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Bastard (A Novel)

Chapter 7

By TestPublished 2 months ago 3 min read
Bastard (A Novel)
Photo by Christine Keller on Unsplash

Sarah was let go the next morning and promised to keep a low profile. She stayed inside and read various novels—mostly mysteries—and rarely went outdoors. Once in a blue moon, she would go for a walk, but that did not happen often.


George flicked on the news after a long day at work.

"Dr. Jonathen Heathrow is suspected of murdering a patient," one of the news anchors announced in a deep, decidedly theatrical voice.

"The details, coming soon."

He put down his stack of papers and stared into the camera, making a show of it.

"Dr. Heathrow was performing a cardiac surgery procedure and 'missteps' occurred. In the end, the patient was dead due to the injection of potassium chloride. The surgical team was not present and should have been, so people are blaming the doctor himself for taking matters into his own hands. He said they were short-staffed and this was an emergency, but many in the public think otherwise.

Jennifer walked in with some bacon sprinkled on gooey mac and cheese.

"Long day at work?"

"Yes. Long day."

He sighed.

"Jen. We're going to have to get a different doctor. This guy's suspected of murder."

Jennifer looked at him sadly, "We can't, George. No one else takes our health insurance. He's the only one."

She walked off and waved her hand dismissively.

"Plus, those are just rumors. You know how the rumor mill is these days. Honestly, it's awful."

She went off to the kitchen and shouted back at him as she was cleaning up, "I'm sure it was an accident!"

George shook his head.

"I'm not so certain of that, Jennifer. Not so certain at all."

George took out his laptop and searched for Doctor Jonathen Heathrow.

What he found terrified him.

There, on the web, were pictures of multiple dead patients underneath the headline "Death Doctor."

No less than 50 patients had died after seeing him, and each one had been intentional, so the article said.

It was written by another doctor who lived in France: Dr. Jacques Barbier.

"JENNIFER! JEN! We really can't see him."

His voice was more firm this time.

"Not with Marlene's condition."

Marlene Hamilton entered through the doorway: She was living at home to save on tuition as she went to journalism school. The London School of Journalism—a prestigious institution—had accepted her, and she'd taken full advantage of the opportunity despite her state.

Marlene Hamilton had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and she had to continue taking medication for it.

Her parents monitored her so that she wouldn't get herself into too much trouble, as she often did when she was left to her own devices.

The television continued booming as she entered the living room, "Dr. Jonathen Heathrow is now suspected of intentionally killing more patients. Potassium chloride is his drug of choice, and his patients' hearts never keep beating after he injects them."

"A doctor with his degree of training should know better. He is under arrest for suspicion of murder. Multiple murders. The only reason he is not behind bars is that his intent has not yet been proven."

"Seriously, Jennifer. We need a different doctor. We can pay out of pocket!" George scolded.

"Yeah, mom. Honestly, we need a different doctor," Marlene echoed her father's sentiment. "This man cannot be trusted."

"Fine, fine," Jennifer relented. "As long as we don't have to pay through the roof. I know things have been tight lately, with Marlene's school and us on one income and all."

"Our daughter's health is worth it."

"Yes, yes. Of course. I agree," Jennifer replied, knowing her husband was right and hating him for it.


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