First Blood (30 page)

He tries as best he can to remember the accident. How did he leave the stage? Did his car strike a rock? Did it slam into a tree? It’s too bad, he has no recollection of his unfortunate end. His memories can be summed up in swirls of snow and the intense cold that swallowed him up.

The cold? He isn’t cold now. Nor does he feel the slightest sensation of heat, or any smell, or even pain. Nothing. He feels absolutely nothing.

It’s extremely frustrating. He had imagined a thousand different ways to leave the show, but he has to admit that he hadn’t seen this one coming.

Sit up, for God’s sake.

Did he move?

Or did the white world shift around him?

There is no up or down here. It is a virginal universe.

An empty world.

I can’t stay here. I’ll go crazy.

He suddenly realizes that he is not alone.

A shape approaches, coming from the light.

It nears.

His heart pounds. He recognizes her white hair against the inky black of the night and those eyes that are red jewels. Her strange and fascinating beauty. It’s her. Always her.

Eva, he means, and even though no sound comes from her mouth, he hears this name echo endlessly around him. Eva. You see, even here, my thoughts are for you.

“Alex,” she says, leaning over him. “You gave us a good scare.”

January 23

Alexandre Vauvert blinked.

The bright light was still blinding him.

The familiar and unpleasant smell of bleach and industrial perfume reached his nostrils. He understood where he was even before he opened his eyes. That smell was unique. He found it every time he set foot in a hospital—and over the years, he had done that often. He had been in nearly every hospital and clinic in the city.

He rubbed his eyes and coughed.

Then, he saw her.

She was sitting on the bed, her hands up under her chin, in her white curls.

A dream.

But the dream continued. He blinked, but she did not vanish.

“Eva,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Eva.”

She wore an enigmatic smile. Her face was thinner than he remembered, more translucent—prettier. Her silky hair fell in waves over her shoulders. In this strange dream, she had removed her glasses—her armor that fooled nobody but herself—and Vauvert could see her improbable red eyes, which always looked feverish.

Her smile was enigmatic.

“Hello, you,” she said in a soft voice.

Vauvert felt his heart open like a huge flower and an idiotic grin came over his face. He liked this very realistic dream.

He lifted his head. A flash of pain shot through his ribs.

Eva Svärta’s expression changed. She put her glasses back on, pushing them up with her index finger. Vauvert now faced a double reflection of his bandaged face, with dark bags under his eyes that would have made a zombie jealous.

A moment of doubt struck. He blinked again. Even his damned eyelids hurt.

“So this is no dream?”

Eva chuckled. Her hair rippled.

“You never change, do you?”

“It’s you? It’s really you?”

“I took the first flight I could get.”

She took his hand. He was not feeling surprised anymore, but embarrassed. He tried to sit up. Pain spread across his back. He had been waiting so long to see her again, and here he was like a jackass, hurt and stuck in a bed.

“I had a little bit of a car accident,” he said, his voice thick.

He remembered the BMW driving at him. The shock of impact. Rolling in the snow. A shiver ran up his back.

“There was nothing little about the accident,” she said with a sigh. “I had a word with the head doctor.”

“Oh. And what did she say?”

“That she has had enough of patching you up. If I believe her, this is far from the first time you have been admitted here.”

“Doctor Couplet stitched up a knife wound a few months ago.” He lifted his left sleeve. A long white line ran down his enormous bicep, almost to the elbow. Eva smiled, but looked away. Vauvert felt embarrassed again by his awkwardness.

“I promised her that I would not be back in here for at least another six months,” he added. “I’m going to hear from her about this, you’ll see.”

He paused the length of time it took for a stab of pain in his back to pass, and then he finished. “But she’s seen me in a worse state than this. It’s just cuts, right?”

“Quite a few cuts. And three broken ribs.”

“That’s routine.”

He smiled, clenching his jaw to cover up the pain.

“So, what are you doing so far from Paris?”

“The guy you were following yesterday.”

“Loisel?”

“I’m investigating him. I think he’s linked to a series of unusual homicides.”

“The Reich case?”

Eva nodded.

“Jonathan Reich, yes. And another person was murdered the day before. There was arson both times.”

“But that’s not everything, is it?”

“There are some things that are, well, more than strange,” Eva admitted.

“Magic,” Vauvert said.

“It’s not that simple,” Eva responded.

Vauvert coughed, and then he said slowly, “Yes, it is. There are these people—they are like magicians. I saw what they could do. I witnessed it. I don’t even know how to describe what I saw. They can bring things back to life. They can hurt us without leaving a mark.”

“Okay,” she said.

“You believe me, don’t you?”

“I believe you. But you are still in shock from the accident.”

He cut in. “I left you a message. Why didn’t you call me back?”

She was staring at him, looking for an excuse. Then, in a small, hesitant voice, she said, “I didn’t get any message.”

He knew she was lying, of course. Everyone seemed to be lying to him these days. What did that say about him? A wave of anxiety overtook him. He tried his best to chase it away. He tried to breathe. He wanted to stay focused.

“Eva. It’s starting again. The supernatural things. The visions. This time, I can’t deny it. I don’t want to deny it. It’s all so real.”

He remembered Loisel, with his bushy beard and his crazed bloodshot eyes. He saw him again, his back to the wall, the blood escaping from his injury.

“I shot him. I hit him. I’m sure I shattered his clavicle. Even a magician would have a hard time dealing with that.”

“They found his car,” Eva said.

“But not him?”

“Not a trace. Everyone is on it.”

“Roadblocks?”

“Everywhere in the Pyrenees. The sent a bulletin out to Spain as well.”

“Okay.”

He was trying to sit up as best he could when someone knocked on the door.

“It’s visiting day,” he joked.

The door opened. His smile faded.

“Alex? Am I interrupting?”

Virginie came into the room without waiting for an answer. She was carrying a large bouquet, which brought bright reds and yellows into the whiteness of the room.

“Virginie? What the...”

He looked at his ex-wife, then at Eva and did not know what to say to either of them. Virginie coughed, once.

Eva stood up, a little too quickly, and said, “Oh, I’ll be going now.”

“That’s not necessary,” Vauvert grumbled. “Let me introduce my ex-wife, Virginie. Virginie, this is Eva, a colleague from Paris.”

The two women greeted each other coldly. Vauvert felt an electric charge in the room.

What game are they playing?

“Eva,” he started to say. He was looking for something else to say to her so she would not leave right away, dammit. He was too slow.

“I’ll wait just outside,” Eva said dryly. “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

Vauvert bit his lip and was sure he had made another stupid mistake.

Virginie, however, did not show any emotion at all. She let the other woman go by and then approached him with a bright smile. Her perfume was candy-sweet. He felt uncomfortable and pointed to the red and yellow bouquet his ex-wife was holding.

“What’s that?”

“Roses.”

“I see that it’s roses. I want to know the meaning of this.”

“They are for you.”

“I hate flowers.”

Virginie shrugged.

“Everyone loves flowers. I saw them in the gift shop, and they were so beautiful. Wait, let me find something to put them in.”

She filled a plastic pitcher with water in the bathroom and slipped the bouquet into it. Then she set the flowers on the bedside table. He gave her a murderous look.

“What game are you playing now? What do you want?”

Virginie took a chair but could not sit still.

“I wanted to thank you for what you did, Alex. Arnaud was told that no charges were filed. Even better, the girl will be investigated for making a false accusation. Thanks to you, Arnaud’s not in trouble anymore.”

Investigated for making a false accusation?
He never thought it would go that far. Someone is being overly zealous or wants to make an example of her. Whatever the case, that poor Jeanne Bonnet will have to face the music, and nothing good will come of it for her.

“They’re being tough on her,” he said. “The girl was lying. I don’t know why. Too many things didn’t fit when she gave her statement.”

“Yes, yes,” Virginie said.

What she was not saying was making him feel terribly uncomfortable.

“You don’t think I did your boyfriend a favor, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Virginie said, looking at him with shining eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Not any more than it does every time I see you.”

She ignored his sarcasm and smiled. He wondered how long it had been since she had given him so much attention. And also why she was chewing her lip.

“I wanted you to know that I was really afraid when I heard about the accident,” she said. “Really, very afraid.”

“I’ve had worse. And I plan to be out of here by lunch.”

She nodded.

Vauvert shot a look at the door, which was still open. Eva was leaning against the wall in the hallway. Despite her disinterested look, she was clearly observing them.

“You have to leave now,” he said to his ex-wife. “I’m fine.”

She smiled.

“Of course.”

She got up, seemed to hesitate a minute, and then leaned toward him. She kissed him on the lips.

He was so surprised, he did not even have the reflex to push her away. Virginie’s mouth was warm and silky, as it had always been. The kiss lasted only a fraction of a second but seemed to last for minutes. Her perfume was all sugar—still Chantal Thomass. It cloyed after their lips parted.

Virginie took her time getting to the door.

“Good-bye, Alex.”

He did not say anything. He watched Virginie walk past Eva and wave to her. Eva did not wave back. She remained motionless against the wall and continued to observe him from behind her dark glasses.

“Eva?” he said, “Okay, I...”

She moved away from the wall and walked off down the hall.

“Eva?” he said. “Shit.”

He dropped his head back on the pillow. Waves of pain returned to his back.

“Shit. Shit. And shit.”

Detective Benjamin Blanca was waiting in the warmth of the police cruiser, which was parked in the alley, when he saw Eva Svärta shoot out of the hospital like a rocket. He wondered what her problem was and opened the door. But the woman did not even glance at him. She marched to a bench outside the building, set her right foot on it, and watched the dense traffic heading toward Place Saint Cyprien.

“Well, what’s that all about?” he murmured.

Concerned, he got out of the car. It was not snowing anymore, but the sky was still dark. A sharp wind was blowing.

“Is something wrong?”

The inspector did not say anything for a while. When he had dropped her off, he had found her preoccupied. Now she looked furious. He wondered what had happened with Vauvert. He had a gift for riling people up, but usually it took longer than that.

“Why would there be a problem?” she asked with what seemed like a growl.

“All of the sudden you’re, well, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “No, nothing.”

She pointed her chin in the direction of the building.

“Your boss is awake. You should go see him.”

Blanca nodded. He understood her message.

“Okay. I’ll leave you alone. Here are the car keys.”

She took a deep breath, thought for a while, and then answered, “Don’t worry. I’ll take the subway. There’s a place I want to see. We’ll meet up later, okay?”

At that, she moved away, leaving him there. Benjamin Blanca thought about all the things he had heard about her. He had always wondered if there was any truth to her Robocop reputation. She had just given him a fine illustration of it. That woman had a serious problem getting along with people.

It was amazing how much she resembled Vauvert.

The snowy peak was covered in clouds.

There was only one way up. The road was hardly even a path for the last hundred yards, and then it disappeared entirely under the layers of compact snow. Madeleine had followed it to the end. The Chevrolet’s tires spun.

The car slid to the right and then to the left, out of control.

She was not going to get any farther this way.

Madeleine cut the engine.

The shimmering mist hung over the snow-covered branches of the pine trees on the slopes that rose abruptly all around her. If the weather had been better, she could have seen the valley below. But now, it was nothing more than a sea of clouds, a large, moving gray blur.

“Here we are. Wake up, Pierre.”

Loisel groaned in the backseat. He opened his eyes, scratched his blood-encrusted beard and struggled to sit up. The movement made him cough. Then he realized where he was. He lost a little of the color that had returned during his sleep.

“Why did you bring me here? You’re totally crazy.”

“Calm down.”

“I’m not staying anywhere near this place. It’s out of the question,” Loisel said, agitated.

She turned to him with a glacial look in her eyes.

“You will come with me. There is no negotiating. I didn’t do all of this for nothing.”