Forever and Ever Read online

  FOREVER & EVER

  The Sterlings - BOOK THREE

  Z. L. Arkadie

  Z.L. Arkadie Books

  Copyright © 2017

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 978-1-942857-07-5

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Also By The Author

  About the Author

  One

  Rosalie Stetson

  Rosalie wanted to run. Her feet were ready to take her as her eyes measured the distance between where she stood and the cement stairway.

  Chance stood so close to her that she could feel the trepidation coming from his body. “You’re admitting that you murdered Gerald Rehnquist and James Hague?” he asked the man in front of them.

  The man they had believed to be James Hague raised a hand. “Let me explain.”

  Rosalie looked at the palm of his hand, which was still facing them. His gesture was asking her to relax, trust him, and listen. Chance wrapped his arm around her waist, and only then was she able to release some of the tension from her body.

  Rosalie nodded spasmodically.

  The man dropped his hand. “I used to be Gerald Rehnquist, and then I was given the name James Hague. But now they’re both dead, and technically I killed them.”

  “Technically, you killed yourself?” Chance’s frown was severe.

  Gerald quickly turned to his left and appeared to scan an area that looked like a cross between Rosalie’s high school chemistry lab and her doctor’s examination room. She could tell that he wanted to ask them to follow him to the area, but if he were an astute person, which more than likely he was, then he could’ve sensed that Rosalie and Chance weren’t going anywhere but out of the dungeon unless he could explain how he could’ve killed himself twice yet be standing in front of them.

  Gerald Rehnquist cast his gaze downward. “Okay,” he whispered, more to himself than them. He looked up. “I was Gerald Rehnquist until I was forced into witness protection and assumed the name James Hague. Then I blew my cover and had to make sure certain people knew James Hague was dead. I’m now Chester Pruitt.”

  Rosalie shook her head slightly. “That still doesn’t make sense. How were you able to kill yourself?”

  “Poison,” he said without a pause.

  Rosalie and Chance glanced at each other. He raised his forehead, and she did the same.

  Chance removed his arm that was around her back, which had made her feel safe, and crossed both arms over his chest. He widened his stance and said, “We’re listening.”

  Rosalie was indeed all ears. She was no longer afraid. Instead of running away, she wanted—no, needed—to stay and hear more. After all, the person who had been the main focus of their intense investigation was standing right in front of her and was ready and willing to give them answers.

  “The last year I worked for the Blushing Green coroner’s office was 1997. I was twenty-seven years old, and I was a medical examiner. I was also the first person to perform the autopsy on Conrad Sterling’s body, but my findings weren’t recorded.”

  “It was said that my grandfather died of a heart attack in his sleep,” Chance said. “Natural causes.”

  Chester nodded briskly. “That’s what the report said.”

  Chance unfolded his arms. “Then he did die of natural causes?” He sounded surprised.

  “No. To die of natural causes would mean there were no external forces involved.” His stern gaze stayed on Chance’s face. “I’ll tell you how I discovered what killed your grandfather. But first”—his tapered eyes landed on Rosalie’s face—“you were attacked on Sunday morning by an unknown assailant, is that right?”

  Rosalie hesitated because she wondered how he could know that, and she didn’t know what her attack had to do with the subject of Conrad Sterling’s death. “Um, yes.”

  “I read the Blushing Green Gazette every day—searching. Yesterday morning, there was a story about you, Miss Stetson, and how you confronted a gunman at Sterling Manor.”

  Rosalie stood straighter. “That was in the newspaper?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “I thought the sons would make sure it stayed secret.” She was certain they had the Blushing Green Police Department on their payroll, and since they had something to do with the attack, she’d assumed they would want to keep it hush-hush.

  “Yeah… listen, I have to test your blood,” Chester said.

  It took a few seconds before Rosalie realized he was talking to her. She slapped a hand on her chest. “My blood?”

  “The article said that you were awakened by an intruder who took two shots at you and only managed to graze your ear before disappearing through a secret passageway.”

  “Yes, that’s what happened.”

  “I’ve been tracking hit men for a while, and here’s a little fact for you.” He lowered his chin and looked her straight in the eye. “If a hired killer gets that close to you, he’s not going to miss once, let alone twice.”

  Rosalie’s chest felt heavy, and her head was dizzy. A truth she had subconsciously known for a while had risen to the surface. Yes, she had put up a remarkable fight, but in the battle between her and a gun, the weapon should’ve won.

  Chester pointed his hand toward the lab area. “Go on. Have a seat on the examination table.”

  Life was happening in slow motion. She felt her fingers interlaced between Chance’s fingers. Together, Rosalie and Chance walked toward the table. When they reached it, Rosalie’s head was still spinning as she hoisted herself up on the green cushion.

  Chance stood by her side, still holding her hand, but Chester pulled up a chair and asked him to sit before he rolled over a chair for himself. After Chester sat, he exhaled forcefully through his nose. “Conrad Sterling had been injected with a poison called TS-35. It’s banned in the US and many countries abroad. The poison infects the blood and contaminates the liver, and over time, the host eventually dies of sudden cardiac arrest.”

  Rosalie and Chance glanced at each other.

  “TS-35 is an extended-release substance, which is why it’s more effective than a lot of others.” Chester held up two fingers. “Only twice does the host experience the effects of the toxin—at the beginning and end.” He kept his curious gaze on Rosalie. “Three to four hours after the incident, did you become lethargic?”

  Rosalie frowned as she recalled the exact moment the intense exhaustion had struck her. She had been irrationally angry with Chance for not copping to the fact that his father had paid someone to kill her. Even though she still believed the Sterling sons had something to do with what had happened to her in the wee of hours of Sunday morning, she should’ve never expected Chance to turn on his father without solid proof. “Yes. I was lethargic.” She glanced at Chance. “And irrational.”

  “She passed out,” Chance said, apparently unable to detect her indirect way of apologizing for her ridiculous tirade.

  “In most cases, it takes three to four hours for TS-35 to saturate the liver,” Chester said. “Once that happens, the host loses consciousness and then becomes lethargic until the battle between ant
ibodies and enzymes begin.” He patted his thin thighs, stood abruptly, and walked over to the counter. “Rosalie, take off your coat and roll up your right sleeve.”

  Rosalie’s mouth fell open as she grabbed the front of her coat and squeezed a handful of the material tightly. “So you think I’ve been poisoned?”

  He opened a drawer. “I don’t think you’ve been poisoned. I know it.”

  “The same poison that you said caused my grandfather’s death?” Chance asked.

  Chester walked back to them, carrying a tourniquet. “Yes, and Rosalie, please take off your coat.”

  “Right.” Rosalie was shaking as Chance helped her remove her coat.

  “It’s going to be fine,” he said.

  She didn’t believe him. If she indeed had been poisoned, then past results had already revealed her destiny. Conrad Sterling was dead.

  “He’s right.” Chester tied the tourniquet about two inches above her elbow. He then warned Rosalie before he pushed a button on the side of the examination table. A backrest and two armrests automatically rose from the contraption. Now Rosalie was seated a little more comfortably even though she was frightened nearly to death.

  Chance took her hand and squeezed it.

  Chester was now walking toward her with a syringe. “Hold still.”

  He tapped the inside of her elbow, wiped her skin with a wet pad that smelled like alcohol, and drew her blood. Once the small tube was filled, Chester pulled the needle out of Rosalie’s arm and put a square piece of gauze over the injection site.

  “Apply pressure here.” He waited for Rosalie to put two fingers on top of the gauze before he removed his fingers. Then he held the tube up toward the overhead fluorescent light. “See the slight green tint?”

  Chance stepped closer to get a look, and Rosalie squinted at her blood in the tube. At the moment, she was too flustered to see anything.

  Chance grunted. “I don’t see green.”

  “Give me a minute.” Chester carried the tube over to his workstation on the countertop.

  Rosalie watched Chester’s back as he worked. Suddenly, she felt Chance’s hand on top of hers. She gazed up at him with helpless eyes. The confusing frown returned to his face as their fingers interlaced.

  The machine Chester was using made a whirling noise, but not one so loud they couldn’t talk over it.

  “Baking soda,” Chester said. “Sodium bicarbonate. It’s the simple catalyst that separates the poison from ALT and AST.”

  “Those are liver enzymes?” Chance asked.

  “Yes, they are,” Chester said, as if he were impressed Chance knew that. “TS-35 bonds with liver enzymes, ALT, alanine transaminase, and AST, aspartate transaminase. Baking soda ends their relationship. And…”

  Chester turned off the machine. Rosalie could tell he was pouring something into something else. When he turned around, he was carrying a test tube that was a quarter filled with a murky green substance.

  “It’s as I knew, Rosalie.”

  Rosalie’s heart took a nosedive. “Then the gunman poisoned me?”

  “Yes. He didn’t go to your room to shoot you. I suppose the shots he took at you were merely to cover up what he had already done.”

  Rosalie pressed her face against Chance’s strong waist. That one moment made her feel supported in a way she never had before. He put his arm around her shoulders and held her close. The news she’d just received was devastating.

  Chester had gone back to the counter then returned with a clear plastic case that held six small metal cylinders. “These are auto-injectors. Each contains five and a half ounces of TS-35 antidote—Agent X.” He held them up for Rosalie and Chance to see.

  “Agent X? What’s that?” Chance asked.

  “The chemical components are undisclosed. However, I could treat you here, but this”—he shook the case in his hand—“is injected directly into the inferior vena cava. The injection itself is painful, but when your blood carries the antidote through the rest of your body, it’ll feel like torture. It’s best that you’re unconscious during the entire experience.”

  All Rosalie heard was vena cava, antidotes, and unbearable pain. Then, all of a sudden, she went from feeling as if she were having an out-of-body experience to being acutely present in the moment.

  She inhaled deeply through her nose and forced the air out of her mouth. “Then I guess I have to go through the pain.”

  “No, like I said, you’ll be unconscious because I’m not administering the antidote myself,” Chester said. “I’m sending you to a medical facility with these six cylinders. They’re going to put you under anesthesia and administer the treatment.”

  Rosalie visualized her liver being as green as a caterpillar and covered with slime. “Will there be any residual damage to my liver?” she asked.

  “No,” he said with assurance. “I’ve cured myself twice, and I’m as good as new.”

  Chance sighed with relief and kissed the back of Rosalie’s hand. “How long will it take for her to recover?”

  “It won’t take more than two hours for the treatment to cure the body, but you’ll stay under for another hour and a half just to make sure the antidote has been completely taken up by your body. They’ll then inject you with a vaccine, which, after thirty days, will protect you from TS-35 and other poisons that contain the same compounds for the rest of your life. I’ll give you the address to the medical facility before you leave.” He pointed to Chance. “But first, I need to test your blood, and after that, I’m going to give you both what you really came here for.”

  “We came because I thought you would know where to find my grandmother,” Chance said.

  Chester scoffed. “Then your expectations were too low, and what I’m going to share with you will raise them to a whole new level.”

  Rosalie and Chance widened their eyes at each other.

  Two

  Chance Sterling

  Chance’s blood test showed he was negative for TS-35 poisoning. However, as promised, Chester Pruitt inoculated him with a vaccine.

  Chester was now leading them to what he called the “walls of truth.” The fact that there was no sunlight flowing through the dim rooms made the place feel as if they were trapped between the walls of hell. The grave feeling could’ve also come from Chester Pruitt himself. It was evident that he spent more time in his basement in the barn than out in the sunlight. His muddy-gray eyes, chalky-white skin, slender build, and bald head made him look more like a ghost than a person.

  Chester led them through an open space. “Twenty years ago, we weren’t as technically advanced as we are today.”

  The wall to the right, which had to have been about ten feet long and high, caught Chance’s attention. Tacked to it were newspaper clippings; documents with circles, x’s, and lines scribbled across them; index cards; envelopes of every size; and photos. Each item was artfully placed. They cleared one room, and Chester opened the door to another.

  Then Chance noticed Rosalie, who was walking ahead of him. She was hugging herself tightly. He could tell she was still rattled by her blood test. He couldn’t imagine being contaminated with the same poison that killed his grandfather. The sooner TS-35 was out of her system, the better. But he had come to know Rosalie pretty well in the last four days, and like him, she wouldn’t sleep easy until they got a definitive answer to why his grandmother had pointed them in the direction of Gerald Rehnquist, who had become James Hague but was now Chester Pruitt, in the first place.

  Chester stopped at the far corner and faced the wall, which looked like the one in the room they had just walked through. “Here’s the whole story.”

  Rosalie stopped embracing herself to step forward and get a closer look. She pointed to a newspaper clipping. “This is Conrad Sterling’s obituary.”

  “Yes, but the whole story starts here.” Chester stabbed his finger on what looked like a lab report. “I ran this after I completed my examination of Conrad Sterling’s body. My findings wer
e conclusive. He died of complications from TS-35. It’s a tetratoxin s-cyoxide substance with thirty parts of rare, un-classified bicarbonates. Not many people use TS-35 for two reasons—it’s hard to produce, and it doesn’t have a shelf life.”

  Chance focused closely on every line of his grandfather’s autopsy report. “What is the shelf life?”

  “Thirty-eight minutes,” Chester replied.

  “That’s not a long time.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “And how is it produced?” Rosalie asked.

  “By luck.”

  Chance and Rosalie frowned curiously at Chester.

  “The poison has to be made in a non-oxygenated environment. The second you take it out of that environment, even after it’s sealed, the elements begin to attack each other and deteriorate. They can only stop fighting each other and survive once they’re inside the body. And the elements join together to slowly kill the host.”

  “Then whoever made the poison that I was injected with couldn’t have been more than thirty-eight minutes away?” Rosalie asked.

  “That is correct,” Chester said.

  “Ah.” Chance nodded as if he finally understood something. “New technology would make it easier to track and find whoever poisoned Rosalie.”

  Chester smirked. “Absolutely. But there’s more you need to know before we make it to the end of why you’re here.”

  “My grandmother left us a note with one of your previous names on it and the date of my grandfather’s death. That’s why we’re here.”

  Chester nodded briskly. “Right.” He then guided their attention to the interconnected pieces of information that were to the right of Chance’s grandfather’s toxicology report. Very quickly, he told them how after he had discovered the true cause of Conrad Sterling’s death, he reported it to his supervisor, Paul Landers, who was just as intrigued by the findings. Two days later, they were both reprimanded. Gerald Rehnquist, the man Chester Pruitt used to be, was suspended for thirty days without pay for insubordination. He was expecting to be rewarded for his findings, not punished. He thought it was strange that the only person he had ever spoken to about his “insubordination” was Paul Landers, who had asked him how in the world he knew about TS-35.