7 Billion Pills

The world has been swept by an unusual migraine tablet...
And no-one can seem to get rid of it.
The burden falls on Miss Katie Chase to stop the pill's effects from spreading...


12. Investigations

A silence so awkward it was palpable hung in the air like cobwebs. "Where are we going?" muttered the doctor drowsily, and i shot him a glance,

"To the drug store. Now tighten your seatbelt. You're slouching." I corrrected him, and he hurriedly sat bolt upright. He let out a low chuckle, and I furrowed my eyebrows, not averting my gaze from the road. "Something funny, doctor?" I questioned, and his voice was sounding snappy when he answered:

"How did you know that I was late this morning?" he huffed, and I smirked.

"I believe I explained my evidence, Doctor," I murmured, not really paying attention.

He scoffed, "So you're the Sherlock Holmes tipe, are ya? That explains why you address me so formally..."

I allowed a bemused smile to creep onto my lips, before replying, "No. That, Doctor, is because you are my colleage. My colleage and absolutely nothing more," I exlpained bitterly, my face hardening.

"I see..." he mused, pretending to write something on a notebook.

"Would you like me to do another analysis?" I asked nonchalantly, "As long as you don't mind me commenting on your personal life," I was distracted from the road for a second to catch his expression. He nodded.

"Good. You have quite a good life, naturally. Three kids, I notice, by the way you have an imprint on your arm from some kind of accessory you used to wear with three beads on it, one for each child."

"How do you know it wasn't two children and a wife?" he asked, and I glowered.

"Because you have a tattoo of your wife's name on your left shoulder. You have been rubbing it unconfortably ever since you arrived and to be quite frank it's beginning to annoy me."

He was silent, and I didn't turn my head until we reached the drug store, where I opened the door and ushered him out as he sat frozen like a scared puppy.

"I don't bite. Unless you're a cucumber and tuna sandwich," I smiled to myself, my tongue tingling with the revelation of lunch.


"I know, you don't like tuna, and I can tell by the way you have desperatley tried to get the tuna stain off the edge of your blazor- really quite unprofessional- and by the way your forehead creased when I said it."

He mused for a few moments, before replying, "Sounds about right."

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