Chapter 64 Patel’s Truth
CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR
Dr Patel's POV~
I crouched at my desk, heaped with papers like dead leaves and with the fluorescent light buzzing down into my brain and cowing the shadow shapes into retreat upon the printout of Valenticia Clawford’s antidote formula. A cold serpent of fear slithered in my gut, its whisper unceasing: What if I fail her once more? Callused from years of lab work my fingers hovered over the formula, chemical notations holding out brittle hope I’d distilled under Gregor Galden’s brooding instructions. His voice from that call last night came back to me, ice cold, “Feed her lies, break her”, an order at odds with guilt that gnawed at my bones. I’d labored under Galden in 1999, testing Dr. Marrow’s memory serum with no idea that my patient, Subject V, was Valenticia, a child, Eleanor Clawford’s daughter, my colleague whose warmth had once lit my way. I felt my throat close, shame hot. How did I miss it? The office air was stale and Seryne’s morning bustle distanced by a frosted window had become a low hum but Eleanor’s face dogged me, a warm smile at a conference years ago, you’re brilliant, Patel, use it for good, a frayed lash of failure now.
The door squeaked open, and we jumped, Valenticia entered, pulling back her inky hair, a jade comb glinting, her eyes full of fury and determination that held me down in my chair. My heart thud; I could feel fear spiking—she was Eleanor’s echo, ardent, unyielding, a presence that unfolded from my poky office. “Dr. Patel,” she began, her voice low, a blade sharpened on betrayal, “you knew Marrow. What’s Lazareth?” Her question tore through my defenses and I swallowed, my hands shaking beads of sweat soaked my forehead. “Valencia,” I stammered, my voice shaky and my glasses slipping down, “I… I perfected Marrow’s serum for Galden. I didn’t know it was you, I swear.” Her eyes narrowed like struck matches as fury flared in them, her features chilling despite her step forward—bag slung over her shoulder, edge of the bag with the note—Antidote’s key—Lazareth—peeking from it. “You helped them eliminate my memories?” she whispered, her voice breaking, the sting of her pain reflecting my shame. Guilt lurched up, a tide, in my chest, and I pushed the formula over the desk, its pages sharp beneath my fingers. “This is the perfected antidote,” I stammered, “but it is unstable—falling into your brain will still be catastrophic, cause bleeding of the nerve tissue.” She caught her breath, and fear flickered in her eyes, but her jaw set, determination a flame I wished to join.
She grabbed the formula, our hands brushed, and she read it off, her voice quivering with pent-up anger, “And why should I trust you, Patel? You worked for him.” It was an accusation, a blade, and I flinched, Elena’s memory rushing back at me — her hand on my shoulder, You’ll do great things. I failed her, helped Galden in his cruelty and my voice broke “I’m sorry, Valenticia. I didn’t know it was you, at least back then. I’ll help you—I’ll fix this.” She scared me, infuriated me, her eyes a scalpel on the truth, but she nodded and it was a grudging acceptance and maybe that was what I needed, and I made a quiet promise to set the scales even, to try. Eleanor, I thought, clenching my fists, with fear overhead like a thundercloud—will I never be forgiven for this? I pushed my glasses up, the office’s sound a distant pulse, and I watched her, the intensity a light I could follow to salvation.
One of their phones buzzed, causing the silence to explode, and Valenticia rose and moved to the window, her silhouette a stark contrast against the gray outside. “Grandmother?” she said, her voice softening, and Rosanna’s words snapped faint, urgent, “Gregor’s reach is long, child—Natasha’s in Lazareth… pulling strings. Alarm shot through me, a sudden chill in my blood---Natasha? Gregor’s enforcer, her meddling in Lena Voss’s lab a specter I’d seen in hacked files. Valenticia’s complexion blanched and fear chiseled lines into her face, her hand clutching one set of the formula tightly, and my heart raced, sweat making my hands sticky—but he was everywhere, getting closer. Rosanna faltered and Valenticia dropped the receiver, eyes elsewhere, swept away into a tempest I couldn’t understand. I spun to my computer, my fingers trembling as I opened up the lab’s server, fear slowly drumming in my heart. I missed something, I thought, remembering a deleted email I’d seen yesterday, languishing in the system’s trash.
My fingers flew on the keys, the glow from the screen scorching, and I dug through the server’s underbelly, sweat trickling my brow. The file appeared to be a fragment of a message: Natasha to Lazareth, serum shipment, G.G. My breath caught, sinking in like ice water— Lazareth’s a Galden hub, their brain center. The email was evidence, the rope to pull on Natasha’s scheme, and I printed it, the printer grumbling under its breath, the paper warm in my hands. I looked at Valenticia, turned away from me, her shoulders stiff, and my guilt exploded — I let Eleanor down but not her kid. I drew the email up, my oath ablaze, and passed it over the desk, voice soft, quick, “Valenticia, take this—proof. Natasha’s tied to Lazareth. Use it.” Her gaze pierced mine, sharp, a glimmer of thanks breaking from her anger, and I nodded, my determination hot against Gregor’s dark, a promise for atonement blazing in my heart.