The Cure

Getting It Out

He stared at the vial and wondered if anyone knew he had it. He was sure no one did, because he would probably be running away from a hundred people, down the hall of Mr. Samuel Fallaway's home, then outside in the snow, down the road, and straight to the county jail if any important person knew.

Asmar Lyon realized he shouldn't have it in his hand, visible for anyone to see if they got in here, but he had to take a minute, and just look at it. He had seen pictures of it, dozens of them, but it was so different up close. For one thing it was neon green, not the lime-green he thought it would be. Another difference was the bottle. In the illustrations and photographs shown to him by his team, it looked almost like a tiny mason jar, but it was so different and more detailed than that. It had vines configured all the way down the jar, and was barely the length of his palm.

    After completely inspecting the jar, he tucked it in his satchel and pulled off his jacket to cover the bottle from any passersby. He tried to walk casually out of the library, intent on looking relaxed and, ironically, not intent on anything. He was just a normal attendee of the party, doing... what? What was he doing? He was getting a drink. Well, that wouldn't work, because he was walking in the opposite direction of the center of the party. He knew this not because he knew the layout of the house, but because the band (who sounded like the had been tuning up their instrument for the past three hours) was still blasting their if-you-could-call-it music.

Then he figured out what he was doing: he was relieving himself, and was to return to the party as soon as he was finished. He came up with this story right as a man passed him, holding a beer bottle in a very sweaty hand. The grin on his face was one that you can only get from the liquid in his hand, plus a few other alcoholic drinks. Asmar, however, had had only a sip of what he thought was water. It wasn't.

"Just--just heading to the bathroom! Over there! I'm gonna come right back to the party right after! It's fine!" Needless to say, Asmar wasn't a great liar.

The man was too drunk to wonder why someone was so eager to explain their call to nature, and after turning and almost knocking Asmar down, he stumbled off to the right where Asmar had just came from. He didn't care or have the energy to tell him that was the wrong way.

When he was about twenty feet and within sight of the door, Asmar started running. This was the back door, not the front one, which would be much too risky to use to sneak something out, especially something so valuable and rare. Only he wasn't alone in the brisk driveway. Sitting in Asmar's car, his hands in his lap and his back resting against the seat, was Mr. Fallaway, a knowing smile creeping up on his face every step Asmar took.