Patient Twelve

Chapter Thirty-Seven

 Ben's skin was slick with sweat. He was warm, and the locks of his hair had stuck to his forehead. He was tired and dragged me into the bedroom with him. I was lying on my back, and Ben's head was on my chest and his arm around me. My sweat was prickling at the back of my neck from the heat radiating off his body.

Ben had peeled off his shirt before crawling into bed. The gauze was still wrapped around his abdomen. I could only imagine how awful his infection must look. He was exhibiting the symptoms of infection that I had read in the textbook that Oliver gave me in the Caribbean.

I tried to wiggle my way out of the bed. Ben would moan and tighten his grip on me. I had managed to get out of the bed once, but the door creaked so loud that Ben soon jumped out of bed.

He knew exactly what I was trying to do.

When he finally woke up for good, it was dark outside. He watched me as I warmed a can of soup on the stove. He had yet to put a shirt back on. My eyes glanced down at his stomach. A mixture of blood and pus was soaking through the gauze.

"We're going in an hour," Ben said.

I realized that I was staring and the heat rushed to my cheeks. I poured us each a bowl of soup and brought them over to the dining table. The wood was scratched and it was missing one of the chairs.

"This is Bethany's cabin?" I asked.

"Yeah, it is," Ben said.

"It doesn't seem like it would be luxurious enough for her." I ran my finger along with one of the large gouges on the tabletop.

"She bought it with a boyfriend years and years ago," he said. "She was rarely here. She only came when she wanted to get away from the city, but that wasn't often."

I nodded my head and stirred the spoon in the soup. Ben was bringing me into the town. He wanted me to be his partner in crime, but I could ruin his plan. I could run and get help.

I know how that ends. I know it will turn into innocent people being killed, such as the man at the gas station. I could not let the thought of escaping leave my mind though. I had to get out of here, and I had to get out of here alive too.

"No one comes out here?" I asked.

"No." His lips lifted into a smile. "It's pretty secluded out here. Don't worry about anyone finding us."

Ben had finished his soup and pushed his bowl to the middle of the table. He looked into my bowl to see that it was full.

"You need to eat," he said.

"I'm not hungry," I said.

"Di, you know you have to eat."

I dropped my spoon in the bowl. I intertwined my fingers underneath the table. Ben let out a deep breath. He combed his sweaty strands of hair off of his forehead. He stood and grabbed my bowl.

"Get up," he said. He placed my bowl in the fridge and held out his hand. He curled his fingers in and out, to motion for me to come forward. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into the bedroom.

Ben pulled a pair of dark jeans and a hoodie out of the duffle bag. He wrapped a scarf around his neck to hide his scales. He gave me a pair of dark yoga pants and a sweater. Ben tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans. He pulled something out of his pocket and placed it in my hand. I looked down at the cold object in my hand to see that it was a pocketknife.

"Stay behind me the whole time we're in the pharmacy," he said. "This is just in case something happens, but I promise I will keep an eye on you."

"I can stay here," I said. "If you're really worried, I can stay here and I'll be safe."