Chapter 10 10

The phone on Althea's lab bench buzzed. It was an unknown number.

She hesitated. She hadn't given the number to anyone outside the Institute, but she knew that people with the Harringtons' resources had their ways of finding things out. She steeled herself and answered.

"Hello?"

"Mommy?"

The voice was small and whimpering. Holt.

Althea's hand tightened on the phone. "Holt?"

"Mommy, my tummy hurts," Holt cried. "It hurts so bad. I'm throwing up. Please come home."

Althea's heart lurched. Her instinct was to run. To grab her keys and fly to him.

"Where does it hurt, baby? Is it sharp? Do you have a fever?"

"Yes! I'm burning up!" Holt wailed. "Daddy isn't here. Only Georgina. And she won't help me!"

Althea was already taking off her lab coat. "I'm coming, Holt. Stay on the-"

Psst. Louder. Tell her you can't breathe.

The whisper was faint, caught by the microphone in the split second between Holt's sobs. It was Georgina's voice.

Althea froze. She stopped halfway to the door.

She put the phone back to her ear. She closed her eyes.

"Holt," she said, her voice turning to ice. "Is Georgina in the room with you?"

"No!" Holt said, too quickly. "I can't breathe, Mommy! Help!"

It was a script. A bad, cruel script.

Althea felt the final thread of maternal duty snap. They were using her son as a pawn. They were teaching him to lie to manipulate her.

"Holt," Althea said calmly. "If you can't breathe, hand the phone to Georgina and tell her to call 911. An ambulance will be there in five minutes."

"What?" Holt stopped crying instantly. "No, I want you."

"I am not a paramedic, Holt," Althea said, her voice devoid of emotion. "I can't help you. Goodbye."

"Wait! Mommy!"

Althea hung up. She stared at the phone for a second, then blocked the number.

She didn't cry. She felt a cold, hard rage settling in her bones. It was better than sadness. Rage was fuel.

At the Harrington house, Holt lowered the phone. "She hung up."

Georgina sat up on the bed, her eyes narrowing. "She what?"

"She said call 911," Holt sniffled, looking confused. "She didn't care."

Easton walked in. "What happened?"

"She abandoned him," Georgina said, standing up and putting a hand on Easton's chest. "We called her. Holt said he was sick. She hung up on him, Easton. She actually hung up on a sick child."

Easton's face went dark. A vein throbbed in his temple.

"That's it," he said. "I tried to be nice. I tried to wait."

He pulled out his phone and dialed his lawyer.

"Start the proceedings," Easton barked. "I want full custody. I want her stripped of visitation rights. I want to destroy her."

He looked at Holt, who was now happily playing on his iPad, the 'sickness' forgotten.

"She's dead to us," Easton said.

Back in the lab, Althea picked up a pipette. Her hand trembled once, then steadied.

Liam Yates walked by. He saw her face. He paused.

"You okay, Morrison?" he asked, surprisingly gentle.

"I'm fine," Althea said. She looked at the bubbling solution in the beaker. "I'm just clearing out the last of the contaminants."

She went back to work. The world outside the lab faded away. Here, under the microscope, things were simple. Cause and effect. Action and reaction.

And she was finally the one in control.