Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Just now. What did that mean? Had he been right to bring his bag with him? But if so, how would Franco get all these people to ingest a tablet or pill while they were at a charity event?
Franco put a finger to his lips. “You chose not to help me. You tested and probed me and then turned me away. And I deserved to be helped. They do not, you bastard. Maybe this is on your shoulders.”
Maybe it was. Maybe so much was. Franco did look behind him then, his gaze obviously falling on Lennon and Ambrose, speaking with a woman near the DJ booth. A man at the table nearby popped something in his mouth before turning to a woman next to him, saying something and shaking her hand.
The mints.
The doctor’s stomach cramped, and blood rushed to his head. “The mints,” he breathed. Oh God, the mints.
Franco turned back toward him, his smile growing.
“Clean clothes,” Franco said. “New deodorant. It’s been drummed into them. Good hygiene is important. Present yourself well tonight. Our funding depends on it.” Franco laughed as the doctor stared in horror. “Like they’re toddlers. They’ll eat the mints, Doctor. Or at least most of them will. While I’ve been up here talking with you, enough already have. You don’t want to upset them now, do you? The slightest provocation to their nervous system—rushing blood, rapid heart rate—and it will act that much quicker. Specific triggers aren’t necessary. Most anything will do. Eventually, they’ll attack and trigger each other.”
The doctor lurched forward, moaning as he grabbed the rail, overlooking what would almost certainly be a savage melee in mere minutes. He couldn’t shout. It would only make the toxin take effect that much sooner if he panicked the crowd. He sucked in a breath as he felt Franco’s body heat as the man drew close, and then something sharp sliced into his lower back. “I can’t let you report me, Doc,” Franco said close to his ear. “But I do want you to last long enough to watch.” The doctor sucked in a staggered breath as Franco pulled the blade out of his skin, the agonizing pain where he’d been stabbed making the room below him spin. He felt the warmth of his blood saturating the back of his shirt. Behind him, he heard a door close softly and latch. He was locked on the balcony, losing blood quickly. He couldn’t yell for help, and in moments, he would be forced to watch a violent mass murder. If the police had been alerted, they’d ensure it was that much bloodier if they came in guns blazing. There was little hope of stopping this. Franco was right: it was just beginning. The doctor leaned over the ledge and waved his arm, trying desperately to get Ambrose’s attention.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Ambrose spotted the doctor from above just as Lennon approached the DJ to ask if she could use his microphone to address the crowd. The doctor’s face was bright red, and even from a distance, Ambrose could see he was sweating profusely. As he met Ambrose’s eye, he mouthed “No” and pointed to Lennon.
Ambrose didn’t understand what was happening, but he reached for Lennon’s hand anyway, pulling her back and directing her gaze to the doctor. Their attention was diverted momentarily by the sight of a man appearing on a higher platform to their right and peering from the edge. Franco Girone. He stood gazing down, as though waiting for a show to begin.
“What the hell is going on?” Lennon asked. The doctor was gesturing now to his pocket and then pointing at the coatrack.
“There’s something in his jacket pocket?” Ambrose murmured.
The DJ raised his microphone and smiled over at a woman standing next to him who appeared to be about to say some welcoming words. The microphone let out a high screech, and several people at the table next to her shrieked in response, covering their heads as if under attack. Eyes widened, and a low murmur took up. A woman next to one of the cowering people put her hand on the other’s back in comfort. The hunched woman lifted her head and punched her would-be comforter in the face. Several gasps of shock sounded around the room.
“What’s going on?” Lennon asked, her head moving left and right.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Something’s wrong with them.”
Another man let out a bellow, wrapping his arms around his waist, his face scrunching as if in pain. Were they sick? “Oh my God, Ambrose. Do you think Girone has spiked their drinks? Or put a pill in their food or something? Would that be possible?” Lennon asked.
“Maybe.” Ambrose’s gaze hit on another woman, who was whimpering and rocking to and fro. They looked both pained and . . . drugged. And not just one or two, but many. How, though? And so suddenly? But then he noticed several uneaten mints sitting at place settings in front of people at a table that identified them as Rays of Hope staff. The mints.