Curing Doctor Vincent (The Good Doctor Trilogy Book 1) (12 page)

Two security officers
grabbed her by the arms and pinned her against the wall. She didn’t resist, but
continued to spew hateful words at the doctor.

Two officers who
looked to be with the Paris police approached us. Xavier turned and wrapped his
arms around me. “I’m so sorry. I never expected that to happen.”

One of the officers
spoke with Xavier in French, but he didn’t release me.

“What did they say?”

“They asked if I
wanted to press charges.”

I rubbed his back,
trying to sooth him. “And?”

He sighed. “No. I
never do.”

The sound of shoes
tapping marble filled the hallway as they escorted Annie away.

Xavier released me
and took a deep breath. “I’ll call Pierre and have him take you home.”

“If that’s what you
want.” It wasn’t what I wanted.

“It’s not, but it’s
only fair.”

I laughed, but the
sound held a sarcastic edge. “See, I think fair would be you explaining what
just happened, but to you sending me away is fair. Shutting me out every time
things get uncomfortable, like how you left before I even dressed this
afternoon. Or the best yet…making me believe you care when it’s all just a
game. If that’s fair, and I stupidly allowed myself to forget the rules, then you’ll
have to excuse me.” I turned and walked away from him.

“Stop! Can’t you see
I’m trying to protect you?”

I stopped and faced
him. “From what? You? You’re not that scary; I’m not that stupid and I’ll never
be a damsel in distress. Someone once protected me from the truth and you see
how that worked out. I hate to correct you, Doctor, but hope isn’t a gift, it’s
a torture. And since you can’t possibly save me from that, I have no choice but
to save myself. If you can’t share the truth with me then this
has
all been a game and I fold. Good
night, Doctor.”

I was tired of him
running. The only way to stop it was to force the issue, hoping he’d follow to
gain back his control. The irony of the situation was not lost on me. My
stomach churned. What if he didn’t? What if this was the last time I saw him? I
turned back around and continued my exit.

“Where are you going?”
he shouted, anger accenting every word until they echoed through the corridor.

I didn’t answer. If
he wasn’t going to talk, I might as well see Paris. It was time someone stopped
taking his direction. I increased my pace.

The bevy of patrons
flooded the lobby and I weaved between them. I resisted the urge to look back
to see if he trailed.

I pushed open the
heavy iron doors and was greeted by cool night air. Where should I go, the
Louvre? Better yet, the Paris Opera House; I had always wanted to see it.

Pierre noticed me and
exited the driver’s door. How serendipitous that he was still on site. He
mumbled something in French and I hoped that the doctor’s directive to take me
wherever I wanted still stood. I was lucky that he understood me when I said ‘opera
house.’ He opened the car door for me and I stepped inside. He closed the door
and I buried my face in my hands, hoping somewhere deep down that all of Xavier’s
declarations were true and that this wouldn’t be the end.

Pierre’s door closed
and the engine started. When the car pulled out my heart fell. At the end of
the semicircular entrance to the hall the car stopped. The door opened,
allowing a flood of cold air in, just before Xavier bounded through the door.

He slammed it closed
behind him. Never looking at me, he faced forward and adjusted the sleeves on
his jacket. His jaw was clenched tight.

He leaned back and
ran his fingers through his lush hair. With sharp, crisp words he asked, “Where
are we going?”

I cupped my hands in
my lap. “I’m heading to the Paris Opera House. It might be closed, but at least
I can see it from the outside.”

He growled. “This is
why your visit is only a week. I didn’t want to have to explain this.” He
looked as though he’d aged ten years in the past thirty minutes.

“You don’t have to.
It’s not my business.” The movement of the car jostled me from side to side. I
crossed my arms.

He rubbed his hands
on his thighs. “No. No. It’s not that. I just wanted this to be perfect. A week
in time where the demons behaved.” He stopped and turned to me with a
penetrating gaze. “Is it wrong that I wanted you to see me for the man I want
to be, not the one I am? I never wanted to see your face when you learned the
truth.”

“No, it’s not wrong. But
I realized back in the hallway, I have no interest in a fairytale. I had one of
those and when you close the book, it disappears. I want you to trust me enough
to let me know who you are. But none of it matters, it all ends soon enough.”

“What if I don’t want
you to take this with you?” There was no humor in his tone.

“Was your plan to
bring me here and make me fall in love with a character? Some fantasy you
dreamed up? That seems cruel. Besides, far too many people have already done
that. Don’t you think it’s time you find someone to fall in love with you? The flawed,
real, imperfect you?”

He raised an eyebrow.

It was my turn to
sigh. “Yes, Xavier Vincent, I know you’re human. You pretend you’re in control,
but you’re not. Your past is pulling your strings. If I were to fall in love,
it would be with you and every tie that binds you. So what’s your story? Just
how understanding would I need to be?”

“No one is that
understanding.”

“Lydia had to be.”

His eyes narrowed to
a glare. I’d hit a nerve. That was good. If he felt the need to justify
himself, he’d get to the point faster.

“I mean, she had to
love you unconditionally, right? She knew all your secrets.”

His head slumped
forward and after a long moment, one where I thought perhaps I’d gone too far,
he started on a whisper. “I was fifteen. And as with everything, I didn’t do
anything halfway, even then.” He paused and released his hair, shooting me the
most intense gaze. The moment of silence hung in the air thick with tension. “When
I love, Elaine, it’s with my soul. I love so deeply that I’m consumed. I’m like
that with most things.”

I was so dedicated to
hearing his story; I didn’t notice the car had stopped.

He looked up, and
reached into his pocket and fished out his phone. “One moment…” A swipe of the
screen, and a few number sequences later and he was carrying out a conversation
in French. It had something to do with the opera house.

The door opened, he
stepped out and then reached for my hand, “Come on.”

I stared out the
window at the ornate structure. “It looks closed.”

“It is, but I’m a big
patron. They are going to let us in.” He leaned in, grabbed my arm and pulled,
until I unfolded and gave him my hand.

Once outside the car,
he laced his fingers with mine and led me toward the beautiful building. It was
so large and opulent it was impossible to find words to describe. Sculpted,
golden angels, supported by large stone pillars, stood watch over patrons from
the rooftop. The street was quiet except for a couple laughing near a lamppost.
Up a small set of stairs, under a stone archway and through an iron gate, stood
large, gilded doors. As we approached one opened, slowly revealing a man with
dark hair and fair skin, wearing blue overalls. Xavier spoke with the man in
French and we slipped through the door.

All I could do was
stare. Everywhere I looked, something to catch the eye. The echo of the man’s
footsteps died somewhere in the high gold leaf ceilings.

“Come on. I’ll show
you where I usually sit.”

I was thankful he
didn’t want to continue our conversation as we passed through the hall of
chandeliers or when we scaled the grand staircase. It was too easy to be
distracted by our surroundings. But even with all the abounding beauty, I kept
coming back to the feel of his warm hand holding mine.

More stairs and then
finally a small corridor filled with narrow, brown doors, each with a small
round window and gold lettering.

“This is it.” He
opened the door and revealed a small room with an opening to the theater. Red
velvet chairs had been scattered haphazardly throughout the space.

The doctor moved a settee
to the front of the box, just behind the intricate gold-leaf banister. His
movement echoed through the cavernous empty space. The heavy, red curtains with
golden trim obscuring the stage were not enough to absorb the sound.

He took a seat and
patted the space beside him. “Join me.”

I did as he asked and
continued to stare across the massive room, considering the time and effort it
must have taken to construct the building.

He grabbed my hand
and squeezed it.

“Her name was
Samantha. We were both fifteen. As I told you in the car, when I love I go all
in.” He focused his attention on me.

I smiled, trying to
picture a fifteen-year-old Xavier Vincent. “Teenage love can be intense.”

“No. You don’t
understand. It still happens.” He didn’t pause long enough for me to comment
and even though we were alone, he whispered to reduce the echo. “Anyway, I was
in love, but I was being pursued by universities for early admission. My test
scores were off the charts. My parents were poor and uneducated, so they didn’t
understand the importance of what was happening. They just wanted to make sure
they got their check and didn’t owe anything. A guidance counselor at school
was my advocate and I was enrolled at Harvard before my sixteenth birthday.”

“Wow, so you and
Marco have a lot in common.”

He laughed. “I think
that’s the only point, but yes, I understand the struggles of early admission. He’s
much more of a punk than I was.”

It was good to see
his smile even if it only lasted a few seconds.

“I was afraid of
leaving Samantha. I figured if we had sex and I was the one to take her
virginity, she’d have a stronger reason to wait for me. Fifteen-year-old male
logic at its finest.”

It was my turn to
chuckle. “It’s been my experience that most men don’t progress past that.”

“Yes. I guess you’re
right. Only when they’re older, they drag you off to Paris.”

We stared at each
other for a moment. Gazes locked. Why did I want him to say it? To tell me he
loved me, when in the end it amounted to nothing more than something else that
would haunt me when I was long gone from France.

He folded his hands
in his lap and turned his gaze back to the elaborate boxes on the other side of
the theater. “We had it all planned. Her parents would be away the weekend
before I left. Even the timing of her cycle was perfect: I didn’t want to get
her pregnant.” He cleared his throat. “Being teenagers, things were awkward. I
remember fumbling with her clothes and penetrating her for the first time, the
grimace on her face that turned quickly to a smile is etched in my mind, but I
remember nothing after that.”

“What happened?”

“Lydia diagnosed it
as transient global amnesia brought on by orgasm. Basically, I lose memories
before and after. Supposedly, I get confused too. But like I said, I don’t
remember any of it.”

“Wait. Lydia
diagnosed you? But I’ve seen you orgasm and you were perfectly in control.”

“Hang on, I’m getting
there.” He sighed patted my leg with our entwined hands. “The next memory I
have is lying naked on top of Samantha, my hands around her throat, choking her
already lifeless body.”

I gasped.

“I tried to revive
her, but she was dead. I called 911 and when the authorities arrived, I was
arrested. I still can’t believe I did it. I loved her, Elaine. I never wanted
to hurt her. I didn’t know I was capable of hurting anyone like that and
especially not her.” The sincerity in his voice broke my heart.

“I didn’t fight the
charges and my parents went on a campaign to get me convicted. You see my
father had been sexually abusing me and was afraid I would expose him, so
discrediting me protected him.”

“Oh, my god. I’m so
sorry.”

His sarcastic laugh
filled the hall. “I just told you I killed a woman while fucking her and you
feel sorry for me. Don’t. The reason Annie keeps torturing me is because she is
right. I got off easy. And if you want to know what Samantha looked like,
picture Annie twenty years ago, before the drugs and hard living. They were identical
twins.”

“How terrible that
must be to keep seeing her face.”

He turned to me,
anger marking his brow. “Why are you doing that? There should be no sympathy
for me. I didn’t do a day of jail time. The same powers that paved the way for
my education covered it all up. My parents gave up custody. I was adopted by
the Lenoir’s—a wealthy family with ties to the university. Samantha’s
family was paid off and no one ever spoke of it again. Except Annie. As guilty
as I am of Samantha’s death, I’m also guilty for Annie being collateral damage.”
He let go of my hand and clenched his fists. “Security assured me that they
would be on the lookout for her.”