Chapter 1 - The First Patch
The first person to call Theo Sloan violent was the paramedic who found his pregnant mother unconscious on the kitchen floor.
The second was the police officer who saw the bite marks on her hand.
Neither of them noticed the small square patch lying beneath Theo’s shoe.
Forty minutes earlier, Rebecca Sloan had been standing at the kitchen counter, trying not to cry every time she moved.
At thirty-two weeks pregnant, she had expected swollen ankles and sleepless nights. She had not expected the sharp pain that now ran from the base of her spine into her left hip.
Three days earlier, she had slipped on the back steps while carrying groceries. She had caught the railing before she fell completely, but the sudden twist had strained the muscles in her lower back.
Her obstetrician had recommended rest, warm compresses, and acetaminophen. Rebecca had followed every instruction.
Nothing helped.
That morning, her mother-in-law arrived carrying a white pharmacy bag.
Judith Whitmore entered without waiting to be invited, as she usually did.
“You look awful,” Judith said.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“I meant exhausted.”
“You rarely say things you don’t mean.”
Judith ignored the remark and placed the bag on the kitchen counter.
Inside was a sealed box with the logo of a private pain clinic. Grant’s full name appeared on the prescription label.
Rebecca frowned. “Why is Grant’s name on it?”
“He arranged it through the family physician,” Judith said. “It’s a low-dose topical treatment. He knew you wouldn’t take pills.”
Rebecca turned the box over.
The packaging looked professional. There were printed instructions, a barcode, warnings, and the name of a physician she vaguely recognized from one of the Whitmore family charity events.
“I didn’t talk to a doctor about this.”
“Grant did.”
Rebecca reached for her phone.
Grant was supposed to be in a finance meeting at Whitmore Medical Supply. He had been distracted for weeks, taking calls behind closed doors and leaving the room whenever Rebecca came near.
Her call went directly to voicemail.
Judith watched her.
“He’s in the quarterly review,” she said. “He asked me to bring this because you told him you barely slept last night.”
“I told him that at breakfast.”
“He called me from the car.”
Rebecca studied her mother-in-law’s face.
Judith was composed as always, her silver hair pinned neatly at the back of her head, her beige coat untouched by the rain outside.
She looked concerned.
Judith had never liked Rebecca, but she had become strangely attentive since the pregnancy reached its third trimester. She sent food, arranged cleaners, and asked about every appointment.
Rebecca had assumed the baby was finally softening her.
Now, she wondered whether she had only been hoping it would.
“It’s safe during pregnancy?” Rebecca asked.
Judith’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
“Grant would never give you anything that could hurt his child.”
His child.
Not you.
Not the baby.
Rebecca noticed the wording, but another wave of pain made her grip the counter.
Judith opened the box, removed a sealed packet, and placed it beside Rebecca.
“You apply it to the upper arm,” she said. “One patch. No more than that.”
Rebecca stared at it.
“I’ll wait until Grant calls.”
“Of course.”
Judith put on her gloves.
At the doorway, she looked toward the hall.
“Where’s Theodore?”
“Theo,” Rebecca corrected. “He’s getting his backpack.”
Judith’s mouth formed a narrow smile.
“He’s still having those episodes?”
“He doesn’t have episodes. He becomes overwhelmed.”
“He bit a teacher last year.”
“He was seven. A cleaning solvent triggered a metabolic crisis, and the teacher held him down while he couldn’t breathe.”
“People remember the biting.”
“Then people remember the wrong part.”
Judith glanced back at the patch.
“Some children learn that causing a scene is the fastest way to get attention.”
Rebecca’s voice hardened. “You should go.”
Judith did.
Rebecca left the unopened patch on the counter for another ten minutes.
Then the pain became too much.
She tried Grant again. No answer.
The instructions repeated the words low dose and topical. The packet appeared properly sealed.
Rebecca opened it and pressed the patch to her upper arm.
The adhesive felt unusually cold against her skin.
She pulled down her sleeve and went upstairs to find Theo.
He was kneeling beside his bed, trying to force a science book into an overfilled backpack.
“You don’t need four books for one appointment,” Rebecca said.
“I might get bored.”
“You said that last time, and then you spent the entire appointment explaining the fire alarm system to the nurse.”
“It was installed wrong.”
“So you told everyone.”
“It was.”
Rebecca smiled despite the pain.
Theo was nine, slight for his age, with dark blond hair that never stayed flat and serious gray eyes that made him look older until he laughed.
His metabolic disorder was rare enough that most doctors had to look it up. Certain chemicals, fasting, severe stress, and illness could cause his body to stop processing energy correctly.
Two years earlier, fumes from industrial adhesive used during a school renovation had sent him to intensive care.
Since then, Theo had become intensely aware of chemical smells.
Some people called it hypersensitivity.
Rebecca called it survival.
Theo stood and suddenly wrinkled his nose.
“What’s that smell?”
“What smell?”
He stepped closer.
“Like the old classroom.”
Rebecca’s smile disappeared.
The old classroom was how he referred to the day he collapsed at school.
“There shouldn’t be anything like that here.”
Theo moved around her, sniffing the air cautiously.
Then he pointed at her arm.
“It’s on you.”
Rebecca lifted her sleeve.
“The patch?”
“Take it off.”
“It’s medicine.”
“It smells wrong.”
“It came from a doctor.”
Theo backed away.
“No.”
“Theo—”
“Take it off.”
His voice rose sharply.
Rebecca could already feel the beginning of one of his panic responses: rigid shoulders, quick breathing, hands opening and closing at his sides.
She kept her tone calm.
“I hear you. I’ll call Grant again.”
“Now.”
“I said I’ll call him.”
“Take it off now!”
“Theo.”
He reached for her arm.
Rebecca caught his wrist.
“Stop.”
He twisted away and grabbed for the edge of the patch.
Pain shot through Rebecca’s back. She shoved his hand aside more forcefully than she intended.
Theo froze.
Rebecca immediately regretted it.
“I’m sorry. I just need you to give me a second.”
Her phone slipped from her hand.
She watched it strike the carpet but did not hear the sound clearly.
The room seemed suddenly far away.
Theo said something.
Rebecca saw his mouth move, but the words blurred together.
She leaned against the wall.
Her eyelids felt heavy.
“Mama?”
“I’m fine.”
The answer came out thick and slow.
Theo stared at her.
“You’re not.”
Rebecca tried to bend for the phone.
The floor tilted.
She caught the edge of the dresser and pulled herself upright, but her fingers felt numb.
Theo ran to her.
“The patch.”
Rebecca shook her head, though she no longer remembered what he had said about it.
He pulled at her sleeve.
She grabbed his wrist again.
This time, she held on without realizing how tightly.
“Mama, let go.”
Rebecca could not seem to make her hand obey.
Theo pulled harder.
She heard him scream.
Then he bit her.
Pain cut through the fog.
Rebecca gasped and released him.
Theo tore her sleeve upward, ripped the patch from her arm, and threw it across the room.
Rebecca took one unsteady step.
Her knees gave way.
Theo caught her head before it struck the dresser, but he could not hold her weight.
They fell together.
Rebecca’s body stiffened.
Her arms jerked against the floor.
Theo scrambled backward, terrified.
“Mama!”
She did not answer.
He pressed the emergency button on the small medical alert device clipped to his backpack. His therapist had helped Rebecca program it after Theo’s last metabolic emergency.
The device called Rebecca’s neighbor and 911 simultaneously.
Theo knelt beside his mother.
He remembered the training.
Check breathing.
Tilt the head.
Call for help.
He put his face near her mouth.
Her breaths were shallow and far apart.
He began counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
Nothing.
Then a weak breath came.
Theo screamed for her again.
The front door opened less than three minutes later. Their neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, rushed inside, followed by two paramedics.
They found Rebecca unconscious, Theo kneeling beside her, and blood from the bite marks running across the back of her hand.
One paramedic pulled Theo away.
“What did you do?”
“I took it off.”
“What did you take off?”
“The bad patch.”
The other paramedic checked Rebecca’s airway.
“She’s pregnant. Call obstetrics.”
Mrs. Alvarez put an arm around Theo.
“He called for help,” she said.
The paramedic looked at the bite on Rebecca’s hand.
“We’ll sort that out later.”
Theo tried to pull away from Mrs. Alvarez.
“The patch is on the floor!”
No one looked.
A police officer arrived as the paramedics lifted Rebecca onto the stretcher.
He crouched in front of Theo.
“Did you hurt your mother?”
“No.”
“You bit her.”
“She wouldn’t let go.”
“Why wouldn’t she let go?”
“Because the medicine made her wrong.”
The officer glanced at Mrs. Alvarez.
“Does he have behavioral problems?”
Theo heard the question.
His face went still.
Mrs. Alvarez answered sharply. “He has a medical condition.”
The paramedics wheeled Rebecca toward the door.
Theo followed until the officer blocked him.
“You need to stay here.”
“That’s my mom.”
“They’re helping her.”
“They’re not listening.”
Inside the ambulance, one paramedic stared at the monitor.
Rebecca’s oxygen level continued to fall.
Her chest barely moved.
“Respiratory rate is four.”
The second paramedic began ventilation.
“What was her blood pressure?”
“Not high enough for this.”
Rebecca’s heart rate slowed.
The fetal monitor they had attached showed the baby’s heartbeat beginning to drop.
“Come on, Rebecca.”
May you like
The ambulance accelerated through the rain.
Seconds before they reached St. Matthew’s Medical Center, Rebecca stopped breathing entirely
