophobia. She could feel her heart racing. Grabbing hold of desks as she went, Marion tried to stay as far away from the conference-room table as she could. As much as she told herself to stay calm, panic had a grip on her now. She had to get out of here. She had to get out of this room.
Her advisor lay facedown in the doorway. The upper part of his body was in the control room, one leg holding the door partly ajar. Marion pushed the door farther open. It was extremely heavy but it swung open. Suddenly, she wasnât afraid of the attackers being by the elevators anymore. She had to get out.
She tried not to look down at the blood that surrounded Dr. Lee.
As Marion stepped carefully over the man, the other penlight sheâd stuffed in her pocket fell to the floor. She considered leaving it, but the idea of abandoning anysource of light didnât seem like a smart decision. She wouldnât be coming back into this room if she could help it.
She crouched and reached back over the body to get the light. It lay next to Eugene Leeâs pale, outstretched hand.
The binder under her arm slipped. As Marion maneuvered to hold on to it, her fingers accidentally touched her advisorâs cold hand. She recoiled involuntarily, but then gathered herself and reached again for the light.
As she picked it up, however, Dr. Leeâs fingers closed around her wristâ¦and Marionâs scream pierced the silence of the facility.
12
Waterbury Long-Term Care Facility
Connecticut
F riday night.
Jennifer Sullivanâs shift had ended two and half hours ago, but sheâd already decided she was staying right here in JDâs room for as long as it took these three doctors to finish whatever they were doing tonight.
JD had again become agitated right after lunch, but the duration of the episode had been brief. This time Dr. Baer was around and no sedatives had been given to her.
Baer had left at his regular time this afternoon. The neurologist, Sid Conway, was joined by two other doctors from UCONN who looked even younger than he. The doctors were residents in neurology, as well. One of them, a young black man named Desmond Beruti, was extremely serious and focused on what he was doing. He struck Jennifer as a man of very few words. The other was a short, squarely built man named Nat Rosen. He looked like an ex-wrestler and talked nonstop. Most of what he said, however, was needling trash talk that his coworkers ignored. Still, when he gave his input on the task at hand, the others listened.
If she hadnât been introduced to them by Dr. Baer,she could have mistaken all three of them as college kids. They were way too young to be so knowledgeable.
Jen shook her head, watching them work. They were so young. Of
Access doors into various sectors of the facility were controlled by a security system. A password was needed on the outside, and a push button on a wall opened themfrom inside. She wondered if sheâd be able to open any of them without any electricity.
Marion made her way around the table toward the door leading to the labs and living quarters, one hand pressing against the walls, the furniture, anything that would give her support. As she went, she tried not to look at the bodies of her dead colleagues.
Reaching the door, she pressed the button and pulled the door handle. It didnât budge.
âPlease.â She pressed the button again and tried to pull harder, but her brain suddenly felt as if it would split from the exertion.
Marion leaned back against the door until the pain lessened. She looked across the room at the other doorâ¦where Dr. Leeâs body lay.
Nausea swept through her again, and she fought to hold it down. The odor in the room did not help, and suddenly she felt the clutch of claustrophobia. She could feel her heart racing. Grabbing hold of desks as she went, Marion tried to stay as far away from the conference-room table as she could. As much as she told herself to stay calm, panic had a grip on her now. She had to get out of here. She had to get out of this room.
Her advisor lay facedown in the doorway. The upper part of his body was in the control room, one leg holding the door partly ajar. Marion pushed the door farther open. It was extremely heavy but it swung open. Suddenly, she wasnât afraid of the attackers being by the elevators anymore. She had to get out.
She tried not to look down at the blood that surrounded Dr. Lee.
As Marion stepped carefully over the man, the other penlight sheâd stuffed in her pocket fell to the floor. She considered leaving it, but the idea of abandoning anysource of light didnât seem like a smart decision. She wouldnât be coming back into this room if she could help it.
She crouched and reached back over the body to get the light. It lay next to Eugene Leeâs pale, outstretched hand.
The binder under her arm slipped. As Marion maneuvered to hold on to it, her fingers accidentally touched her advisorâs cold hand. She recoiled involuntarily, but then gathered herself and reached again for the light.
As she picked it up, however, Dr. Leeâs fingers closed around her wristâ¦and Marionâs scream pierced the silence of the facility.
12
Waterbury Long-Term Care Facility
Connecticut
F riday night.
Jennifer Sullivanâs shift had ended two and half hours ago, but sheâd already decided she was staying right here in JDâs room for as long as it took these three doctors to finish whatever they were doing tonight.
JD had again become agitated right after lunch, but the duration of the episode had been brief. This time Dr. Baer was around and no sedatives had been given to her.
Baer had left at his regular time this afternoon. The neurologist, Sid Conway, was joined by two other doctors from UCONN who looked even younger than he. The doctors were residents in neurology, as well. One of them, a young black man named Desmond Beruti, was extremely serious and focused on what he was doing. He struck Jennifer as a man of very few words. The other was a short, squarely built man named Nat Rosen. He looked like an ex-wrestler and talked nonstop. Most of what he said, however, was needling trash talk that his coworkers ignored. Still, when he gave his input on the task at hand, the others listened.
If she hadnât been introduced to them by Dr. Baer,she could have mistaken all three of them as college kids. They were way too young to be so knowledgeable.
Jen shook her head, watching them work. They were so young. Of
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