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The War on Drugs: In Sickness and in Health: Chapter Five

Chapter Five

November 11th, 4:02 PM

Margot stood at the stove, hovering over a large pot.  She felt the warm steam rising from the stew, invading her nostrils.  It fogged up her glasses, made her skin tickle with warmth.  She smiled.  And she tried to tune out Erin, who had been ranting for more than a day now.

"You still don't understand," Erin said.  She was pacing in and out of the kitchen, wearing an over-sized white sweater and black leggings.  "They're going to put it on TV.  It's not a good look for me.  It's humiliating."

She coughed.  She had been coughing a lot since yesterday.

"You feeling okay?" Margot asked, stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon.

"I'm fine," Erin said.  "It still hurts though."  She rubbed her upper arm and winced.

"Sorry," Margot said.  She hadn't looked at Erin in a while.  She didn't want to do anything to set off another screaming fit.

"And that's the best you can say," Erin said.  "Sorry."

"What else is there to say?" Margot asked.  She tried to focus on the stew.  Beef and potatoes and corn.  The simple pleasures.

"You don't get it, Margot," Erin said, moving toward the stove.  "You're always just sitting in the car.  You don't know what it's like to be out there.  To have all those men staring at you.  To put your life on the line."

Margot now turned toward Erin with a glare.  "You weren't in danger.  You were shooting a PSA."

"It was so POINTLESS," Erin said.  The last syllable was cut off abruptly by a round of hacking coughs.  Erin bent over and put a hand on her chest, hoping to settle herself down.

"You need to lie down, Erin," Margot said.  "You're not looking good."

Erin stood tall.  "Don't tell me what to do."

"It was a mistake," Margot admitted.  "Okay?  I messed up.  I didn't know Evelyn was such an awful person..."

"Understatement of the year."

Margot frowned.  "Will you let me finish?"

"No.  I won't," Erin said.  "I'm the superhero.  You listen to me."

Margot set the spoon down on the counter and locked eyes with her roommate.  "What the hell is this?  We're a team, Erin.  I'll admitting that I messed up.  I made a mistake.  Now please, sit down.  We'll have some stew and forget about this."

"I don't want to sit," Erin said, turning away from Margot.  "I want to go out and fight."

Margot watched as Erin bent over again and emitted a series of coughs.

"You're clearly in no condition to do that."

"That's funny," Erin said, twisting her head around to give Margot a scornful look.  "Because I just had my flu shot."

"Erin," Margot said.  "Enough of this."

Erin bent to pick up a duffel bag, the one containing the pieces of her Blue Lynx costume.  She walked toward the door of their apartment, waving her free hand.

"See you later, Margot.  I'm off to do my job."

She marched through the door and slammed it shut.  The force of impact rattled the pictures on the friends' wall.

Margot sighed.  She was sorry.  She had said so to Erin multiple times.  It had been a dumb idea, and the news crew and that doctor... What was his name, Todd?... had been completely inappropriate.

She looked down into the stew, stirring it mechanically.  Dr. Gregory Todd.  Evelyn hadn't said his name when she and Margot had communicated over the phone.  It was an odd name, and everything Erin said about him had been equally strange and, well, kind of creepy.  What was that comment Erin said he had shouted at her?  Something about "side effects"?

Margot set down the spoon and pulled out her phone.  She typed "Gregory Todd" into Google.  There were no results for local doctors.  She checked the image search for a picture of a small man with a mustache and missing teeth.  Still nothing.

"Who is this guy?" Margot wondered.

It was hours later, sitting at the table in front of her stew, her phone in her hand, that Margot found out.  "Gregory Todd," it appeared, was not a real name.  But "Grigory Todorov" was.  He had been a doctor, until a series of malpractice suits forced him to surrender his license.

"So why is he giving out flu shots?"

Margot couldn't find the answer to that question.  But she did find a photograph of a small man with a mustache grinning a big toothless grin.  He was wearing scrubs and a stethoscope.  And he was being embraced by a taller man in a suit.  A familiar, clean-shaven man with dead eyes and unmistakable slicked-back hair.

Margot dropped the phone and almost spat out her stew.

"Oh no."

On to Chapter Six

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