Writing Samples
Echoes of My Son
The Flintridge Conspiracy
When Reid reached the far boundary of the park, he phoned home on the off chance that Connor might have returned via a different route. Allison confirmed that their son was still missing. Her voice communicated unmistakable apprehension. Calmly Reid reassured her that everything would turn out fine—a guarantee he himself was beginning to question.
The last place to look was the wooded trail that crossed the gentle terrain along the park’s eastern boundary. He followed the asphalt path. Eucalyptus, pines, and an occasional live oak muffled the sounds of his footsteps and limited his visibility on either side. A gust of wind ruffled the fallen leaves. The flashlight’s beam swung from one side of the path to the other in deliberate arcs.
Then there was a shape ahead. Reid froze in his tracks, his brain unable to process what his eyes were seeing. His flashlight illuminated a dark form beside the path thirty yards in front of him. He adjusted the beam and pointed the light directly at the shape while he stared intently, still unwilling to accept what was becoming apparent.
With slow purposeful strides, he advanced, keeping the light fixed upon his target. For a fleeting instant, he relaxed when it seemed that the shape was nothing more than a pile of rubbish.
An overturned trash can lay nearby. But as he drew closer, his apprehension flared with redoubled intensity. He thought he could see a limb sticking out to one side.
The breath caught in his lungs. His heart began to pound, each pulse thudding in his ears. His legs wobbled like columns of rubber that refused to bear his weight. From ten yards away, he knew he was looking at a body lying on its stomach. There was no doubt it was human, though the face was turned away.
What’s so urgent that you insisted I leave work early?”
“Do you remember when I warned you that Doctor Sterling was getting suspicious and that we would need to do something about him?”
“If my memory serves me correctly, you did something about him. You nearly killed him.”
“And I truly wish I had.” Tyler used his thumb and index finger to smooth his full mustache, a nervous habit that signaled the stress he was feeling. “Yesterday, after the code, I confronted him in the Respiratory Therapy Department. He challenged me and wanted to know why you and I were working together.”
“Did he now? What did you tell him?”
“That you like to stay abreast of what’s going on at the hospital, and it was my job to keep you informed.”
“That sounds reasonable. How did he respond?”
“He got pissed off, then he left in a huff.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He claimed he would be watching us.”
“Did he say anything else? Anything specific?”
“No, but that’s not the worst of it. Yesterday, when I confronted him, he was standing in the equipment room, trying to look nonchalant. That’s where my storage cabinet is located. This morning, when I checked my cabinet, the antiviral pills I had placed there were gone. I think it’s almost certain that he took them.”
“I presume that this cabinet he got into wasn’t locked?”
“No, it wasn’t. There’s never been a need.”
“Until now. Why, for heaven’s sake”—Marcus growled harshly— “would you keep the project’s antiviral tablets in an unlocked cabinet?”
“I had to put them somewhere. Remember, Jerry is no longer here to deal with them. Normally, I would have given him the pills and the viral sample to hang onto until they could be destroyed, but he went and got himself infected.”
“Sterling didn’t get the viral sample, did he?” Marcus asked with genuine alarm.
“No, it’s safe.”
The chief administrator exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness for that. Your fingerprints are probably all over that vial. You need to be more careful—much more careful.”