The Tyrant's Trophy
Don't cry to me

Quinn

It’s often said that winning the lottery is a 1 in a million chance. A person has a better chance of being hit by lightning twice than winning. However, I hit the ULTIMATE jackpot! It wasn’t money - again, that’s once in a million, but it felt like I won the lottery, seeing how my hypothesis was right!”

“Told you all!” I squealed, unable to hold my excitement. “I was right.”

“Yes, yes.” Chad rolled his eyes, unamusedly. “Can you not be so happy about this?” We sat in my office. I was somewhat on my lunch break but still reviewing some files.

“I can’t help it, Chad.” I feined sheepish. “I just can’t wait to rub it into Adam’s jerkish face!” Finding some sort of self-control though, I slip on my professional face. “Sorry. Now, tell me, what exactly happened?”

The ambulance was routed to go toward Phil’s hospital but when Adam’s name was thrown in, my brother convinced them to drive to my humbled place. Maybell wasn’t in the best shape: she was convulsing on and off in seizures. The other victim - male - wasn’t in better shape. He looked dead and bloodied. It almost gave me a heart attack when we laid him on a bed and he opened his eyes suddenly. The man screamed as if I was going to murder him. Sedation was the only way option for that.

I had to medicate Maybell for her seizures to cease and even now have 24-hour staff keeping watch over her.

Chad explained his ‘date’ with Maybell at the festival (who knew my brother was a romantic?) and the alleyway. It became clear why John Doe was beaten to a literal pulp: he was the perpetrator who targeted a child.

“This is just delicious,” I smirked once Chad finished his report. “Not only was I right about your girlfriend but she may well have basically caught one of Phil’s henchmen!” God, I feel so lucky today!

“You don’t know that.” My brother stated. I threw a grape at him.

“How are you still so small-minded?” Popping a grape in my mouth, I laid out my evidence. “He tried kidnapping a boy - a child. Let me ask you this: Was the boy five to seven years old? Did his race look mixed? How coherent was he?”

“Yes, yes, and quite coherent for such a young age. How do you know this?”

“It’s my job, dear brother,” I sat back in my seat, recalling the files I borrowed from the chief of police. After parting from the meeting, Abijah talked with the head of the police about allowing me on the case.

It didn’t take much convincing because Ted knew me: I’ve worked with the blue blood plenty of time. Also, with the dead ends they’ve been hitting, they’ve gotten desperate.

“Ted sent me the files of each victim along with the tapes of their interviews with each family. The first thing that confused the police was the ethnicity of the victims: Each child’s racial background was vast and different, however, they were all mixed. All of them were either half of something or their backgrounds varied: that’s a common factor there. Also, these children were still in fragile development stages: mental, emotional, and physical - second factor. The third common factor came from the family interviews: Each family stated how smart their child was for their age(s). Even their grades showed that they were above-average performers. All of these tell me the abductions weren’t random at all. These kids were targeted by Phil.”

I continued. “Hand-picked too.” Taking out three of the million files, I presented them to my brother, pointing at the circles I’d made. “Fourth common factor: Phil Sweetheart was their parent’s primary doctor.”

“You’re a genius, Quinnie.” My brother beamed. He clearly was excited that we would be putting that monster behind bars. It did thrill me to imagine all the grotesque things those inmates would do to fresh meat like Sweetheart.

“Unfortunately, these facts will have to be proven in court and jurors aren’t the best tools we have in the shed.” Not to mention we’re still unsure what sort of ties Dr. Sweetheart have in the black market. We need to take all of this into consideration and proceed cautiously. “I need to see the bodies myself to find some sort of evidence that can lead point blank to the Dr.” If I can prove Phil’s drugs led to their deaths, we got him.

Now the question remains...how?

“What’s with that expression?”

“What expression?” I blinked at my brother.

“The quack expression.”

“Don’t call me that.” I exhaled, lightly glaring at my little brother. “You sound like your boss when you call me that.” Uncaring of how unprofessional I looked, I slumped down, resting my head on my desk. It has been a busy week overall: taking care of Adam’s wife making visits with the man’s friend who recently was in ‘an accident’ - yeah right - to the meeting and reviewing the cases and now this. On top of everything I still have my own business to run and employees to care for too. “I need a really nice vacation once this is over.”

A vacation in Italy with a very good-looking tour guide would be ideal.

If only.

Shaking the fatigue out of my system, I reached for my coffee. I’m so glad I went ahead and approved getting Starbucks in my cafeteria. Their nitro brews remind me that I’m alive. Generously sipping the drink, I aired my thoughts out. “I’m going to have to run more tests on Maybell, Chad. I need to see what results in Phil’s drugs are having on her in order to know what to look for in the other victims. Also, you will have to find that boy she saved. We can question him or his parents.”

“I’ll find the kid. As for Maybell, it’s -”

“Her decision. I know.” I checked the clock. “It’s been a good while, I’ll check on her. Meanwhile, you should pay a visit to the henchman in room 110.”

We parted respectfully. Maybell’s room didn’t take long to reach but when I got there, I was surprised to see none of my nurses around. I should have a staff meeting, considering I gave specific order for them to remain watchful of Mrs. Sweetheart’s condition.

The closer I got to her room, however, I couldn’t help feeling scared. The hair on the back of my neck and on my arms stood up; something was eerily off.

Entering the room, Maybell wasn’t in the bed. Rushing in, I checked under the bed, and the bathroom, and even looked out the window in case one was opened but there was nothing. “What in the world?!”

I turned to find Chad, only to jump out of my skin!

Maybell was standing right behind me.

“You scared me.” I breathed, relieved for a split second, before noticing how off she looked. Her eyes were glazed over, almost as in a trance. I waved my hand in front of her but got no reaction. It worried me that she was entering another seizure. “Maybell,” I called out but as soon as I did, I regretted it.

Goosebumps broke out as her eyes suddenly snapped at me, her pupils widened and morphed into a different shape. I felt as if I were staring into the face of a predator: her body language seemed less human and more primal.

I eyed the opened door behind her, wondering how possible it would be to make it out safely. As slowly as I could, I held up my arms to show I meant no harm whatsoever. It didn’t work. The moment I moved, Maybell’s body flinched back before lunging at me.

Dodging her attack, I ran for the exit, only for something to wrap around my ankle and trip me. Looking back, Maybell’s hair extended like tentacles and wrapped around my legs to my hips. She dragged me back inside before throwing me to one of the supply cabinets.

I hit my head on the corner of the cabinets. With no hesitation, Maybell leaned over me. “What did you do to her?!” She growled in an inhuman manner: it sounded more like a wolf’s howl and a woman’s cries. “What did you do to her, Phil?! What did you do to my baby?! Tell me!”

Frightened and dazed, I struggled to understand what she meant. She thought I was Phil?! What gave her that idea?

Peeking up at her, she was crying. Her eyes were wide, unseeing, and desperate; the broken look of a mother who lost her child. I’ve seen that pained expression countless times. She was having a flashback and the changes in her body were making her unstable.

“I’m not Phil.” I tried reaching past her traumatic episode. “I’m Quinn, remember? Chad’s sister?” Again, I held my hands up, showing her I was no threat at all. “I’m Quinn.”

Her eyes flickered but still, those eyes held torn anger towards me. “Quinn?” I nodded, praying to God Almighty and my Lord Jesus Christ that Maybell wouldn’t rip my throat out. I swallowed the lump in my throat as she sniffed my jacket. “You smell like Phil.” She growled, making me whimper. She then sniffed at my neck and hair. “You...smelled like Phil.”

Her hair slowly receded off of me. I breathed a sigh of relief as she let me go. “You smelled just like him.” She sat on the ground, crying. At last, her eyes were focusing and sense was coming back to her. “I’m sorry.” She said, repeating it over and over. She was her again: frightened and bawling her eyes out. “I’m sorry.”

Sitting up, I didn’t know what to do.

The woman could have killed me!

But...from what came out of her mouth, she was mourning the loss of her daughter and it seemed to me Chad didn’t share any of the information we gathered on her husband with her. She was a mother bear who lost her cub and that made her dangerous.

Looking down at myself, it occurred to me that I smelled like her husband because of my coat. We, doctors, are very sterile and the smell can be overbearing. She smelled my coat and it told her I was her husband: She flipped because she thought I was her abuser.

Breathing out at the revelations, I removed my doctor’s coat and tossed it to the far side of the room. Once that was far from me as possible, I scooted closer to Maybell who kept apologizing as if her life depended on it. Awkward about the whole thing, I patted her on the shoulder cautiously.

I feared she would attack me again when she grabbed me but I calmed when she pulled me into a hug and cried into my neck. “Shh...there, there.” I tried soothing, rubbing gentle circles on her back as one would to a child. “Shh.”

That’s how my brother found us.

He attempted to enter the room but I signaled him to leave. I would need to have a good talk with him later.

It took some time but eventually, Maybell calmed enough to pry off of me. My body was stiff from remaining crouched for so long. “You should rest,” I suggested, easing her to stand with me; my shirt felt drenched with her tears. I shushed her when she apologized again. “It’s understandable,” I assured her as I laid her on the bed - she seemed so much like a child - wanting comfort and needing some coddling. “Stop worrying about it. Get some rest and we will speak once you awake.”

I remained there until exhaustion finally consumed her and then I had to leave with a troubled heart.

I can’t believe it.

Well...I can but then can’t.

Dr. Sweetheart actually did it. He succeeded in altering the human body. I thought back to the information we had on the Dr. as well as the files I came into possession of from the police. It’s taken years of Phil Sweetheart testing to bare fruit - exactly....how many other women were there before and after Maybell? If she’s the first success then what became of his failures?

I shivered thinking of the children.

I know I’m right about the doctor leading these kidnappings and now I feel sick estimating the lives he leisurely stole in the name of science.

It’s sick.

Sick, sick, sick!

My brother was waiting for me back in my office. The first thing I did once I returned was slapping Chad hard in the face.

“What was THAT for?!” He yelped, nursing the swollen cheek.

“For lying to Maybell, you jerk,” I said, glaring at the piece of dirt while taking my seat. He knew exactly what I meant by the way his body froze. I cut him off as soon as he opened his mouth. “Don’t give me any excuses.”

“...Did you tell her?” I felt a twitch coming on at the pathetic expression my brother was making. What in the world is going through that pig-headed head of his?

“How could I? She was already close to killing me!” I relayed what happened to him, proving it with the bruises that were forming on my arms and neck. “She’s completely unstable, Chad, and desperate for some truths about her child’s death. You need to tell her.”

“Wouldn’t telling her to add stress to her mental state?”

“It will but after, she’ll have closure. Withholding the truth will add more permanent damage - damage that won’t easily be undone.”

Chad looked away. “She’s so fragile though...it’ll hurt her too much.”

I threw my stapler at him. “Idiot!” I raged, “You love her, don’t you?! And she trusts you! What do you think will happen WHEN she finds out you withheld information about her daughter? That will feel like the ultimate betrayer after she opened her heart to you! You’ll be nothing but scum when she learns this - the same as her husband.”

“No, I won’t.” I scoffed at my foolish brother, but he just glared back. “I’m nothing like Sweetheart. I am protecting Maybell. The truth about her daughter would only lead her down more sorrow and you have no right to tell me what is best for her. You don’t know what it’s like to love someone and want to stop the pain from eating them evermore.”

I wish I had a brick right now, then I can give my brother a face-change. The fool thinks I don’t understand the concept of love and wanting to protect? Maybe Adam was right...maybe my brother’s love is clouding his judgment. Love is selfless; it would never hide the truth - no matter how dark and ugly the truth can look - and it protects by walking with the hurting through the pain - not blinding them from it.

It made me think of Adam’s friend, Ben. I had thought of seeking his counsel on representing Maybell once we brought Dr. Sweetheart to court, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Yes, I want to protect him too because I fancy the dude, but I wouldn’t put the label Love in that scenario because I am not willing to involve him in something so dangerous. Also, he wouldn’t return my...feelings. 1) it’s not professional. 2) He’s taken. 3) I am not willing to place a target on his back along with me.

So yes, I know what it’s like to want to protect someone I care for and to want to be loved in return by them. I’m as selfish as my brother in that aspect. However, I know to back away: to either tell the truth or let them go. Chad isn’t doing that and it will burn him in the end.

Maybell will come to hate my brother... “Do what you want then.” I sighed, my wounds hurting much more. “But be warned; if Maybell hates you in the end, don’t come crying to your older sister.”

After that, I got up to fetch my first aid kit.

I have wounds that need tending.

(Check out some stories by Belicia. She’s a great writer with lots of passion! It’s thanks to her getting on my butt that these new chapters are coming out. Hope you are enjoying this story so far, I appreciate it a lot if I could get some comments on this story - helpful criticism is always welcomed. God bless you all. )

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