Julian's Distraction

Twenty minutes. That was the window Harrison had given me before he’d be through the door with a needle and a clinical mandate to erase me again. My skin was a roadmap of cold sweat and twitching nerves, the sudden lack of benzodiazepines making every sound in the kitchen crash against my skull like a falling beam.

"Leo, get my phone," I rasped, my voice barely a whisper as I leaned my forehead against the cool, dark granite of the island.

He fumbled it into my hand. I didn't call Arthur. I didn't call the police. I dialed Julian.

"El? It’s nearly eight," Julian answered, his voice low and cautious.

"Harrison is coming. Now. To draw blood." I forced the words past a throat that felt constricted by invisible wire. "Julian, I’ve stopped the pills. I’m shaking so hard I can’t hide it. If he gets a sample, he’ll have the proof he needs to commit me. I need time. Just ten minutes to steady my hands."

"I’m around the corner at the hardware store," Julian said, the rumble of his truck engine already surfacing in the background. "I’ve got the flatbed. Stay away from the windows."

I slumped into a kitchen chair, my teeth chattering in a violent, uncontrollable rhythm. I looked at my hands; they were blurred, a frantic vibration of fingers and knuckles. I gripped them together, shoving them between my knees, trying to crush the tremors out of existence.

Ten minutes later, the roar of a high-performance engine announced Harrison’s arrival. I heard his tires bite into the gravel driveway, followed by the sudden, screeching protest of heavy brakes.

Then came the shouting.

I crawled toward the window, peering over the sill. Julian’s massive Ford flatbed was jackknifed across the mouth of the driveway, completely blocking Harrison’s sleek silver sedan. Julian was out of the cab, a rolled-up blueprint in one hand and a surveyor’s stake in the other.

"You’re three feet over the line, Doctor!" Julian yelled, his voice a booming theatrical roar that echoed off the Tudor gables. "I’ve got the deed right here! You can’t park on this easement until the structural appraisal is certified!"

Harrison was out of his car, his face a mask of controlled, academic fury. "Get this junk out of my way, Julian. I am here on a medical emergency."

"I don't care if you're here for the Pope! This is a legal dispute of property boundaries!"

The distraction was perfect. Harrison was a man who demanded order, and Julian was giving him a chaotic, loud, and public scene. I took a long, shuddering breath, focusing on the weight of my feet on the floor. I ran my hands under freezing water, numbing the nerves, then dried them with a kitchen towel until the skin was pink and raw.

The tremors didn't stop, but they slowed. The electric hum in my brain receded into a dull, manageable throb. I practiced the expression—the hazy, slightly bored look of the sedated baby sister.

The side door flew open. Harrison marched in, his chest heaving, his medical bag gripped so tight his knuckles were white.

She opened the door, a perfect mask of annoyance on her face.