As I Fade (One Breath at a Time: Book 1) (23 page)

Here it comes.
I turned in the opposite direction.
Damn!
That hurt like hell. It burned like an army of red ants biting at the inside of my vein. The potent concoction coursed through my bloodstream, hitting me fast.

Whoa! Feeling loopy! It’s working, Doc.
I inwardly enjoyed the release.

Narrow shafts of light, almost small slivers of light, filled with colors of a rainbow flashed before me. Everything was melting and coming up psychedelic.

“I feel like I have eight eyes like a spider,” I wistfully said then hiccupped and giggled. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”

“
Hiccups can be one of the side-affects.”

“
Oh.” I giggled then hiccupped, again. “I’m feeling kind of drowsy.”

“
No. You must stay awake. Stay with me, Brielle,” Dr. Tagorski said assertively. “You’re doing great.”

“
Yeah,
D-o-c-t-o-r.
Feeling good...over here,” I slurred.

He reared back and sat down in a nearby chair with his notepad on his lap.

“So, tell me about your life growing up in New York City. That must have been fascinating.”

Get ready for the show doc!
I giggled to myself, feeling no pain.

Should I have dared proceed into the vague imprints of my footsteps that led me here? Here with this stranger tending to my demons? The drug was telling me I had no choice. I felt as high as a kite. Now I understood the words to
Hey Jude,
by The Beatles
.

“
Let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,” I sang out loud.

My body seemed to elevate as the drug tickled my brain. I opened my mouth and did as Dr. Tagorski had asked.

My mind reeled like that of an old movie film being stripped away from its silver canister...my entire life flashed before my eyes. I spoke, and the words spilled out as if they were once written...the pages turned over one by one
.

-18-

Meanwhile, Back at the Brownstone

2013

Nuilley couldn’t take anymore of listening to Mr. Piccart’s dated stories. If she allowed it, he’d never stop talking. “Mr. Piccart, really I would love to hear more about your life, it’s sound so fascinating—do you think I could come back another time? I really need to see Brielle right now.”

“
Yes, of course, I almost forgot you’re here to visit with Brielle.” Mr. Piccart looked up at Nuilley, pushed out his bottom lip and shrugged. “You’re welcome to go knock on her door.”

Nuilley wished she had interrupted him an hour ago.

“Really? Thanks.” She sighed, glad that she hadn’t offended him.

“
But, well, I have to confess, I didn’t exactly see her today, but I know she
was
home earlier.” That’s exactly what Nuilley figured. “The music was playing quite loudly in her apartment this morning. She always plays her old songs when she’s writing.”

“
Mr. Piccart, I don’t think Brielle ever shuts off her music, are you sure she’s okay?”

“
Oh yes, I’m certain she’s fine. When she finishes her novel, rest assure, she’ll most likely contact you then. She’s been very busy lately and probably needs some space. Maybe you should come back another time. She has a deadline you know. And don’t worry, everything will fall nicely back into place when she’s through.”

“
Holy crap!” Nuilley shrieked. “What was that?” She leaped to her feet. Her eyes darted over furnishings. The fireplace poker had fallen to the floor, which about caused Nuilley to jump out of her skin.

“
It’s okay—I got it.” Mr. Piccart’s palms grasped onto the arms of the chair, and he pushed upward to stand. He slowly made his way toward the fallen object.

Nuilley watched him impatiently wanting to make her exit upstairs to Brie’s place. When she stepped forward, her eyes landed on the man in the portrait above the fireplace. His dark eyes appeared to be staring right through her.

“Creepy,” she whispered and glanced back toward Mr. Piccart. He held onto his thighs, struggling as he bent over to pick up the poker.

Nuilley offered, “Do you need some help with that?”

“Nope. I’m perfectly capable.” He picked up the iron-rod, which took forever. He poked at the burning embers as he spoke, “Brielle should be finished with that novel any day now.” He reassured Nuilley. “I know she’s been doing a lot of research on this piece. She’s practically breathing and living the life of her characters. This book is a big deal to her.”

As Nuilley watched him, she crossed her eyes, impatiently waiting for him to finish. Everything he did was in slow motion. It was almost painful to watch him. Then, finally he rapped the long black poker against the hearth and placed the metal screen back in front of the opening of the fireplace.

“Yes, I know, but I—I’ll just sneak up and check in on her just in case she—” Nuilley turned toward the staircase.

Mr. Piccart interrupted her mid-sentence rather loudly, “Well, my job is done for the night.” She assumed he was referring to the maintenance of the fire. “Come along now.” He waved for her to follow him. Nuilley stood there dumbfounded not sure what to do. Why did he want her to follow him? He wasn’t heading toward the staircase that led to Brielle’s flat.

“But...I—” she mumbled, confused, pointing towards the staircase.

He headed back toward the main lobby doors, without words, silently cueing her it was time to go. She followed slightly behind him. Nuilley noticed how his feet barely left the ground when he walked, causing an annoying shuffling noise against the marble floor.

“Can I go upstairs and bother her for a moment?” Nuilley asked, wondering why she even bothered to ask, she could out run him in a heartbeat. Brielle was her lifetime friend, and she was worried about her and felt she didn’t need anyone’s permission to knock on Brielle’s door. “I can ring the intercom, if you prefer me to do that before knocking down her door?” she said playfully, adding a laugh. Since it was his home, she didn’t want to trespass without his permission.

“
I don’t believe she is home right now.”

“
What? You just said she was,” Nuilley piped out.

“
No I did not. I said I heard her music was on, but now I remember, she told me she was going out with some friends.” He had a light bulb moment, which came and went often. “They were going to that little café she likes so much—you know the one, don’t you? Café Louis...that’s where they all went.”

All?
A wave of self-pity came over Nuilley, coupled with suspicions of him, and why he didn’t tell her this earlier? If he can remember details from a hundred years ago, why couldn’t he remember today? Nuilley detected he was either hiding something from her or lying, but why? Suddenly his memory had served him all too well, spewing out a plethora of information. And, she had never even heard of Café Louis. His flirty demeanor had vanished too. It wasn’t adding up, just minutes ago he knew jack squat.

“
Oh,” She smiled, showing an outward gesture that she was happy for her friend, while on the inside she felt like dying. She shook her feelings off and stuck to the topic at hand, this wasn’t about her but about Brielle. “So, did you see her before she left?” She flashed at her watch. “Did she leave around eight-o’clock?” Nuilley asked, again essentially filling in the blanks herself.

“
I suppose I did, maybe it was eight,” he admitted confidently.

Nuilley sighed deeply. “Mr. Piccart...I’m sorry but a minute ago you said you hadn’t seen—”

“I know what I said,” he snapped.

“
Sorry.” Nuilley rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“
Aren’t you listening to me? You young folks would know a lot more if you just listened.” His temperament shifted vastly. He continued scolding her...something Nuilley wasn’t unaccustomed to and wouldn’t usually put up with. She did all she could to compress her rising temper. “You listened to my old stories for over an hour, but now you’re missing the facts you came for.” He essentially insulted her.

Nuilley bit her tongue and pleasantly tried to calm him. The old guy was coming across as bi-polar. At this point, he was her only gateway to Brielle. “It’s okay, I appreciate all that you have told me.”

“I hope so. How would I know where she went if I hadn’t seen her? I would think you would appreciate what I have told you.” His tone came across trite. He was clearly offended. “But what time that was...
hell
if I know.”

There were two things going on here: a cat and mouse game or he was definitely senile. Nuilley repeated, “I do appreciate everything you’ve shared with me.” She smiled softy.

He nodded, and the light in his pale blue eyes returned. Nuilley had felt she pushed him too far, but she needed one more piece of information.

“
Can I ask one more question?”

“
Pry away,” he said jokingly but the creases in his forehead betrayed his tone. “I’m not trying to keep anything from you,” he paused, crossing his arms in front of his torso. “I would never lie to you.” He narrowed his stare into her eyes. “You don’t think I would do you?”

Bingo! Yes, she did. Everyone lies. He was good but transparent to Nuilley. She’d studied human behavior in school, from the history of psychology, to statistics, to cognitive psychology. She’d dropped out of college when what she was learning felt like too much information, and a violation into someone’s mind, but what little she learned still came in handy. Mr. Piccart’s denial and body language, followed by his hand-waving implausible aspect, by saying he would never lie, was the lie itself.

Nuilley didn’t comment on whether or not, she thought he was lying. “So, do you know who she went out with?” Nuilley asked cheerfully, suppressing her suspicious tone because as far as she knew Brielle didn’t have many friends yet in Paris.

Mr. Piccart raised his brows in tandem. “Her friends,” he simply said. “They’re celebrating the first draft of her movie—I mean book.” He quickly added and scratched his head. “They invited me to go along, but I declined. I’ve had my fun in my day—this century is for the young.” His words blurred in Nuilley’s mind. “I don’t like the loud music they play nowadays. It’s a bunch of racket to me, and I can’t dance to it with my sweetheart.”

“What? Oh.” She could barely speak, swallowing back the huge lump that caught in her throat. Why wasn’t she invited to the celebration? This only hurt her further. She felt so left out, and adding to it, embarrassed, that Mr. Piccart knew she hadn’t been invited. What had she done that didn’t merit an invitation?

As Nuilley passed by the staircase, she thought she saw a shadow move across the wall on the open balcony.

Mr. Piccart made his way toward the door and carried on in a one-sided conversation, while Nuilley carefully scanned the open balcony corridors.

Mr. Piccart’s voice droned on in the far part of Nuilley’s conscious mind. “You know when I dance I like to hold a woman in my arms, close and lovingly. And stare into her eyes. Nowadays they all dance together like a bunch of lesbians...and the gays...even when they’re not. I like the gays though, I knew quite a few in Hollywood, nice fellows but they hid their attraction to the same sex in those days—they had to sneak around—what a shame they weren’t allow to love who they wanted. They didn’t hurt anyone. Folks have more sense these days.”

He continued on, gabbing about the old days. Nuilley hemmed and hawed when necessary but mostly tuned him out, distracted by the moving shadows.

“
Brielle!” Nuilley abruptly yelled out, giving no regard to the fact Mr. Piccart said Brielle wasn’t home.

Mr. Piccart stopped dead in his monologue and turned toward Nuilley. “I told you she’s not here.”

“I thought I saw someone. Do you have another tenant now?”

“
No, Brielle and I are the only two
living
in this sweet old place.”

Old yes, sweet...hell, no...creepy is more like it,
Nuilley thought.

“
I could swear I just saw someone pass by on the landing up there—twice.” She stared up into the darkness of the stairwell. There were dainty scones that lined the walls, dimly lighting the way up.

“
No. It’s just shadows from the light.” He pointed to the chandelier in the high ceiling. “Brielle left shortly before you arrived. I don’t expect her back anytime soon. She’s entertaining many thoughts of love too.”

“
You mean she’s with a man?” The way he spoke, in a poetic code, drove Nuilley mad. She wished he just talked without all the added drama. Of course, since he had a claim to fame as a big Hollywood producer of his time, she didn’t expect anything less.

“
Exactly. A nice looking chap, too,” he said pointedly.

“
I haven’t met him yet, Brie tried to tell me all about him—she tells me everything you know, but I couldn’t hear her clearly—her phone kept losing service the last time we talked,” Nuilley said, making excuses for not knowing who he was. She felt embarrassed that she didn’t even know his name. “Have you met him? Is he nice?” she inquired, regretting that she hadn’t come to the brownstone the night of the storm. She knew Brielle was upset about something the night she called from the subway. The brunt of the storm had passed them by, and now she wished she had gone.