Thicker Than Blood | Page 9

Arabic, but still sounded Indian. "I thought so," Joe shook his head, "I woke up hearing crazy accents. I wasn't sure what I did last night." Another voice said, "Mark, your accent was terrible." Joe recognized the voice. The other person in the room was Amman. Joe opened his eyes and looked through the doorway for Feds. Obviously they hadn't arrived yet, Joe thought sarcastically. "Hey, how's it going Amman?" Joe asked. "How are you feeling?" Amman replied. Amman was in his early thirties. He looked short next to the tall, slim Mark. His dark skin and deep accent gave away his Middle Eastern decent. His unkept clothing, hair and beard hinted at his nerdy ways. "I feel worse than yesterday," Joe said. "Oh, so you've been awake. Why didn't you call? We're sunk without you. It took me two days just to install the new hip servos." Mark sounded indignant. "Two days?" Joe mumbled.
"Yeah! What do you think, everybody is some kind of mechanical superman? The program for the servos is tied to..." Mark was interrupted by Joe. "That's not what I mean. I was out for two days? What day is it?" "Monday," Mark responded. "How long has it been?" Joe asked. "A week and five days," Mark said. Joe started sounding angry, "What? I felt fine two days after. I've been asleep for a week?" "Your aunt said you are very bad, and that you almost died... twice." Mark was talking in an even calm voice. He seemed to think Joe was becoming too agitated. "Twice?" Joe mumbled. His head was spinning. He definitely felt worse than the other day. Joe was staring at Mark when he realized the room was no longer filled with gray dots. I almost died the second time when they shut the nanites off, Joe thought. Joe snapped his neck back and forth and saw the discharged phone sitting on the end table. "Yea, some complication. What do you need?" Mark asked. He was watching Joe. Joe reached up to grab Mark's arm and pull him closer. He stopped short when he almost yanked the IV out of his arm. Joe grimaced when he saw a little blood drip from the needle in his arm. Joe struggled to lift his head up and whispered in Mark's ear, "My cell phone, take it with you. Store the blood in the cell in the fridge. Don't mention this to Amman." Joe let his head fall back on his pillow. He looked relieved. "Huh? Do what? Are you delirious?" Mark looked concerned. Joe felt his heart pounding in his chest. "He probably is." Teressa Graceland said as she strode in the doorway. "Perhaps it was too soon for you boys to see him." Oh no. Mark come on. Do as I told you. Don't say anything about the phone, Joe thought. He stared intently at Mark, trying to look as stern as possible. "Why don't you let him rest and come back tomorrow?" Dr. Teressa Graceland stared at Mark and Amman. She grabbed the computerized tablet from his beds foot board and glared at Joe's vitals. It began beeping rapidly in tune to his heart when she touched it. It's graphs were moving erratically. If his aunt knew about the hidden blood, she would make it worse for both of them with her honesty. Just take the phone, Joe thought. Mark walked past Joe's aunt and grabbed the cell phone off the end table. Dr Graceland gave Mark a strange look. "Joe asked me to please check his messages. I need the password off the scratch pad." He plunged the phone into his pocket. "Oh. Okay," she said. Joe's face relaxed. He felt exhaustion creeping in. Looking at his friend, he managed to say, "Thank you, Mark." Joe closed his eyes and went to sleep. The clipboard began to beep more slowly.
Chapter 5
"Dad, I'm going over to Lucy's," Joe announced. He strode through the sparse kitchen to the table where his father was sitting. His father looked up at him through a smoky sunbeam. His brow furrowed, deepening the lines on his forehead. "You sure you're up to it?" He asked in a deep scratchy voice with a slight Brooklyn accent. Joe was staring at the smoke wisping up from the cigar in his fathers ash tray. He snapped out of his trance, and said, "Yeah I am. I have to go out sometime." He was staring at the long ash on the cigar. "I can't be afraid to live." "I may not be here later. Call me if you have any trouble." "Do you have an interview? Or work?" Joe asked. He knew his father wasn't sensitive about unemployment. He was not alone. Many people were looking for work. "No, I'm going down to