Part 5 (1/2)
Pilar's eyes widened a trifle. ”Do you suppose--”
”That one of them is an antidote?” Smathers snorted. ”h.e.l.l, anything's possible at this stage of the game. The best thing we can do, I think, is give him a dose of everything there, and see what happens.”
”Yeah, Doc, yeah,” said MacNeil smiling weakly, ”I feel a little better.
Not real good, you understand, but better.”
Under iron control, Dr. Smathers put on his best bedside manner, while Pilar and Petrelli hovered in the background.
”Now, look, son,” said Smathers in a kindly voice, ”we found the medicines in your locker box.”
MacNeil's face fell, making him look worse. He'd dropped down close to death before the conglomerate mixture which had been pumped into his stomach had taken effect, and Smathers had no desire to put too much pressure on the man.
”Now, don't worry about it, son,” he said hurriedly; ”We'll see to it that you aren't punished for it. It's all right. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
”Sure, Doc; anything,” said MacNeil. But he still looked apprehensive.
”Have you been dosing yourself pretty regularly with these things?”
”Well ... uh ... well, yeah. Sometimes.” He smiled feebly. ”Sometimes I didn't feel so good, and I didn't want to bother the medics. You know how it is.”
”Very considerate, I'm sure,” said Smathers with just the barest trace of sarcasm, which, fortunately, fell unheeded on MacNeil's ears. ”But which ones did you take every day?”
”Just the vitamins.” He paused. ”And ... uh ... maybe an aspirin. The only things I took real regular were the vitamins, though. That's all right ain't it? Ain't vitamins food?”
”Sure, son, sure. What did you take yesterday morning, before you got so sick?”
”Just the vitamins,” MacNeil said stoutly. ”I figured that since you docs was takin' care of me, I didn't need no medicine.”
Dr. Smathers glanced up hopelessly at the other two men. ”That eliminates the vitamins,” he said, _sotto voce_. He looked back at the patient. ”No aspirin? No APC's? You didn't have a headache at all?”
MacNeil shook his head firmly. ”I don't get headaches much.” Again he essayed a feeble smile. ”I ain't like you guys, I don't overwork my brains.”
”I'm sure you don't,” said Smathers. Then his eyes gleamed. ”You have quite a bit of stomach trouble, eh? Your digestion bad?”
”Yeah. You know; I told you about it. I get heartburn and acid stomach pretty often. And constipation.”
”What do you take for that?”
”Oh, different things. Sometimes a soda pill, sometimes milk of magnesia, different things.”
Smathers looked disappointed, but before he could say anything, Dr.
Petrelli's awed but excited voice came from behind him. ”Do you take Epsom salts?”
”Yeah.”
”I wonder--” said Petrelli softly.