Chapter 9: A SEARCH AND A THREAT

Noah is filling the form to access Natalie's—Riley's older sister—death certificate. He's been waiting in line for hours, and the sun heats the windows. There is no AC, so Noah is wearing a plain T-shirt. Still, he's extremely hot.

He brought a book, and he has already finished half of it. The queue moves really slow. His phone vibrates. A message. From Duncan.

RUNE TOLD ME YOU HAVE A PHONE.

FUCKING FINALLY.

CONGRATULATION ON EVOLVING, MAN.

DEATH LOOKS GOOD ON YOU.

MEET US AT ROGER'S GARAGE, 12PM. LET'S HAVE SOME FUN.

He chuckles at the messages. News sure travel fast in the group.

When he has already filled the paperwork, he retrieves the death certificate. He quickly scans it, frowning. It's listed as a natural cause. Noah wonders why Riley didn't mention anything to Rose or the group. Rose said that Riley had suddenly left college, and he gave no explanation to anyone. Duncan had spoken to Rose, in case she knew something, because his sudden change in behavior was upsetting. He didn't explain anything, but he didn't have to, his actions spoke louder than his silence.

Noah scoffs at the paper. So much work for so little payoff. And Natalie's death must've been important to him. Even if it's a long shot, he must exhaust every possibility until he has a clearer path. Right now, every incongruence is a clue.

He narrows his eyes at the registered cause of death... Maybe... There is something he can do, he thinks as he sees the signature. He doesn't recognize the name of the doctor, but a quick search on the internet throws the web of the hospital in which he's a resident.

It's a long walk, but Noah is still reluctant to take public transportation. So he walks under the scorching sun, sweat running down his back. By the time he reaches the place, he is panting.

The hospital doesn't have digitalized records, so the staff has to retrieve the files from the archives. He waits on the waiting room. A woman is brushing a child's hair, the child is wearing a pink hospital gown decorated with pins. A young couple is reading a pregnancy pamphlet, her belly protruding in her shirt, their matching golden rings shine under the sterile light.

His phone vibrates, and he answers Rose's call.

"I'm at Saint Anne Hospital, waiting for her clinical history. I don't know, I just feel like I have to find out what happened to her. It's not fair to forget her." Lies. Everything is a lie.

"Okay. I want to know about your sister, I feel it's going to be good for you to open up about this. Will you wait for me to finish work?"

"Yeah," he says, "we'll look at it together, at home."

A middle aged man with glasses, black hair and a white coat approaches him with a folder in his underarm.

"Mr. Addaway, nice to see you again. I'm sorry I couldn't contact you sooner. Here it is."

Noah looks at the name tag, Anthony Corrales. It's the doctor that signed her death certificate.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"I want to apologize in the name of the hospital. It shames me as a doctor, and as a person."

Noah looks at him with an interrogation in his eyes.

"We failed your sister."

"It's okay, Doctor. I'm sure the staff did everything in their hands to save her."

"We were met with obstacles since her admittance." He nods to himself, as if remembering the events from a long time ago. "We tried our best despite the pressure of the committee. Even after her death, they forced our hands."

"What do you mean?", asks Noah with an uncertain edge in his voice.

"You said it yourself. She was healthy, there was no reason for her quick deterioration."

Noah nods. His head is spinning. He thanks the doctor once again, and takes the copy. He puts it in his bag. He realizes his stomach is growling.

When he gets outside, the brightness blinds him for a second. And he doesn't see the sudden movement in his periphery until it's too late. A hand wraps around his neck, cutting his air supply while he's dragged to an isolated area.

He lets himself be dragged, his mind setting to a survival mode. He feels the sharp edge of a knife resting in his Adam's apple, and he is able to breathe again, although a slight movement will bury the knife in his skin.

"Be careful, or we'll open a second smile." The breath of the attacker feels sticky and humid in his cheek. He laughs. "Well, look at this, you already have a 'cut here' line."

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Noah knows he's referring to the small scar that runs side to side just below his trachea. He stays silent, probing his range of movement against the sharp edge. It stings.

"Not even gonna beg?"

"Why don't you press the knife harder?" Noah says panting, "Let's see how much time it takes for me to die."

He feels the attacker's unsure hold.

"You sure are something else, eh?" the man says laughing. With his free hand, he produces a photograph, and Noah cannot hide the shriek that grows in his throat at the sight of it.

Even in the dark, the silhouette of Rune and Noah sitting in the beach is clear. The camera must've been good, he thinks with a disgusted grimace in his face. The bottle of wine is frozen between them. Noah can't help feel naked and exposed, their private moment captured to tease him, to hurt him, to mock him. He shifts, straining against the knife, his urge to plunge in the knife to take away the satisfaction to the attacker.

Noah snatches the photo and crumples it in his hand.

"Fuck you," he snaps in a low growl. His hand shoots to the man holding the knife, and he digs his fingernails in the hand that holds the weapon. He's not sure if he draws blood. He only wants to tear and rip.

"Andrew is off limits, do you hear me?" the attacker says. "As much as I loved seeing you all lovey-dovey, my boss thinks we have to teach you a lesson."

The man plunges the knife in Noah's stomach, his cry muffled by a hand in his mouth. Another agonic cry scape his lips as the knife is twisted.

"Don't worry, it didn't touch anything vital. It's just a warning."

Noah snarls through his clenched teeth.

"Let me explain the rules again. Andrew is ours. Nobody touches him. I thought Duncan knew this... Maybe he didn't pass the memo."

Now is Noah who laughs. But it's not a pretty laugh. It's not a nervous laugh. It's hysterical, equal parts hurt and twisted. A screech that tears in his heart, unleashing, breaking out, scratching the surface with sharp nails.

He realizes he's trembling. It's fear. But it's something else.

"What the fuck?" He whispers to himself.

He shoves Noah forward. Putting pressure in the wound, he winces and loses balance, falling to the floor, scratching his palms. A quick tug in his shoulder, and he realizes they have his bag.

He clutches his stomach, and liquid seeps through his fingers.

Noah watches the blurry figure of the attacker, his eyes filled with tears. He gets on a large white van with tainted windows. The license plate burns in Noah's mind.

His messenger bag is beside him, but the history records are gone.

He gets up, and gets on the hospital.

Doctor Corrales is checking a history with the nurses in the counter. When he sees the battered state of Noah, he rushes to help him get to ER.

"Doctor, I'm sorry to bother you. But I'll need another copy of the records."

They stitch him up. It's a penetrating wound that hasn't damaged any major vessel or organ, but many complications can ensue from the damage to muscle tissue. It will take a few weeks to completely heal, and he'll have to be extra careful with the stitches. He could've patched it up in his bathroom, but he needs Natalie's history, so the hospital was a good enough option.

The doctor prescribes strong painkillers, and explains how to take care of the stitches. Keeping it dry at least 48 hours, as to preserve the healing process, then washing around the wound...

His T-shirt is all crusty with dried blood, and teared up where the knife penetrated. At this rhythm, he'll have to buy a whole wardrobe every two weeks or so. He looks at the hour in his phone screen. It's 8 pm. He sighs. So much time lost, he'll have to arrive home quickly if he wants to be on time.

He sees Dr. Corrales talking with a man older than him. Judging from the exaggerated gestures that Corrales throws at the man, it's a heated conversation. The man has a death stare, and he cuts the doctor in a single gesture. Noah guesses he's at least his senior, according to his demeanor and confidence. Dr. Corrales huffs, and then he comes up to Noah.

"It's gone," he says running a hand in his black hair. "I can't believe they took it."

Noah laughs. "Well, fuck."

He thanks the doctor, and calls a taxi to take him home.

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