Eight Shades Of Doctor Blackwood

(Josephine’s POV) The shaking had since stopped being occasional. Now it was the first thing to greet me whenever I woke up. It came as a faint but constant tremor in my fingers, as if my body was quietly disagreeing with me. I yawned and started to sit up slowly, watching my hands rest on my lap. Right now, they weren’t feeling like they belonged to me. “This wasn’t how stress used to feel.” Yes…I had lived with pressure most of my adult life. A career of investigating my kind of stories could do that to you. Long nights…. Tight deadlines. Threats wrapped in polite emails. But this case was different. This sudden illness was resident in my stomach, the way my head felt too light, the flashes of memory that didn’t line up… it was new. And when I think about it again now, I find myself slowly realizing that all these started just hours after Vivian’s birthday. The same one that happened two weeks ago. The symptoms did not come immediately. And that was the strangest part. At first, I had laughed it off, remembering how she had shown up at my door that evening with an apology and a cake, smiling in that careful way she had learned over the years. Vivian and I had never been close. We always fought but soon learned to tolerate each other for my father’s sake. Her mother too never liked me. But that night, she had cried. Really cried. She sounded real and passionate enough when she said she wanted us to start over. “Come out with me,” she had begged. “Just once.” When I finally agreed, it was she who even chose the place. It was a secluded joint called Lazarus Club; popular for its really loud music and low lights. Too many bodies packed together. I remembered hesitating at the door, then following her inside anyway. Then what followed moments after was the drinking. The taste of the wine was clear and sweet. It burned slightly on the way down. After that, the night started to break apart. And even our laughter also started to grow too loud, and at some point, senses of someone standing too close chilled my nerves. It was a strong masculine energy. And soon I felt the man’s hand brushing my waist. The smell of smoke. My head heavy, thoughts slipping away from me like water through fingers. It was like a flash of heaven and hell in one vision. However, the weird thing was that the next morning I woke up to the shocking sight of myself sleeping alone on the club floor. Bottles scattered all around me. There was an ashtray tipped beside my bag, and my phone too had long died. And when I rose to look around completely, Vivian was gone. Since that time, till this very moment, Vivian had been unreachable. I confirmed from a source that she was home and safe. Yet her calls whenever I tried her number were always busy. Every time. I sighed before getting down from the bed to brush my teeth and bath. A couple of minutes later, I was back and proceeded to dress up slowly, the memories still hanging around like a bad smell. When I was done, I forced myself to leave the apartment. About an hour later at work, the office was alive with its usual noise, but something felt off this time. I quietly noticed how my colleagues around seemed to speak softer around me. Eyes slid away whenever I looked up. I sat at my desk and opened the case file I had been buried in for months. It was simple on the surface, and contained information on a program meant to help troubled children. Funded by a big pharmaceutical company. Lots of money. Lots of promises. My job was to check whether those promises were real. I compared reports… checking out what was written versus what actually happened. But to my surprise, I noticed that dates weren't matching. What was even more disturbing was that the children were disappearing from records. Complaints were being erased before they could be followed up. Anyone else might have missed it. But not me. I never did. I printed the report twice before I stood up. The printer made whirring sounds before spitting the pages out slowly, like it was tired too. I watched every sheet land in the tray, my jaw tight. I had checked them last night. I had checked them again this morning. Nothing was missing. Nothing was wrong. I clipped the pages together and picked up my laptop. From here, I walked down the corridor toward the supervisors’ wing. “Morning,” I heard someone suddenly say behind me. I stopped and turned around to see who it was. It was Mark from compliance, and the lanky dude was leaning against a desk, coffee in hand, eyes dropping to the report under my arm. “You’re in early,” he remarked. “I always am,” I replied. He took a slow sip from the cup in his hand. “You’ve been digging into Project Helix again.” “Yes,” I blurted. “Just…. be sure you’re reading the numbers correctly. Transfers can look strange if you don’t see the whole picture.” “I see enough,” I said, started to walk away before he could say anything, before my hands could even start to shake again. When I reached outside the conference room, I paused to press my palm flat against the cool glass. My reflection stared back, showing eyes too sharp for someone everyone had decided was fragile. I pushed the door open. Inside the office, three supervisors sat around the table. The air was heavy with coffee and lemon disinfectant. “I sent the report last night,” I announced, placing the printed copy in front of them. “But I wanted to explain what I found in person.” It was Linda… head of operations, that glanced down at the papers first before looking up to say, “Yeah, we skimmed it.” “It needs more than a skim,” I stressed, “Money meant for patient care is being moved elsewhere. And children are being listed as volunteers when there’s no signed consent.” There was a small pause. After then, James frowned. “You’re saying funds were redirected?” “Yes,” I affirmed. “Small amounts at a time. Easy to miss unless you line everything up.” I opened my laptop before continuing. “If you look at the attachments… You will see eh….” My voice trailed off after I clicked on it and saw no effect. Nothing loaded. I frowned and clicked again. The folder opened. Empty. My chest tightened. “That’s… that’s not right,” I stammered with puzzled eyes and shaking hands, “The documents were attached.” Linda leaned forward. “What documents?” “The payment logs. The original consent forms. The before-and-after versions,” I said, scrolling a little faster than normal. “They were here.” It was at this point that I heard Mark’s voice from behind me. He had slipped into the room quietly. “I don’t see any attachments in the email.” I turned. “There were five files.” James checked his screen. “There’s nothing.” “That’s impossible,” I said. “They were uploaded. I watched them upload.” Linda folded her hands. “Josephine, without the files, all we have are claims.” “Yes,” I murmured with my heart pounding now, “but I can swear I didn’t delete those files.” For the next couple of seconds, silence availed. After then, Linda rose at once to her feet to declare, “This meeting is over.” “It’s over… until we can be sure everything here is… objective.” “Objective.” I repeated and looked at the empty screen. And at the printed pages in their hands. At Mark’s quiet relief. “I didn’t imagine this,” I blinked and whispered in disbelief. “Go home, Josephine,” Linda cut in, gesturing towards the door as everyone watched. I stood there staring back at them numbly as one thought started to settle sharp in my chest: Someone wasn’t just covering this up, someone was trying to make me look crazy. “But who could that someone be?”