Chapter 8: What Was in the Cup

Quincy told me to put my shoes on and come to the tower, and I did it without asking why.

I left Colin asleep in the guest room with his mouth open.

The night guard in the lobby looked at my face and handed me a keycard.

He had clearly been told I was coming.

On forty-seven, the glass door stood open and the lights were low.

Quincy met me in the exam room doorway. He was in his shirtsleeves, with no jacket and no gloves.

"Sit," he said. "I'm going to show you three things. You won't like any of them."

I sat on the edge of the table.

He put the lab sheet in my hands first.

I read it twice and understood the words and didn't understand the sentence.

"A blocker," I said. "For what?"

"For wanting."

He was crouched in front of me, level with my eyes.

"It's prescribed to men who can't be trusted around other people. It switches desire off."

The paper shook in my fingers.

"It was in the tin, and it was in Lacey's thermos. It's been in your blood for thirteen months."

"No."

"The flu emptied you out for ten days. That's why your body came back the way it did."

I stared at the page.

"I wasn't broken," I said.

"No."

"He never touched me because he didn't want to, and I didn't care because I was drugged not to care."

My voice rose and cracked.

"Pamela." He said it gently. "There are two more things."

He turned the laptop around.

I watched Lacey Hollingworth pour a stream of powder into my thermos on Tuesday at eight fifty-two.

I watched her tap the bottle against the rim, and I watched her smile.

Then he played the stairwell, and I saw my husband's hands under my best friend's cardigan.

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