The mute patient Dr. Croft left to die had a shocking secret: she was hunting him.
The days that followed were a blur of hushed conversations, my tablet clicking out instructions and explanations, Dr. Carter grappling with the enormity of Croft’s actions. He tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy at the clinic, but his focus was elsewhere, on the growing threat from Croft. The subtle warnings from the medical board escalated to official inquiries, forcing him to spend hours meticulously documenting my “emergency intake” and treatment, while carefully omitting the damning details I’d shared.
Then, the unexpected happened. A call came into the clinic one afternoon. Dr. Carter answered, his usual professional tone, but within minutes, his expression shifted from polite interest to a sharp, almost disbelieving focus. He gestured for me to pay attention.
“Yes, Ms. Jenkins,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “I’m Dr. Ben Carter. How can I help you?”
He listened, his eyes occasionally flicking to me. I watched his face, trying to decipher the conversation from his reactions.
“Suspicious patient deaths, you say?” he repeated, a subtle tremor in his voice. “Transfers from Croft Institute?”
My heart leaped. This was it. This was Twist 5.
He paused, then added, “And these patients… they all had unusual medical histories?”
I typed furiously on my tablet, hoping he would see it. “Ask about experimental genetic therapies!”
Dr. Carter caught my eye, then subtly nodded. He turned back to the phone.
“Ms. Jenkins, did these cases, by any chance, involve… any highly experimental genetic therapies?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but his gaze was locked on me.
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then Sarah Jenkins’s voice, clear even from across the room, resonated with a sudden intensity.
“How did you know that, Dr. Carter?” she asked, her reporter’s instinct immediately piqued. “That’s precisely what my source at the county morgue mentioned. Distinctive markers. Highly unusual. Not on any standard protocol.”
Dr. Carter’s face, already pale from lack of sleep, seemed to drain of all color. He swallowed hard.
“Just a… professional observation, Ms. Jenkins,” he fumbled, glancing at me. “Could you tell me more about these cases?”
Sarah launched into details, recounting a pattern of three patient deaths in the last six months. All had been transferred from Croft Institute, all with vague diagnoses of “post-rehabilitation complications,” and all had shown inexplicable, rapid organ failure. What stood out to her was the consistent notation of “advanced therapeutic interventions” in their initial Croft discharge summaries, followed by a complete blackout of details after transfer.
“My sources at other clinics just say they were… ‘problematic cases,'” Sarah explained. “But the morgue’s internal notes, the ones they never make public, tell a different story. They pointed to highly specialized, invasive procedures. Genetic. And expensive.”
I watched Dr. Carter, his jaw tight. He knew now. Her investigation, seemingly unrelated, had just slammed directly into my story.
“Ms. Jenkins,” he said, his voice steadying, “what kind of evidence are you looking for?”
“Anything that ties Croft Institute directly to these experimental treatments and these deaths,” she replied, her voice sharp with journalistic drive. “Medical records, internal protocols, testimonies. Something that proves they’re not just operating on the edge, but way beyond it.”
Dr. Carter squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He had found his external validation.
“And you believe Croft Institute is deliberately obscuring these details?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” Sarah said. “They’re a fortress. No one talks. No one crosses Croft. But this pattern… it’s too consistent to be coincidence.”
He took a deep breath. This was a monumental leap of faith he was about to make, intertwining his fate with mine, and now with Sarah’s.
“Ms. Jenkins,” he began, his voice dropping slightly, “I believe I may have a patient under my care who could shed some light on this. She’s… unique.”
Sarah’s tone immediately shifted, sensing a breakthrough. “Unique how, Dr. Carter? And why are you hesitating?”
“She’s currently unable to speak,” he explained. “And her past connection to Croft Institute is… complicated. Very complicated. She’s also currently the subject of a very aggressive ‘missing person’ alert from Croft’s legal team, attempting to discredit her.”
“A mute patient connected to Croft, being discredited?” Sarah mused. “That’s quite a coincidence, wouldn’t you say? Especially with what I’m looking into.”
“I agree,” Dr. Carter said, meeting my gaze. “I’m convinced she’s a victim of a much larger, more dangerous scheme.”
“Dr. Carter,” Sarah said, her voice now brimming with urgency. “I need to meet this patient. Can you arrange it? Discreetly.”
“I… I think so,” he replied, still cautious. “But you need to understand the risks involved, Ms. Jenkins. Croft Institute is powerful. Very powerful.”
“Dr. Carter, I’ve been chasing this story for months,” Sarah said, her voice unwavering. “I know the risks. But if your patient has what I think she has, it could blow this entire thing wide open.”
He hung up the phone, slowly, then turned to me.
“That was Sarah Jenkins,” he said, his voice still a little shaky. “She’s an investigative journalist. She’s been looking into suspicious deaths of patients transferred *from* Croft Institute. All of them had… unusual experimental genetic therapies.”
He paused, then added, “It aligns perfectly with your scar, Elara. Perfectly.”
I gave him a small, grateful nod. This was a major step. Sarah was the platform, the voice I lacked.
“She wants to meet you,” Dr. Carter continued. “She’s already sensing a cover-up. She’s tenacious. She won’t stop.”
He walked over to my chair, leaning down, his voice hushed.
“Elara,” he said, “her investigation is exactly what we need. It validates your story. But now, it means Croft’s reach will extend beyond me. It will reach her, too.”
He paused, then asked, his voice low, filled with a new kind of dread, “She asked if I had any ‘unusual’ patients under my care. She didn’t press, but I could feel the implications. What if she’s already being watched, too? What if this call was somehow… bait?”
His words made my blood run cold. Was Croft already aware of Sarah’s inquiries? Had he allowed the call to happen, just to see what Dr. Carter would do? The thought that Croft was always one step ahead, always manipulating, was a terrifying one. The stakes had just escalated dramatically.
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