Chapter 2 - Subject N09
Greg was escorted out of Room Four.
Not arrested.
Not yet.
Hospital security kept him in a separate consultation room while law enforcement was contacted because of the injuries, the attempted removal, and the unexplained object beneath Leo’s skin.
Sarah stayed with Leo.
Thomas ordered imaging.
The first X ray made everyone stop.
The object was cylindrical.
Roughly the length of a grain of rice.
Metallic shell.
Embedded in soft tissue beside the inner cheek.
Not dental hardware.
Not an orthopedic fragment.
Not shrapnel from an obvious injury.
A radiologist called Thomas.
“What am I looking at?”
“That is why I called you.”
“It looks manufactured.”
“I agree.”
“Any procedure history?”
“Stepfather says none.”
“Child?”
Thomas looked through the glass at Leo.
“Child says he was told not to let doctors find it.”
The radiologist went quiet.
A CT scan followed because swelling had spread toward deeper facial tissue.
The device had not penetrated the jaw or eye structures.
Good.
The surrounding infection was not.
Leo needed IV antibiotics and surgical removal by an appropriate specialist.
Thomas sat beside him after imaging.
“Leo.”
The boy watched him.
“I need to ask questions without Greg here.”
Leo nodded.
“You are not in trouble.”
Another nod.
“Do you know when that thing was put in your cheek?”
Leo’s hands tightened in his hoodie.
“Before school started.”
Three months.
Thomas kept his expression neutral.
“Who put it there?”
Leo whispered:
“A lady.”
“Doctor?”
“She wore white.”
“Where?”
Greg had apparently told him not to say.
Thomas could see the conflict.
“You do not have to answer everything now.”
Leo’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
“What did Greg tell you it was?”
“A tracker.”
Thomas felt something cold move through him.
“For what?”
“So he knows if I run away.”
“Do you run away?”
Leo shook his head.
“Did you want it put there?”
“No.”
“Did anybody ask you?”
“No.”
Sarah looked away.
Thomas continued.
“What happened when they put it in?”
“They gave me sleepy medicine.”
“Was your mom there?”
“No.”
“Does she know?”
Leo looked frightened again.
“Greg says she signed.”
“Do you believe him?”
Leo whispered:
“Mom cried when she found the bandage.”
That answer was enough to call Leo’s mother immediately.
The number in the chart belonged to Jennifer Turner.
Sarah called twice.
No answer.
Third call.
A woman answered, breathless.
“Hello?”
“This is Bayhaven Regional Emergency Department. Are you Leo Turner’s mother?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“Leo is here.”
“What?”
Her voice changed instantly.
“What happened?”
Sarah glanced at Thomas.
“Can you come to the hospital?”
“Why is he there?”
“Greg brought him.”
“No.”
The word came sharply.
“Greg told me Leo was sleeping at Mason’s house.”
“Who is Mason?”
“His friend.”
Jennifer was already moving.
“I’m twenty minutes away.”
Thomas asked Sarah to tell her to drive safely.
Then hospital security brought the object that had fallen from Leo’s hoodie.
Not under the cheek.
The small silver device from the floor.
It looked like a thick key fob with no visible buttons.
Biomedical engineering examined it.
One technician recognized the communication symbol.
“Near field reader.”
“For what?”
“Could pair with a passive sensor.”
Thomas looked toward Leo’s cheek.
The technician nodded slowly.
“Potentially that.”
They placed the reader inside a shielded bag until police could decide how to handle it.
Then a security supervisor entered.
“Greg wants to leave.”
“Can he?”
“Police are talking to him.”
“He says the object belongs to him?”
“He says it is a garage access device.”
The technician almost laughed.
“It is not.”
Thomas looked through the window.
Greg sat in the consultation room with both hands clasped.
Not angry now.
Calculating.
Jennifer arrived soaked from the rain.
She ran toward Leo.
The boy saw her and burst into tears.
Not quiet tears.
Full body sobbing.
Jennifer climbed onto the edge of the bed and held him without touching his swollen face.
“What did he do?”
Leo buried his head against her.
Thomas gave them a minute.
Then explained the imaging.
Jennifer stared.
“There is what inside him?”
“A small manufactured device.”
“No.”
“Did Leo undergo any procedure approximately three months ago?”
“No.”
She stopped.
Then:
“Wait.”
Thomas watched her.
“What?”
“Greg took him to a wellness screening.”
“When?”
“August.”
“Where?”
“A company clinic.”
“Which company?”
Jennifer looked confused.
“Northshore Metrics.”
Sarah’s expression changed.
She knew the name.
Northshore Metrics occupied an office park ten miles inland.
Medical sensors.
Workplace wellness technology.
Greg worked there as a night facilities supervisor.
“What was the screening for?” Thomas asked.
“Employee families.”
“Did you sign consent?”
“I signed something online.”
“What did it say?”
“Height. Weight. saliva test. Maybe allergy screening.”
“Implant?”
Jennifer recoiled.
“No.”
“Sedation?”
“No.”
“Surgery?”
“No.”
Leo was crying harder now.
Jennifer looked at him.
“Baby?”
He whispered:
“Greg said you knew.”
Jennifer’s face went white.
Thomas felt the case change again.
Then police returned with the near field reader.
They had powered it only long enough to photograph the display.
One line appeared automatically when it came near Room Four.
SUBJECT N09.
ACTIVE.
DAY 87 OF 90.
Jennifer stared at the screen.
“What happens on Day 90?”
Nobody knew.
Greg did.
May you like
He had spent the last hour asking whether the device had been removed yet.
Continue to the next part: Greg’s panic is tied to a ninety day deadline, and Leo is only three days away from completing whatever Northshore Metrics put inside him.
